The duchess surveyed me with great curiosity.
"Fortunately the duke is not a very clever man," said she.

"Oh, by the way, your name's George Sampson, and you come from Newmarket; and you are leaving because you took more to drink than was good for you.

Good-by, Mr.
Aycon.

I do hope that we shall meet again under pleasanter circumstances." "They could not be pleasanter--but they might be more prolonged," said I.
"It was so good of you to come," she said, pressing my hand.
"The carriage is but a quarter of a mile off!" cried Suzanne warningly.
"How very annoying it is! I wish to Heaven the Algerians had eaten the duke!" "I shall not forget my day here," I assured her.
"You won't?
It's charming of you.

Oh, how dull it will be now! It only wanted the arrival of--Well, good-by!" And with a final and long pressure of the duchess' hand, I, in the garb and personality of George Sampson, dismissed for drunkenness, walked out of the gate of the _chteau_.
"One thing," I observed to myself as I started, "would seem highly probable--and that is, that this sort of thing has happened before." The idea did not please me.