“But she is so beautiful,” whimpered the Regent. “There is not such another complexion in France. If I were to leave her, do you not think half my nobility would be mad to pay their court to her? She is so white, you see—so exceedingly white and soft. Such a skin, my dear Abbé. Such a skin!” “Skin her then!” replied Malletort, “and make a covering of her integument for your arm-chair. It is the best advice I can offer your Highness, and what I should do myself in your case.” Then they both laughed at the brutal jest. The one because he was in high good-humour with the prospect of his hinted conquest; the other because he had not forgotten the bouquet, of which a few inhalations could turn the whole face black; and because, reflecting on the rapid progress of his schemes, he thought it only fair that those should laugh who win. But in order thoroughly to act his part out, he returned to business before he took his leave. “Those _Lettres de Cachet_!” he exclaimed, as if he had just recollected them. “Did your Highness express your views on the subject to your council?” “I did indeed,” answered the Regent, significantly; “and the good old custom is revived by an edict. But though he who seeks finds, I think he is more sure to find who _hides_, and I will take care no man in France shall use them but myself.” Then Malletort bowed himself out, well satisfied, and found Captain George in the ante-room, putting on his belts to receive the Black Musketeers, whose band could be heard playing and their arms clashing as they marched into the court to relieve guard. CHAPTER XV THE MASKED BALL That night much noise and confusion reigned outside the Grand Opera House. Torches flared, linkmen shouted, horses plunged, backed, and clattered; oaths flew here and there, whips were plied, carriage-wheels grated, coachmen swore, and, at short intervals, tall figures of the Black Musketeers were called in to keep order, a duty they fulfilled in a summary manner, with little forbearance to the public, dealing kicks, cuffs, and such remonstrances freely around, and clearing a space, wherever space was required, by dropping the butts of their heavy weapons on the feet of the recoiling crowd. With such powerful assistance, coach after coach deposited its load at the grand entrance, around which were congregated valets and lackeys wearing the liveries of the noblest families in France.