Saint-Dantin paused, a hand on the curtain that shut off the card-room.

"Your only ambition, Philippe?"

"For the moment," answered Philip sweetly. "All things pall on one after a time."

"Save the greatest ambition?" Saint-Dantin's eyes were purely mischievous.

"You are as inquisitive as a monkey," said Philip, and propelled him into the card-room.

"For how long has that fellow lorded it here?" asked Bancroft of his friend.

M. de Chambert flicked one great cuff with his handkerchief.

"Oh, some months! He is refreshing, is it not so? So young, so lovable."

"Lovable be damned!" said Bancroft.

De Chambert looked at him in surprise.

"You don't like our little Philippe?"

"No, I do not. Conceited young upstart!"

"Con—ah, but no! You misunderstand him! He pretends, and it is very amusing, but he is not conceited; he is just a bébé."

"Damn it, is he everyone's pet?"

"C'est le dernier cri de Paris. There are some who are jealous, naturally, but all who know him like him too much to be jealous."

"Jealous!" Bancroft snorted. "Jealous of that sprig!"

De Chambert cast him a shrewd glance.

"A word in your ear, m'sieu'! Do not speak your dislike too widely. Le petit Philippe has powerful friends. You will be frowned upon if you sneer at him."

Bancroft struggled for words.

"I'll—not conceal from you, De Chambert, that I've a grudge against your little Philippe. I punished him once before for impudence."

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