breastplate and jack-boots were not wanting in the throng, but the
larger number of the gallants were brave in silken doublets and spotless
ruffs, as became a noble's drawing-room. And the ladies! mordieu, what
am I to say of them? Tricked out in every gay colour under the sun,
agleam with jewels--eh bien, the ladies of St. Quentin, that I had
thought so fine, were but serving-maids to these.

I stood blinking, dazed by the lights and the crowd and the chatter,
unable in the first moment to note clearly any face in the congregation
of strange countenances. Nor would it have helped me if I could, for
here close about were a dozen fair women, any one of whom might be
Mlle. de Montluc. My heart hammered in my throat. I knew not whom to
address. But a young noble near by, dazzling in a suit of pink, took the
burden on himself.

"I heard Mar's name; yet you are not M. de Mar, I think."

He spoke with a languid but none the less teasing derision. In truth, I
must have resembled a little brown hare suddenly turned out of a bag in
the midst of that gorgeous company.

"No," I stammered; "I am his servant. I seek Mlle. de Montluc."

"I have wondered what has become of Etienne de Mar this last month,"
spoke a second young gentleman, advancing from his place behind a fair
one's chair. He was neither so pretty nor so fine as the other, but in
his short, stocky figure and square face there was a force which his
comrade lacked. He regarded me with a far keener glance as he asked:

"Peste! he must be in low water if this is the best he can do for a
lackey."

"Perhaps the fellow's errand is to beg an advance from Mlle. de
Montluc," suggested the pink youth.

"Who speaks my name?" a clear voice called; and a lady, laying down her
hand at cards, rose and came toward me.

She was clad in amber satin. She was tall, and she carried herself with
stately grace. Her black hair shadowed a cheek as purely white and pink
as that of any yellow-locked Frisian girl, while her eyes, under their
sooty lashes, shone blue as corn-flowers.

I began to understand M. Etienne.

"Who is it wants me?" she repeated, and catching sight of me stood
regarding me in some surprise, not unfriendly, waiting for me to explain
myself. But before I could find my tongue the man in pink answered her
with his soft drawl:

"Mademoiselle, this is a minister plenipotentiary and envoy
extraordinary--most extraordinary--from the court of his Highness the
Comte de