a thought came to me, for my tastes had never been modest, and the house
was a fine one, situated in the Rue St. Antoine at a hundred paces or so
from the Jesuit convent.

I had no time, however, to indulge the sorry mood that threatened to beset
me, for the knocking at my chamber door continued, until at length I
answered it with a command to enter.

It was my servant Michelot, a grizzled veteran of huge frame and strength,
who had fought beside me at Rocroi, and who had thereafter become so
enamoured of my person--for some trivial service he swore I had rendered
him--that he had attached himself to me and my luckless fortunes.

He came to inform me that M. de Mancini was below and craved immediate
speech with me. He had scarce done speaking, however, when Andrea himself,
having doubtless grown tired of waiting, appeared in the doorway. He wore
a sickly look, the result of his last night's debauch; but, more than that,
there was stamped upon his face a look of latent passion which made me
think at first that he was come to upbraid me.

"Ah, still abed, Luynes?" was his greeting as he came forward.

His cloak was wet and his boots splashed, which told me both that he had
come afoot and that it rained.

"There are no duties that bid me rise," I answered sourly.

He frowned at that, then, divesting himself of his cloak, he gave it to
Michelot, who, at a sign from me, withdrew. No sooner was the door closed
than the boy's whole manner changed. The simmering passion of which I had