eyes were closed, his mouth open, and whether from
that mouth or from his nose--or, perhaps, conflicting for issue between
both--there came a snorting, rumbling sound to proclaim that my Lord the
Seneschal was hard at work upon the King's business.

Yonder, at a meaner table, in an angle between two windows, a pale-faced
thread-bare secretary was performing for a yearly pittance the
duties for which my Lord the Seneschal was rewarded by emoluments
disproportionately large.

The air of that vast apartment was disturbed by the sounds of Monsieur
de Tressan's slumbers, the scratch and splutter of the secretary's
pen, and the occasional hiss and crackle of the logs that burned in the
great, cavern-like fireplace. Suddenly to these another sound was added.
With a rasp and rattle the heavy curtains of blue velvet flecked with
silver fleurs-de-lys were swept from the doorway, and the master of
Monsieur de Tressan's household, in a well filled suit of black relieved
by his heavy chain of office, stepped pompously forward.

The secretary dropped his pen, and shot a frightened glance at his
slumbering master; then raised his hands above his head, and shook them
wildly at the head lackey.

"Sh!" he whispered tragically. "Doucement, Monsieur Anselme."

Anselme paused. He appreciated the gravity of the situation. His bearing
lost some of its dignity; his face underwent a change. Then with a
recovery of some part of his erstwhile resolution:

"Nevertheless, he must be awakened," he announced, but in an undertone,
as if afraid to do the thing he said must needs be done.

The horror in the secretary's eyes increased, but Anselme's reflected
none of it. It was a grave thing, he knew by former experience, to
arouse His Majesty's Seneschal of Dauphiny from his after-dinner
nap; but it was an almost graver thing to fail in obedience to that
black-eyed woman below who was demanding an audience.

Anselme realized that he was between the sword and the wall. He was,
however, a man of a deliberate habit that was begotten of inherent
indolence and nurtured among the good things that fell to his share as
master of the Tressan household. Thoughtfully he caressed his tuft of
red beard, puffed out his cheeks, and raised his eyes to the ceiling
in appeal or denunciation to the heaven which he believed was somewhere
beyond it.

"Nevertheless, he must be awakened," he repeated.

And then Fate came to his assistance. Somewhere in the house a