Régis had not moved a muscle during this magnificent nomenclature. “A concert of the great Powers,” he muttered to himself. “Monsieur says?” inquired François. “Nothing of any importance. But, by the way, François, how did you discover the names of the noble assemblage down below?” “Monsieur le Marquis knows how easily chauffeurs jabber. Ah! It is not like the old times when the _gens-de-maison_ knew how to keep their places with dignity! Then it took science to find out anything; but now! Monsieur le Marquis has doubtless noticed that servants are no longer what they used to be.” In spite of himself Régis smiled. “You are unique, my good François!” he remarked. “If any further--arrivals should take place, keep me posted,” and with a nod he dismissed the paragon. During the next two hours, withdrawn in his sanctum, the exasperated Marquis received at regular intervals from François a series of discreet intimations that half a dozen more personages of high degree had honored his domicile by their appearance within its walls; all men, all young or youngish, all attached to embassies or occupying official positions, excepting one, who was a cavalry officer known all over France for his great wealth and his unlaudable eccentricities. “I wonder,” raged poor “Antinoüs,” champing his bit, “why she didn’t invite the Papal Nuncio while she was about it! It would certainly have added _cachet_ to the assembly. What in the world is she up to? Trying to hoodwink _me_?” And throwing the paper-knife he had been busying his fingers with to the other end of the room, he walked slowly after it; not with the intention of replacing it on his desk, but just to see how far it had gone. Just then the door opened half-way, and François once more insinuated his person into the aperture. “_Son Altesse Sérénissime_ is alone, and would thank Monsieur le Marquis for his hospitality,” he announced in a tone lugubrious enough for a judge in the black cap about to pronounce sentence. The heavy clouds on his master’s brow had not escaped his keenness of observation, and whatever happened to be his master’s mood, François loyally and unconsciously echoed it. “D--n Her Serene-Highness!” Régis growled in his mustache, and walked quickly down-stairs. How he had planned to meet Laurence he remembered not at all as he found her carelessly fingering the sheaf of roses basking in a rock-crystal vase on a little table at her side. There was an absent smile about her pretty mouth and, for the first time in his knowledge of her, a peculiarly dreamy look in her splendid eyes. She turned, however, at the slight noise of his steps on the thick rugs, and presented him with a very soft glance.