in a sudden, choking grunt, and abruptly ceased. His eyelids rolled
slowly back, like an owl's, revealing pale blue eyes, which fixed
themselves first upon the ceiling, then upon Anselme. Instantly he
sat up, puffing and scowling, his hands shuffling his papers.

"A thousand devils! Anselme, why am I interrupted?" he grumbled
querulously, still half-asleep. "What the plague do you want? Have
you no thought for the King's affairs? Babylas" - this to his
secretary - "did I not tell you that I had much to do; that I must
not be disturbed?"

It was the great vanity of the life of this man, who did nothing,
to appear the busiest fellow in all France, and no audience - not
even that of his own lackeys - was too mean for him to take the
stage to in that predilect role.

"Monsieur le Comte," said Anselme, in tones of abject self-effacement,
"I had never dared intrude had the matter been of less urgency. But
Madame the Dowager of Condillac is below. She begs to see Your
Excellency instantly."

At once there was a change. Tressan became wide-awake upon the
instant. His first act was to pass one hand over the wax-like
surface of his bald head, whilst his other snatched at his wig.
Then he heaved himself ponderously out of his great chair. He
donned his wig, awry in his haste, and lurched forward towards
Anselme, his fat fingers straining at his open doublet and drawing
it together.

"Madame la Douairiere here?" he cried. "Make fast these buttons,