“Ah, mesdames, pray excuse my father,” said Christophe. “If he had not had such need of money you would not have had your furs at all. The country is in arms, and there are so many dangers to run in getting here that nothing but our great distress would have brought me. No one but me was willing to risk them.” “The lad is new to his business,” said Mary Stuart, smiling. It may not be useless, for the understanding of this trifling, but very important scene, to remark that a surcoat was, as the name implies (_sur cotte_), a species of close-fitting spencer which women wore over their bodies and down to their thighs, defining the figure. This garment protected the back, chest, and throat from cold. These surcoats were lined with fur, a band of which, wide or narrow as the case might be, bordered the outer material. Mary Stuart, as she tried the garment on, looked at herself in a large Venetian mirror to see the effect behind, thus leaving her mother-in-law an opportunity to examine the papers, the bulk of which might have excited the young queen’s suspicions had she noticed it. “Never tell women of the dangers you have run when you have come out of them safe and sound,” she said, turning to show herself to Christophe. “Ah! madame, I have your bill, too,” he said, looking at her with well-played simplicity. The young queen eyed him, but did not take the paper; and she noticed, though without at the moment drawing any conclusions, that he had taken her bill from his pocket, whereas he had carried Queen Catherine’s in his bosom. Neither did she find in the lad’s eyes that glance of admiration which her presence invariably excited in all beholders. But she was so engrossed by her surcoat that, for the moment, she did not ask herself the meaning of such indifference. “Take the bill, Dayelle,” she said to her waiting-woman; “give it to Monsieur de Versailles (Lomenie) and tell him from me to pay it.” “Oh! madame,” said Christophe, “if you do not ask the king or monseigneur the grand-master to sign me an order your gracious word will have no effect.” “You are rather more eager than becomes a subject, my friend,” said Mary Stuart. “Do you not believe my royal word?” The king now appeared, in silk stockings and trunk-hose (the breeches of that period), but without his doublet and mantle; he had, however, a rich loose coat of velvet edged with minever. “Who is the wretch who dares to doubt your word?” he said, overhearing, in spite of his distance, his wife’s last words.