sed that the Jesuit now desired to thank me for
advice--given, in truth, rather out of regard to discipline than to him.
So I bade them admit him.

His first words, uttered before my secretaries could retire, indicated
that this was indeed his errand; and for a few moments I listened to
such statements from him and made such answers myself as became our
several positions. Then, as he did not go, I began to conceive the
notion that he had come with a further purpose; and his manner, which
seemed on this occasion to lack ease, though he was well gifted with
skill and address, confirmed the notion. I waited, therefore, with
patience, and presently he named his Majesty with many expressions
of devotion to his person. "I trust," said he, "that the air of
Fontainebleau agrees with him, M. de Rosny?"

"You mean, good father, of Chantilly?" I answered.

"Ah, to be sure!" he rejoined, hastily. "He is, of course, at
Chantilly."

After that he rose to depart, but was delayed by the raptures into which
he fell at sight of the fire, which, the weather being cold for the time
of year, I had caused to be lit. "It burns so brightly," said he, "that
it must be of boxwood, M. de Rosny."

"Of boxwood?" I exclaimed, in surprise.

"Ay, is it not of boxwood?" quoth he, looking at me with much
simplicity.

"Certainly not!" I made answer, rather peevishly. "Who ever heard of
people burning boxwood in Paris, father?"

He apologised for his ignorance--which was indeed matter of wonder--on
the ground of his southern birth, and took his departure, leaving me
in much doubt as to the real purport of his visit. I was indeed more
troubled by the uncertainty I felt than another less conversant with
the methods of the Jesuits might have been, for I knew that it was their
habit to let drop a word where they dared not speak plainly, and I felt
myself put on my mettle to interpret the father's hint. My perplexities
were increased by the belief that he would not have intervened in any
matter of small moment, and by the conviction, which grew upon me apace,
that while I stood idle before the hearth my dearest interests and those
of France were at stake.

"Michel," I said at last, addressing the _doyen_ of my secretaries, who
chanced to be a Provencal, "have you ever seen a boxwood fire?"

He replied respectfully, but with some show of surprise, that he had
not, adding that that wood was rendered so valuable to the turner by its
hardness that few