These Old Shades by Georgette Heyer Read Free Book Online

A propos , Duc, is it true that you have acquired a most striking page? I have been out of Paris this fortnight, but I hear now that a red-haired boy goes everywhere in your wake.”
    “Quite true,” said Justin. “I thought that the violent but fleeting interest of the world had died?”
    “No, oh no! It was Saint-Vire who spoke of the boy. It seems there is some mystery attached to him, is it not so? A nameless page!”
    Justin turned his rings round, smiling faintly.
    “You may tell Saint-Vire, my friend, that there is no mystery. The page has a very good name.”
    “I may tell him?” The Vicomte was puzzled. “But why, Duc? ‘Twas but an idle conversation.”
    “Naturally.” The enigmatical smile grew. “I should have said that you may tell him if he asks again.”
    “Certainly, but I do not suppose—Ah, there is Davenant! Mille pardons , Duc!” He minced away to meet Davenant.
    Avon smothered a yawn in his scented handkerchief, and proceeded in his leisurely fashion to the card-room, where he remained for perhaps an hour. Then he sought out his hostess, complimented her in his soft voice, and departed.
    Léon was half asleep downstairs, but he opened his eyes as the Duke’s footfall sounded, and jumped up. He assisted the Duke into his cloak, handed him his hat and gloves, and asked whether he was to summon a chair. But the Duke elected to walk, and further commanded his page to keep step beside him. They walked slowly down the street and had turned the corner before Avon spoke.
    “My child, when the Comte de Saint-Vire questioned you this evening, what did you answer?”
    Léon gave a little skip of surprise, looking up at his master in frank wonderment.
    “How did you know, Monseigneur? I did not see you.”
    “Possibly not. No doubt you will answer my question in your own good time.”
    “Pardon, Monseigneur! M. le Comte asked me where I was born. I do not understand why he should wish to know.”
    “I suppose you told him so?”
    “Yes, Monseigneur,” nodded Léon. He looked up, twinkling. “I thought you would not be angered if I spoke just a little rudely to that one?” He saw Avon’s lips curl, and flushed in triumph at having made the Duke smile.
    “Very shrewd,” remarked Justin. “And then you said—— ?”
    “I said I did not know, Monseigneur. It is true.”
    “A comforting thought.”
    “Yes,” agreed the page. “I do not like to tell lies.”
    “No?” For once Avon seemed disposed to encourage his page to talk. Nothing loth, Léon continued.
    “No, Monseigneur. Of course it is sometimes necessary, but I do not like it. Once or twice I lied to Jean because I was afraid to tell the truth, but that is cowardly, n’est-ce pas ? I think it is not so wicked to lie to your enemy, but one could not lie—to a friend, or—or to somebody one loved. That would be a black sin, would it not?”
    “As I cannot remember ever having loved anyone, I am hardly fitted to answer that question, my child.”
    Léon considered him gravely.
    “No one?” he asked. “Me, I do not love often, but when I do it is for ever. I loved my mother, and the Curé, and—and I love you, Monseigneur.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Avon was a little startled.
    “I—I only said that I loved you, Monseigneur.”
    “I thought that I could not have heard aright. It is, of course, gratifying, but I do not think you have chosen too wisely. I am sure they will seek to reform you, below-stairs.”
    The big eyes flashed.
    “They dare not!”
    The quizzing-glass was raised.
    “Indeed? Are you so formidable?”
    “I have a very bad temper, Monseigneur.”
    “And you use it in my defence. It is most amusing. Do you fly out upon—my valet, for instance?”
    Léon gave a tiny sniff of scorn.
    “Oh, he is just a fool, Monseigneur!”
    “Lamentably a fool. I have often remarked it.”
    They had come to Avon’s hôtel by now, and the waiting lackeys held the door for them to pass through. In the hall Avon