“Who is this Mornay?”Captain Cornbury paused to kindle his tobago.“Mornay is of the Embassy of France, at any game of chance the luckiest blade in the world and a Damon for success with the petticoats, whether they’re doxies or duchesses.”“Soho! a pretty fellow.”“A French chevalier—a fellow of the Marine; but a die juggler—a man of no caste,” sneered Mr. Wynne.“He has a wit with a point.”“Ay, and a rapier, too,” said Lord Downey.“The devil fly with these foreign lady-killers,” growled Wynne again.“Oh, Mornay is a man-killer, too, never fear. He’s not named Bras-de-Fer for nothing,” laughed Cornbury.“Bah!” said a voice near the door. “A foundling—an outcast—a man of no birth—I’ll have no more of him.”