"You find me in comfortable, well-furnished quarters and well-served," he said; "that is quite true. It is several years"--he did not say how many--"since I withdrew from society to rest a while and recover from the fatigues of war, awaiting events. I confess that, since the death of our great King Henri, I care not at all for the court or the city. I am not given to complaining, and I take the times as they come; but I have had three great sorrows in my life: the first was when I lost my mother, the second when I lost my younger brother, the third when I lost my great and good king. And there is this peculiarity in my story, that all three of those persons who were so dear to me died a violent death. My king was assassinated, my mother fell from her horse, and my brother--But this is too sad a subject, and I do not choose to tell you unpleasant tales to prepare you for your first night under my roof. I will simply tell you what it was that made me slothful and inclined to domesticity. When I saw my King Henri breathe his last, I reasoned thus with myself: 'You have lost all those you loved, you have nobody left but yourself to lose; now then, if you do not wish your turn to come soon, you will do well to turn your back on these regions of commotion and intriguing, and go and nurse your poor, afflicted and weary person in your native province.' You were right therefore to esteem me as fortunate as a man can be, since I was wise enough to adopt the course best suited to me, and to save myself from all annoyance; but you would have made a mistake to think that I lack nothing; for, while I desire nothing, I cannot say that I regret nobody. But I have regaled you enough with my sorrows and I am not one of those who feed upon them, refusing to be comforted or diverted. While we taste this jelly, do you care to listen to a more skilful musician than our little page?--Do you listen to him, too, my young friend," he added, addressing the page; "it will do you no harm." As he spoke to D'Alvimar, he had bestowed upon him he called Master Jovelin one of those affectionate glances which resembled prayers rather than commands. The man in the gray suit unbuttoned the flowing sleeve which covered another tighter sleeve of a dull red color, and threw it over his shoulder; then he took from his bag one of those little bag-pipes with a short, carved bass, which were then called _sourdelines_, and were employed in chamber music. This instrument, the tone of which was as sweet and veiled as the bag-pipes of our own minstrels of to-day are noisy and shrill, was much in vogue, and before Master Jovelin had concluded his prelude, he had taken possession not only of the attention but of the very soul of his hearers; for he performed marvellously on the _sourdeline_, and made it sing like a human voice.