This gentleman had risen early the morning of the day on which this history begins, and had placed himself at the window of his salon, seated upon the ledge, and leaning upon the rail of the balcony, gazing sadly but persistently on both sides of the street, watching, no doubt, for the arrival of the traveler he had mentioned to the host. In this way he had seen the little cortege of Monsieur return from hunting, then had again partaken of the profound tranquillity of the street, absorbed in his own expectations. All at once the movement of the crowd going to the meadows, couriers setting out, washers of pavement, purveyors of the royal household, gabbling, scampering shop-boys, chariots in motion, hair-dressers on the run, and pages toiling along, this tumult and bustle had surprised him, but without losing any of that impassible and supreme majesty which gives to the eagle and the lion that serene and contemptuous glance amidst the hurrahs and shouts of hunters or the curious. Soon the cries of the victims slaughtered in the poultry-yard, the hasty steps of Madame Cropole up that little wooden staircase, so narrow and so echoing; the bounding pace of Pittrino, who only that morning was smoking at the door with all the phlegm of a Dutchman; all this communicated something like surprise and agitation to the traveler. As he was rising to make inquiries, the door of his chamber opened. The unknown concluded they were about to introduce the impatiently expected traveler, and made three precipitate steps to meet him. But, instead of the person he expected, it was Master Cropole who appeared, and behind him, in the half-dark staircase, the pleasant face of Madame Cropole, rendered trivial by curiosity. She only gave one furtive glance at the handsome gentleman, and disappeared. Cropole advanced, cap in hand, rather bent than bowing. A gesture of the unknown interrogated him, without a word being pronounced. “Monsieur,” said Cropole, “I come to ask how—what ought I to say: your lordship, monsieur le comte, or monsieur le marquis?” “Say monsieur, and speak quickly,” replied the unknown, with that haughty accent which admits of neither discussion nor reply. “I came, then, to inquire how monsieur had passed the night, and if monsieur intended to keep this apartment?” “Yes.” “Monsieur, something has happened upon which we could not reckon.” “What?” “His majesty Louis XIV. will enter our city to-day, and will remain here one day, perhaps two.” Great astonishment was painted on the countenance of the unknown. “The King of France is coming to Blois?” “He is on the road, monsieur.” “Then there is the stronger reason for my remaining,” said the unknown. “Very well; but will monsieur keep all the apartments?” “I do not understand you. Why should I require less to-day than yesterday?”