has breakfasted will do; there is plenty of time."

"From Paris!" cried the prince, letting his fork fall. "A
messenger from Paris, do you say? And on whose part does
this messenger come?"

"On the part of M. le Prince," said the maitre d'hotel
promptly.

Every one knows that the Prince de Conde was so called.

"A messenger from M. le Prince!" said Gaston, with an
inquietude that escaped none of the assistants, and
consequently redoubled the general curiosity.

Monsieur, perhaps, fancied himself brought back again to the
happy times when the opening of a door gave him an emotion,
in which every letter might contain a state secret, -- in
which every message was connected with a dark and
complicated intrigue. Perhaps, likewise, that great name of
M. le Prince expanded itself, beneath the roofs of Blois, to
the proportions of a phantom.

Monsieur pushed away his plate.

"Shall I tell the envoy to wait?" asked M. de Saint-Remy.

A glance from Madame emboldened Gaston, who replied: "No,
no! let him come in at once, on the contrary. A propos, who
is he?"