The crowning extravagance of the Countess’s misrepresentation was revealed one morning when he found a letter addressed to him in a firm, feminine, and completely unfamiliar handwriting. The Countess had spoken to him several times of a great noblewoman in the neighbourhood, who lived in a magnificent chateau, and with whom, it was obvious, the Countess wished to improve her slight acquaintance. Now, upon opening the letter, the following message greeted his astounded eye:

Le Chateau de Mornaye, February 23, 1925.

My dear Mr. Gant:

My old friend, La Comtesse de Caux, informs me that you are spending some time in Orléans preparing a series of articles for the great journal you represent, The New York Times.

It will be a great pleasure to me if you, together with La Comtesse, will give me the honour of your presence at Mornaye for luncheon on Thursday, the twenty-sixth. La Comtesse de Caux informs me that you became acquainted with my son Paul when he visited America with Le Maréchal Foch in 1922, and that a warm friendship grew up between you at that time. I have often heard my son speak of his American tour, and of the dear friendships he made there, and I know how keen will be his regret when he hears that you were here and that he missed you. He is at present, I regret to say, at Paris, but I have written informing him of your presence here.

At any rate, it will give me great pleasure to welcome one of my son’s American friends to Mornaye, and I am looking forward to your visit with the most eager anticipation. La Comtesse de Caux has already informed me of your acceptance, and my motor will be waiting for you at the village station, Thursday, the twenty-sixth, at noon.

Until then, ever sincerely yours,

MATHILDE, MARQUISE DE MORNAYE.

He read the letter a second time, anger swelling in a hot flood as its full significance was revealed to him. When he at length found the Countess, he was so choked with exasperation that for a moment he could not speak, but stood glaring at her with infuriated eyes, holding the crumpled letter in one clenched fist.

“Now, you look here,” he said at length in a smothered tone, “you look here —” he held the letter out and shook it furiously under her nose. “What do you mean by a thing like this?”

She returned his furious gaze with a glance of bright inquiry, took the letter from his hand, and immediately, after looking at it, said cheerfully:

“Oh, yes! La Marquise has written to you, as she said she would. Did I not tell you I had great things in store for you?” she said triumphantly. “Ah, my boy, how fortunate you were in finding me the way you did! Do you realize how few Americans ever have the opportunity you are getting? Here you are, a boy of twenty-four, being received with open arms into one of the greatest families in France. Why, there are American millionaires who would pay a fortune for the privilege!”

“Now, you see here,” he said again in a choking tone. “What do you mean by doing a thing like this behind my back?”

She raised puzzled eyebrows inquiringly.

“Behind your back? What do you mean, my boy?”

“What right have you got to tell this woman I had accepted her invitation, when you never spoke to me about it?”

“But!” she said, with a small protesting gasp —“I was sure you would be delighted! It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t be! I felt sure you’d jump at the opportunity!”

“Opportunity!” he jeered. “Opportunity for what? Opportunity to let you tell this woman a pack of lies about me, and try to work her with some trick or dodge that you’ve got up your sleeve!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, with quiet dignity.

“Oh, yes, you have!” he snarled. “You know very well what I’m talking about. You’ve told these lying stories and misrepresented things to people ever since I met you, but you’ve gone too far this time. What the hell do you mean by telling this woman that I am a good friend of her son’s and met him in America?” He picked up the letter and shook it in her face again. “What do you mean by telling her such a lie as that?”

“Lie!” Her brows were lifted with an air of pained surprise. “Why, my boy, you told me that you did know her son.”

“I told you!” he fairly screamed. “I told you nothing! I never knew the woman had a son until I got this letter.”

“Listen, my friend,” the Countess spoke gently and patiently as she would speak to a child. “Think back a little, won’t you —?”

“Think back my eye!” he said rudely. “There’s nothing to think back about. It’s another lying story you made up on the spur of the moment, and you know it!”

“Don’t you remember,” she went on in the same quiet and patient voice, “— don’t you remember telling me you were a student at Harvard University?”

“Yes, I did tell you that. And that was true. What has that got to do with knowing this woman’s son?”

“Wait!” she said quietly. “Don’t you remember telling me that you were there at Harvard when Marshal Foch made his visit to America?”

“Yes, I did tell you that.”

“And that you saw him when he visited the university? You told me that, you know.”

“Of course I did! I did see him. Everyone else saw him, too. He stood on the steps of the library with his aides, and saluted while they fired the cannon off!”

“Ah! — With his aides, you say?” she said eagerly.

“Yes, of course, what’s wrong with that?”

“But nothing is wrong! It’s all just as I said! — Among his aides, now,” she said persuasively, “did you not notice a young man, with a little moustache, about twenty-five years old, dressed in the uniform of a captain in the French army? — Think now, my boy,” she went on coaxingly —“a young man — much younger than the other officers on the Marshal’s staff?”

“Perhaps I did,” he said impatiently. “How should I remember now? What difference does it make?”

“Because that young man, my dear,” the Countess patiently explained, “that you saw standing there with the Marshal is the young Marquis — this woman’s son.”

He stared at her with fascinated disbelief.

“And do you mean to tell me,” he said presently, “that because I may have seen someone like that standing in a great crowd of people three years ago, you had the gall to tell that woman that I knew her son — that we were friends?”

“No, no,” the Countess said evasively, a little nervously. “I didn’t tell her that, my dear. I’m sure I didn’t tell her that. She must have misunderstood me. All I said was that you SAW her son when he was in America. I’m sure that was all I said. And that was true, wasn’t it? You DID see him, didn’t you?” she said triumphantly.

He stared at her, with mouth ajar, unable for a moment to comprehend the full enormity of such deception. Then he closed his jaws with a stubborn snap, and said:

“All right. You got yourself into this, now you get out ............