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“Doddy” put his hands in his pockets, sighed, put his hat on his head and sighed again. Then he turned toward the door. Mirabel, her face anxious, followed him.

“Bring him right up here if you find him. Oh Doddy you’re a life-saver.” The life-saver sighed again and walked quickly through the portal. On the doorstep he paused.

“Well, of all outrageous things! To hunt for a French Duke in New York. This is outrageous. Where shall I go? What will I do?” He paused at the doorstep and then, following the crowd, strode toward Broadway. “Now let me see. I must have a plan of action. I can’t go up and ask everybody I meet if he’s the Duke of ——, well of, well—I can’t remember his name. I don’t know what he looks like. He probably can’t talk English. Oh, curses on the nobility.”

He strode aimlessly, hot and muddled. He wished he had asked Mirabel the Duke’s name and personal appearance, but it was now too late. He would not convict himself of such a blunder. Reaching Broadway he suddenly bethought himself of a plan of action.