Although this house, as we said, was a hostelry, its owner did not admit everybody who proposed to lodge there; on the contrary, he was very difficult in the choice of his guests, asserting, rightly or wrongly, that a hostelry, which had been honoured on several occasions by the presence of the King and the Cardinal Minister, must not serve as an asylum either for vagabonds or nightbirds. In order to justify the right he claimed, the landlord had, a few months previously, had the arms of France daubed on a metal plate by a strolling painter, and inscribed under it in golden letters--"_The Court of France._" This sign he put up over his door. This inn enjoyed a great reputation, not only in the country, but in all the surrounding provinces, and even as far as Paris--a reputation, we are bound to add, well deserved, for if mine host was particular in the choice of his lodgers, when the latter had succeeded in gaining admission he treated them, men and beasts, with a peculiar care, that had something paternal about it. Although it was getting on for the end of March, and, according to the almanac, 'Spring had begun some days previously,' the cold was nipping, the rime-laden trees stood out sadly against the leaden sky, and a thick, hardened layer of snow covered the ground for some depth. Although it was about ten o'clock at night, it was light, and the moon, floating in russet clouds, profusely shed her sickly beams, which rendered it almost as light as day. All were asleep in the village, or, at least, seemed to be so; the _Court of France_ alone emitted a light through its ground floor barred windows, which proved that somebody was still up there. Still, the inn did not offer shelter to any traveller. All those who during the day, and since nightfall, had presented themselves, had been mercilessly turned away by the landlord, a stout man, with a rubicund face, intelligent features, and a crafty smile, who was walking at this moment with an air of preoccupation up and down his immense kitchen, every now and then casting an absent glance at the preparations for supper, one portion of which was roasting before a colossal fireplace, whilst the rest was being got ready by a master cook and several assistants. A middle-aged, short, plump woman, suddenly burst into the kitchen, and addressed the landlord, who had turned round at the noise. "Is it true," she asked, "Master Pivois, that you have ordered the dais room to be got ready, as Mariette declares?" Master Pivois drew himself up. "What did Mariette tell you?" he enquired, sternly. "Well, she told me to prepare the best bedroom." "Which is the best bedroom, Dame Tiphaine?" "The dais room, master, since it is the one in which His Majesty--" "In that case," mine host interrupted her, in a peremptory tone, "prepare the dais room."