Sartines, released from the valet’s hands, was in the act of rising from his chair, when Dubarry was announced. The Minister of Police was in an ill temper that morning, and as the cause of his bad humour has an important bearing on our story, we will refer to it. Briefly, then, some days ago a tragedy had occurred at Luciennes. Atalanta, the King’s favourite hound, had been poisoned. Louis XV., to give him his due, had a not unkindly feeling for animals. He tolerated Mizapouff, the little dog of Madame Dubarry, that cut such quaint capers at a celebrated dinner-party, he fed the carp in the pond at Luciennes with his own royal hand—when he could find no better amusement, and he was fond of Atalanta. Besides, she was his dog, the only dog of all the dogs in France who had the entrée of his private apartments. She was on a footing with the Duc de la Vrillière, her coat had the royal arms embroidered on it, and she knew it; she was fed with minced chicken, and she had her own personal attendant. Some days ago, this aristocrat had been found in the courtyard at Luciennes, stiff and stark, poisoned by some miscreant or some mischance. The King was furious. He took it as a personal matter. Sartines was fetched over from Versailles, where he was on a visit of inspection, and Sartines had the unpleasant task of inspecting the corpse and questioning the cooks, the scullions, the chambermaids, the grooms, the gardeners—everyone, in short, who might have had a hand in the business, or who might have been able to cast some light on the affair. The result was absolute darkness and much worry for the unfortunate Sartines. The matter had become a joke at Court, and Sartines might have measured the extent to which he was hated by the way in which he was tormented. Everyone asked him about the dog, and whether he had made any further advance into the mystery; a ballad was written about it, and he received a copy. The whole business gave him more worry and caused him more irritation than any other of the numerous affairs that were always annoying and irritating him, and, to cap the business, he had received this morning a neat little parcel containing a pair of spectacles. Nothing more. The Vicomte bowed to Sartines and then, when the valet had taken his departure, plunged into the business at hand: