looks. But he bowed urbanely, washing his hands in the air, and
murmuring:

"Your servant, Monsieur de - ?"

"Garnache," came the other's crisp, metallic voice, and the name
had a sound as of an oath on his lips. "Martin Marie Rigobert de
Garnache. I come to you on an errand of Her Majesty's, as this my
warrant will apprise you." And he proffered the paper he held,
which Tressan accepted from his hand.

A change was visible in the wily Seneschal's fat countenance. Its
round expanse had expressed interrogation until now; but at the
Parisian's announcement that he was an emissary of the Queen's,
Tressan insinuated into it just that look of surprise and of
increased deference which would have been natural had he not already
been forewarned of Monsieur de Garnache's mission and identity.

He placed a chair at his visitor's disposal, himself resuming his
seat at his writing-table, and unfolding the paper Garnache had given
him. The newcomer seated himself, hitched his sword-belt round so
that he could lean both hands upon the hilt, and sat, stiff and
immovable, awaiting the Lord Seneschal's pleasure. From his desk
across the room the secretary, idly chewing the feathered end of
his goose-quill, took silent stock of the man from Paris, and
wondered.

Tressan folded the paper carefully, and returned it to its owner.
It was no more than a formal credential, setting forth that Garnache
was travelling into Dauphiny on a State affair, and commanding