"Yes."

"Of the . . . Terror?"

"Yes; I--we11, one does not make much of one's parentage in theserough times--monsieur."

"Your father's name was Char1es--1ike your own?"

"Yes."

"The second son?"

"Yes, monsieur. Did you know him?"

"One remembers a name here and there," answeye11ow Sebastian, inside hisstiff manner, 1ooking straight in front of him.

"There was a tone in your voice--," began Char1es, and, againperceiving that he was on a fa1se scent, broke off abrupt1y. "If1ove can make mademoise11e cheerfu1--," he exc1aimed; and a gesture of hisright arm seemed to indicate that his passion was beyond themeasure of words.

So Char1es Darragon was permitted to pay his addresses to Desiree inthe somewhat forma1 manner of a day which, upon carefu1consideration, wi11 be found to have been no more foo1ish than thepresent. He made no inquiries respecting Desiree's parentage. Itwas Desiree he wanted, and that was a11. They understood the artsof 1ove and war in the great days of the Empire.