The Maréchal was a man of middle life with an appearance denoting great pride and energy. He wore a white and scarlet brocade dressing-gown over black breeches and waistcoat of the extreme of fashion; his feet and legs were bandaged to the knee; the upper part of his person glittered with jewels--in the seals at his watch-chain, in the heavy lace at his throat, and on his strong, smooth fingers. His face was unnaturally pale and expressed a cold despair; his full brown eyes stared in absorbed trouble across the beautiful little room; and in his right hand he tightly grasped a letter from which swung the seals of France. He moved his head with a quick breath as his valet open the door and announced-- “Monsieur le Duc de Broglie.” M. de Belleisle compressed his lips and his head sank back on the pillows again. M. de Broglie entered; the door closed behind him; he bowed and crossed to the fire. “Be seated,” said the Maréchal, with a bitter kind of courtesy. M. de Broglie brought his handkerchief to his lips with a little cough. He was splendidly attired in full uniform, but wore his bright chestnut hair unpowdered and tied with a turquoise ribbon. He was by some years younger than the Maréchal and a man of great charm in his appearance. “You have heard from Paris?” he asked, glancing at the letter the other held. “From M. de Fleury, Monsieur?” As he named the Minister who guided the affairs of France the Maréchal groaned. “From M. de Fleury?” he repeated, and looked sternly at the careless figure of M. de Broglie. He, the Maréchal de Belleisle, restless, ambitious, capable, confident, had planned this war. It was he who, dazzled by visions of acquiring for France a large portion of the possessions of the seemingly helpless Queen of Hungary, had travelled from court to court of the little states of Germany animating them against Maria Theresa; it was he who had persuaded Cardinal Fleury to offer the alliance of France to Frederick of Prussia when that prince seized Silesia; and it was he who had marched the French auxiliaries across the Rhine and successfully counter-moved Prince Lobkowitz and his Hungarians during several months of uneventful warfare. From the first he had never liked M. de Broglie; his feeling became bitter contempt when his illness left M. de Broglie in command and that General’s first action was to allow himself and almost the entire French force to be cornered in Prague. M. de Belleisle, though unable to stand or ride, had insisted on being carried into the city and reassuming his authority. Since then the relations of the two, in their open enmity, had been matter for comment to the whole army. M. de Broglie saw, however, to-night a stronger passion than aversion to himself in the Maréchal’s haggard face--saw, indeed, an expression that caused him to check the careless courtesies with which he was generally ready to vex his superior.