through the opening in the rails, and stood, watch in hand, waiting for
the exact instant when the iron routine of the court demanded that the
monarch should be roused. Beneath him, from under the costly green
coverlet of Oriental silk, half buried in the fluffy Valenciennes lace
which edged the pillow, there protruded a round black bristle of
close-cropped hair, with the profile of a curving nose and petulant lip
outlined against the white background. The valet snapped his watch, and
bent over the sleeper.

"I have the honour to inform your Majesty that it is half-past eight,"
said he.

"Ah!" The king slowly opened his large dark-brown eyes, made the sign of
the cross, and kissed a little dark reliquary which he drew from under
his night-dress. Then he sat up in bed, and blinked about him with the
air of a man who is collecting his thoughts.

"Did you give my orders to the officer of the guard, Bontems?" he asked.

"Yes, sire."

"Who is on duty?"

"Major de Brissac at the main guard, and Captain de Catinat in the
corridor."

"De Catinat! Ah, the young man who stopped my horse at Fontainebleau.
I remember him. You may give the signal, Bontems."

The chief valet walked swiftly across to the door and threw it open. In