all listen to
them knocking at my door, as I have knocked at theirs. To-day I am
aweary, and not of mind to see any one. Let them wait."

"But what shall I say? What shall I tell them, my master?"

"Tell them nothing. Let them wait."

Thus the crowd of notables packed into the anterooms waited at the
door, fuming and execrating, yet not departing. They all awaited the
magician, each with the same plea--some hope of favor, of advancement,
or of gain.

At last there arose yet a greater tumult in the hall which led to the
door. A squad of guardsmen pushed through the packed ranks with the cry:
"For the king!" The regent of France stood at the closed door of the man
who was still the real ruler of France.

"Open, open, in the name of the king!" cried one, as he beat loudly on
the panels.

Law turned languidly toward the attendant. "Henri," said he, "tell them
to be more quiet."

"My master, 'tis the regent!" expostulated the other, with somewhat of
anxiety in his tones.

"Let him wait," replied Law, coolly. "I have waited for him."

"But, my master, they protest, they clamor--"

"Very well. Let them do so--but stay. If it is indeed the regent, I may
as well meet him now and say that which is in my mind. Open the door."

The door swung open and there entered the form of Philippe of Orleans,
preceded by his halberdiers and followed close by a rush of humanity
which the guards and the Swiss together had much pains to force back
into the anteroom.

"How now, Monsieur L'as, how now?" fumed the regent, his heavy face
glowing a dull red, his prominent eyes still more protruding, his
forehead bent into a heavy frown. "You deny entrance to our person, who
are next to the body of his Majesty?"

"Did you have delay?" asked Law, sweetly. "'Twas unfortunate."

"'Twas execrable!"

"True. I myself find these crowds execrable."

"Nay, execrable to suffer this annoyance of delay!"

"Your Grace's pardon," said Law, coolly. "You should have made an
appointment a few days in advance."

"What! The regent of France need to arrange a day when he would see a
servant!"

"Your Grace is unfortunate in his choice of words," replied Law,
blandly. "I am not your servant. I am your master."

The regent sank back into a chair, gasping, his hand clutching at the
hilt of his sword.

"Seize him! Seize him! To the Bastille with him! The presumer! The
impostor!"

Yet even the guards hesitated before the commanding presence of that