The Café de la Paix
"That being understood, let us imagine that the late Duke Henri, of Lützelburg, is survived by a widow, the dowager duchess, and a son, heir to the ducal throne—petit Duke Jehan, a child of seven years. You follow me? Also, by his younger brother, Prince Georges of Lützelburg, a—a most damnably conscienceless scoundrel!" Chambret exploded, bringing his fist down upon the table with force sufficient to cause the glasses to dance.
"Softly, mon ami!" cautioned O'Rourke. "I gather ye are not be way of liking Monsieur le Prince?"
"I—I do not like him, as you say. But, to get on: Lützelburg lies—you know where." Abandoning all pretense of imagining the duchy, Chambret waved his hand definitely to the northwest. O'Rourke nodded assent.
"The capital city, of course, centers about the Castle of Lützelburg. The duchy is an independent State maintaining its own army—one regiment—its customs house, sending its representatives to the Powers. You know all that? It is a rich little State; a comfortable berth for its ruler. Duke Henri preserved its integrity, added to its resources, leaving it a fat legacy to his little son. Had he died without issue, Georges would have succeeded to the ducal throne—and to the control of the treasury. Naturally the scoundrel covets what is not his, now. He goes further. He has gone—far, very far, mon ami."
O'Rourke moved his chair nearer, becoming interested. "Gone far, ye say? And what has the black-hearted divvle been up to, bad cess to him?" he asked with a chuckle.
"He has kidnaped little Duke Jehan, mon ami."
"Kidnaped!" The Irishman sat back gasping. "Faith, what does he think he is, now—a robber baron?" he demanded indignantly—this man of strong emotions, easily
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