My astonishment may be conceived. I stood for full a minute staring at the coins, the candle in my hand. Then, reflecting that the young sparks at the Court would be very unlikely to spend such a sum on a jest, I hesitated no longer, but putting down the candle, drew the bolt of the door, purposing to confer with my visitors outside. In this, however, I was disappointed, for the moment the door was open they pushed forcibly past me and, entering the room pell-mell, bade me by signs to close the door again. I did so suspiciously, and without averting my eyes from my visitors. Great were my embarrassment and confusion, therefore, when, the door being shut, they dropped their cloaks one after the other, and I saw before me M. du Mornay and the well-known figure of the King of Navarre. They seemed so much diverted, looking at one another and laughing, that for a moment I thought some chance resemblance deceived me, and that here were my jokers again. Hence while a man might count ten I stood staring; and the king was the first to speak. ‘We have made no mistake, Du Mornay, have we?’ he said, casting a laughing glance at me. ‘No, sire,’ Du Mornay answered. ‘This is the Sieur de Marsac, the gentleman whom I mentioned to you.’ I hastened, confused, wondering, and with a hundred apologies, to pay my respects to the king. He speedily cut me short, however, saying, with an air of much kindness, ‘Of Marsac, in Brittany, I think, sir?’ ‘The same, sire,’ ‘Then you are of the family of Bonne?’ ‘I am the last survivor of that family, sire,’ I answered respectfully. ‘It has played its part,’ he rejoined, and therewith he took his seat on my stool with an easy grace which charmed me. ‘Your motto is “BONNE FOI,” is it not? And Marsac, if I remember rightly, is not far from Rennes, on the Vilaine?’ I answered that it was, adding, with a full heart, that it grieved me to be compelled to receive so great a prince in so poor a lodging. ‘Well, I confess,’ Du Mornay struck in, looking carelessly round him, ‘you have a queer taste, M. de Marsac, in the arrangement of your furniture. You--’ ‘Mornay!’ the king cried sharply. ‘Sire?’ ‘Chut! your elbow is in the candle. Beware of it!’ But I well understood him. If my heart had been full before, it overflowed now. Poverty is not so shameful as the shifts to which it drives men. I had been compelled some days before, in order to make as good a show as possible--since it is the undoubted duty of a gentleman to hide his nakedness from impertinent eyes, and especially from the eyes of the canaille, who are wont to judge from externals--to remove such of my furniture and equipage as remained to that side of the room, which was visible from without when the door was open. This left the farther side of the room vacant and bare. To anyone within doors the artifice was, of course, apparent, and I am bound to say that M. de Mornay’s words brought the blood to my brow.