Bertie came in, ostensibly to learn his father’s plans, but really, I surmised, to suggest some of his own; and Lady Turnour relieved her feelings by stirring up evil ones in him.  “So sure you were going to get the girl!  Why, you wrote your stepfather the other day, you were practically engaged,” she sneered, delighted that she was not the only one who had suffered humiliations at the castle.

“If she hadn’t seen you, I believe it would have been all right,” growled Bertie, vicious as a chained dog who has lost his bone.  And then Lady Turnour had hysterics all over again, and Sir Samuel told Bertie that he was an ungrateful young brute.  The three raged together, and I could not go, because I had to hold sal-volatile under her ladyship’s nose.  Lady Turnour said that the marquise was no lidy, and for her part she was glad she wasn’t going to have that cat of a sister in her family.  She’d leave the beastly chattoe that night, if she could; but anyhow, she’d go the first thing in the morning as ever was, so there!  People that let their visitors be insulted, and did nothing but laugh!—­She’d show them, if they ever came to London, that she would, though she mightn’t be a marquise herself, exactly.  Not one of the lot should ever be invited to her house, not if they were all married to Bertie.  And who was Bertie, anyhow?

Sir Samuel said ‘darling’ to her, and quite different words that began with “d” to his stepson; and Bertie, seeing the error of his ways, apologized humbly.  His apologies were eventually accepted; and when he had intimated to her ladyship that she should be introduced to all his “swell friends” in England, it was settled that he should make one of the party in the car, his valet travelling by train.  As this arrangement completed itself, Mr. Bertie suddenly remembered my presence, and flashed me a look of triumph.

I, listening silently, had been rejoicing in the development of the situation as far as I was concerned; for the sooner we got away from the chateau, the less likely was Monsieur Charretier to succeed in catching us up.  But when I heard that we were to have Bertie with us, my heart sank, especially as his look told me that I counted for something in his plan.  The chauffeur counted for something, too, I feared.  In any case, the rest of the tour was spoiled, and if it hadn’t been for the thought that when it was over, Jack and I might meet no more, I should have wished it cut short.

Good-byes were perfunctory in the morning, and nobody seemed heartbroken at parting from the Turnour family.  The big luggage, packed early and in haste, was sent on to Paris; and when the chauffeur had disposed of Bertie’s additions to the Aigle’s load, hostilities began.

“Put down that seat for me,” said Mr. Stokes to Mr. Dane, indicating one of the folding chairs in the glass cage, and carefully waiting to do so until I was within eye and earshot.