out at elbows, with empty pockets, and a sword which peered
through the sheath. The meanest ruffler who, with broken feather
and tarnished lace, swaggered at the heels of Turenne, was
scarcely to be distinguished from me. I had still, it is true, a
rock and a few barren acres in Brittany, the last remains of the
family property; but the small small sums which the peasants
could afford to pay were sent annually to Paris, to my mother,
who had no other dower. And this I would not touch, being minded
to die a gentleman, even if I could not live in that estate.

Small as were my expectations of success, since I had no one at
the king's side to push my business, nor any friend at Court, I
nevertheless did all I could, in the only way that occurred to
me. I drew up a petition, and lying in wait one day for M.
Forget, the King of Navarre's secretary, placed it in his hand,
begging him to lay it before that prince. He took it, and
promised to do so, smoothly, and with as much lip-civility as I
had a right to expect. But the careless manner in which he
doubled up and thrust away the paper on which I had spent so much
labour, no less than the covert sneer of his valet, who ran after
me to get the customary present--and ran, as I still blush to
remember, in vain--warned me to refrain from hope.

In this, however, having little save hope left, I failed so
signally as to spend the next day and the day after in a fever of
alternate confidence and despair, the cold fit following the hot
with perfect regularity. At length, on the morning of the third
day--I remember it lacked but three of Christmas--I heard a step
on the stairs. My landlord living in his shop, and the two
intervening floors being empty, I had no doubt the message was