Free These Old Shades by Georgette Heyer

making valiant efforts to keep himself awake. He followed the Duke downstairs, and was sent to retrieve Avon’s cloak and cane. By the time he had succeeded in obtaining these articles the black-and-gold coach was at the door.
    Avon swung the cloak over his shoulders and sauntered out. He and Léon entered the luxurious vehicle and with a sigh of content Léon nestled back against the soft cushions.
    “It is all very wonderful,” he remarked, “but very bewildering. Do you mind if I fall asleep, Monseigneur?”
    “Not at all,” said his Grace politely. “I trust you were satisfied with the King’s appearance?”
    “Oh yes, he is just like the coins!” said Léon drowsily. “Do you suppose he likes to live in such a great palace, Monseigneur?”
    “I have never asked him,” replied the Duke. “Versailles does not please you?”
    “It is so very large,” explained the page. “I feared I had lost you.”
    “What an alarming thought!” remarked his Grace.
    “Yes, but you came after all.” The deep little voice was getting sleepier and sleepier. “It was all glass and candles, and ladies, and— Bonne nuit , Monseigneur,” he sighed.” I am sorry, but everything is muddled, and I am so very tired. I do not think I snore when I sleep, but if I do, then of course you must wake me. And I might slip, but I hope I shall not. I am right in the corner, so perhaps I shall remain here. But if I slip on to the floor——”
    “Then I suppose I am to pick you up?” said Avon sweetly.
    “Yes,” agreed Léon, already on the borderland of sleep. “I won’t talk any more now. Monseigneur does not mind?”
    “Pray do not consider me in the slightest,” answered Avon. “I am here merely to accommodate you. If I disturb you I beg you will not hesitate to mention it. I will then ride on the box.”
    A very sleepy chuckle greeted this sally, and a small hand tucked itself into the Duke’s.
    “I wanted to hold your coat because I thought I should lose you,” murmured Léon.
    “I presume that is why you are holding my hand now?” inquired his Grace. “You are perhaps afraid lest I should hide myself under the seat?”
    “That is silly,” replied Léon . “Very silly. Bonne nuit , Monseigneur.”
    “ Bonne nuit, mon enfant . You will not lose me—or I you—very easily, I think.”
    There was no answer, but Léon’s head sank against his Grace’s shoulder, and remained there.
    “I am undoubtedly a fool,” remarked the Duke. He pushed a cushion under Léon’s relaxed arm. “But if I wake him he will begin to talk again. What a pity Hugh is not here to see! ... I beg your pardon, my infant?”
    But Léon had muttered only in his sleep. “If you are going to converse in your sleep I shall be compelled to take strong measures of prevention,” said his Grace. He leaned his head back against the padded seat, and, smiling, closed his eyes.
     
    CHAPTER VI
    His Grace of Avon Refuses to Sell his Page
     
    When Davenant met his Grace at breakfast next morning he found that the Duke was in excellent spirits. He was more than usually urbane, and whenever his eye alighted on Léon he smiled, as if at some pleasant thought.
    “Was the levée well attended?” asked Hugh, attacking a red sirloin. Unlike the Duke, who never ate more than a roll for breakfast, he made a hearty meal of eggs and bacon, and cold meats, washed down by English ale, especially imported by the Duke for his delectation.
    The Duke poured himself out a second cup of coffee.
    “Crowded, my dear Hugh. It was in honour of some birthday, or saint’s day, or something of the sort.”
    “Did you see Armand?” Hugh reached out his hand for the mustard.
    “I saw Armand, and the Comtesse, and the Vicomte, and everybody I least wished to meet.”
    “One always does. I suppose La Pompadour was delighted to see you?”
    “Oppressively so. The King sat on his throne and smiled benignantly. Just like a coin.”
    Hugh suspended his fork in