He was of good stature and bearing, about forty years old as I judged, his wear a dress of violet velvet with black points cut in the extreme of the fashion. He carried a sword but no ruff, and had a cup and ball of ivory--a strange toy much in vogue among the idle--suspended from his wrist by a ribbon. He was lean and somewhat narrow, but so far I found little fault with him. It was only when my eye reached his face, and saw it rouged like a woman’s and surmounted by a little turban, that a feeling of scarcely understood disgust seized me, and I said to myself, ‘This is the stuff of which kings’ minions are made!’ To my surprise, however, M. de Rambouillet went to meet him with the utmost respect, sweeping the dirty floor with his bonnet, and bowing to the very ground. The newcomer acknowledged his salute with negligent kindness. Remarking pleasantly ‘You have brought a friend, I think?’ he looked towards us with a smile. ‘Yes, sire, he is here,’ the marquis answered, stepping aside a little. And with the word I understood that this was no minion, but the king himself: Henry, the Third of the name, and the last of the great House of Valois, which had ruled France by the grace of God for two centuries and a half! I stared at him, and stared at him, scarcely believing what I saw. For the first time in my life I was in the presence of the king! Meanwhile M. de Rosny, to whom he was, of course, no marvel, had gone forward and knelt on one knee. The king raised him graciously, and with an action which, viewed apart from his woman’s face and silly turban, seemed royal and fitting. ‘This is good of you, Rosny,’ he said. ‘But it is only what I expected of you.’ ‘Sire,’ my companion answered, ‘your Majesty has no more devoted servant than myself, unless it be the king my master.’ ‘By my faith,’ Henry answered with energy--‘and if I am not a good churchman, whatever those rascally Parisians say, I am nothing--by my faith, I think I believe you!’ ‘If your Majesty would believe me in that and in some other things also,’ M. de Rosny answered, ‘it would be very well for France.’ Though he spoke courteously, he threw so much weight and independence into his words that I thought of the old proverb, ‘A good master, a bold servant.’ ‘Well, that is what we are here to see,’ the king replied. ‘But one tells me one thing,’ he went on fretfully, ‘and one another, and which am I to believe?’ ‘I know nothing of others, sire,’ Rosny answered with the same spirit. ‘But my master has every claim to be believed. His interest in the royalty of France is second only to your Majesty’s. He is also a king and a kinsman, and it erks him to see rebels beard you, as has happened of late.’ ‘Ay, but the chief of them?’ Henry exclaimed, giving way to sudden excitement and stamping furiously on the floor. ‘He will trouble me no more. Has my brother heard of THAT? Tell me, sir, has that news reached him?’ ‘He has heard it, sire.’