it conveyed an unpleasant sense of nakedness, suggesting that its
uncovering had been an act of indelicacy on the owner's part -
rested on the back of his great chair, and hid from sight the gaudy
escutcheon wrought upon the crimson leather. His eyes were closed,
his mouth open, and whether from that mouth or from his nose - or,
perhaps, conflicting for issue between both - there came a snorting,
rumbling sound to proclaim that my Lord the Seneschal was hard at
work upon the King's business.

Yonder, at a meaner table, in an angle between two windows, a
pale-faced thread-bare secretary was performing for a yearly pittance
the duties for which my Lord the Seneschal was rewarded by emoluments
disproportionately large.

The air of that vast apartment was disturbed by the sounds of
Monsieur de Tressan's slumbers, the scratch and splutter of the
secretary's pen, and the occasional hiss and crackle of the logs
that burned in the great, cavern-like fireplace. Suddenly to these
another sound was added. With a rasp and rattle the heavy curtains
of blue velvet flecked with silver fleurs-de-lys were swept from
the doorway, and the master of Monsieur de Tressan's household, in
a well filled suit of black relieved by his heavy chain of office,
stepped pompously forward.

The secretary dropped his pen, and shot a frightened glance at his
slumbering master; then raised his hands above his head, and shook
them wildly at the head lackey.

"Sh!" he whispered tragically. "Doucement, Monsieur Anselme."