No one, to have seen that man working so earnestly at the lock which was in the fast grip of that vise, would have believed him capable of exasperating a great nation into such crimes as soon left France lying, like a monster, saturated with the blood of its own children. His face was gentle and serious, a little full and heavy, perhaps, but neither wanting in dignity or character. The lace-ruffles had been loosened at his wrist, and, with the garment to which they were attached, rolled back to his elbows, revealing a strong, rounded arm, white as a woman’s, but which was sprinkled with iron-filings. Indeed, this metallic dust had fallen over the rich lace on his bosom, and glistened in dark specks among the powder of his hair. As he worked, the intricacies of the lock seemed to puzzle him; he unscrewed the vise, and examined its workmanship with great earnestness. Nothing could be more intelligent or patient than his face, as he bent over the work-bench. Again and again he attempted to fit the parts together, but something was wrong about them, and each attempt proved a failure. At last he sat down and wiped the perspiration from his face, to all appearance resigned to his defeat. He was evidently a man to suffer, to endure, but not to trample obstacles under foot. As he sat pondering thoughtfully over the disjointed lock, a servant came to the door. The king shook the iron-dust from his hands, and turned toward his coat, evidently a little ashamed of his undress. “Sire,” said the man, decorously looking downward, that he might not see what his master wished unobserved, “a man has just come from Paris, who says that De Witt is taken ill, and sends him to ask your majesty’s pleasure. He brings a written recommendation, which states that he is trustworthy, and master of his craft. Shall I send him back, or is it the royal pleasure that he should be received?” The king looked at his disjointed lock, hesitated, and at last gave orders that the mechanic from Paris should be sent up. When the door was closed, Louis began to arrange his dress with true regal pride. He would rather have been found at a disadvantage by a prince of the blood, than discovered wanting in any appendage of royalty by this strange mechanic. Directly the work-room door was opened again, and a short, stout, and almost uncouth man, presented himself before the king. He had evidently been conducted to the room by some private entrance, for his hat was left outside, and some attempt had, undoubtedly, been made to render his rude toilet presentable since his entrance into the chateau. Rude and strange as this man appeared, he was neither awkward nor abashed, but approached the work-bench, and leaning one hand upon it, waited to be addressed. There was something manly, and indicative of strength, in this attitude, which took the king by surprise; for the moment he realized that he was in the presence of one of the people.