"Francois," said Beauvais, throwing his shako and pelisse on the
lounge and motioning to Maurice to do likewise, "let no one
disturb us."
The valet bowed and noiselessly retired. The two men sat down
without speaking. Beauvais passed the cigars. Maurice selected
one, lit it, and blew rings at the Chinese mandarin which leered
down at him from the mantel.
Several minutes marched into the past.
"Maurice Carewe," said the Colonel, as one who mused.
"It is very droll," said Maurice.
"I can not say that it strikes me as droll, though I am not
deficient in the sense of humor."
"'Twould be a pity if you were; you would miss so much. Through
humor philosophy reaches its culmination; humor is the
foundation upon which the palace of reason erects itself. The
two are inseparable."
"How came you to be mixed up in this affair, which is no concern
of yours?"
"That question is respectfully referred to Madame the duchess. I
was thrown into it, head foremost, bound hand and foot. It was a
clever stroke, though eventually it will embarrass her."
"You may give me the certificates," said Beauvais.
Maurice contemplated him serenely.
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