se? Take it off; take it off, man! Get me the coat that
came last month from Paris--the yellow one with the hanging sleeves and
the gold buttons, and a sash--the crimson sash I had from Taillemant.
Can you move no quicker, animal? Are you still here?"

Anselme, thus enjoined, lent an unwonted alacrity to his movements,
waddling grotesquely like a hastening waterfowl. Between him and the
secretary they dressed my Lord the Seneschal, and decked him out till he
was fit to compare with a bird of paradise for gorgeousness of colouring
if not for harmony of hues and elegance of outline.

Babylas held the mirror, and Anselme adjusted the Seneschal's wig,
whilst Tressan himself twisted his black mustachios--how they kept their
colour was a mystery to his acquaintance--and combed the tuft of beard
that sprouted from one of his several chins.

He took a last look at his reflection, rehearsed a smile, and bade
Anselme introduce his visitor. He desired his secretary to go to the
devil, but, thinking better of it, he recalled him as he reached the
door. His cherished vanity craved expression.

"Wait!" said he. "There is a letter must be written. The King's business
may not suffer postponement--not for all the dowagers in France. Sit
down."

Babylas obeyed him. Tressan stood with his back to the open door. His
ears, strained to listen, had caught the swish of a woman's gown. He
cleared his throat, and began to dictate:

"To Her Majesty the Queen-Regent--" He paused, and stood with knitted
brows, deep in thought. Then he ponderously repeated--"To Her Majesty
the Queen Regent--Have you got that?"

"Yes, Monsieur le Comte. 'To Her Majesty the Queen Regent.'"

There was a step, and a throat-clearing cough behind him.

"Monsieur de Tressan," said a woman's voice, a rich, melodious voice, if
haughty and arrogant of intonation.

On the instant he turned, advanced a step, and bowed.

"Your humblest servant, madame," said he, his hand upon his heart. "This
is an honour which--"

"Which necessity thrusts upon you," she broke in imperiously. "Dismiss
that fellow."

The secretary, pale and shy, had risen. His eyes dilated at the woman's
speech. He looked for a catastrophe as the natural result of her taking
such a tone with this man who was the terror of his household and of
all Grenoble. Instead, the Lord Seneschal's meekness left him breathless
with surprise.

"He is my secretary, madame. We were at work as you came. I was on