“I will see Monsieur du Trémigon. But wait one moment. Before he is admitted, I wish you to go into that room, Monsieur Burnham. Leave the door open and stand behind the arras. You”—she turned to the elderly lady, who had discreetly withdrawn to the embrasure, and had been carefully studying the landscape during the interview between the Queen, Mademoiselle and myself—“Madame, will you ask the Duc de Rivau-Huet to come into the small room where Monsieur Burnham goes and wait there until I call him forth? Tell him I beg him on no account to give note of his presence until he is summoned. Now”—she turned to the equerry—“bring hither the Marquis du Trémigon.” I bowed low to Her Majesty and lower to Mademoiselle, and entered the apartment the Queen had indicated. The Duc de Rivau-Huet had evidently been waiting, for a moment later he entered under the guidance of the messenger and stood by my side. He did not know me, of course, but we bowed to each other profoundly and then waited quietly. A moment later we heard the Queen speaking. “Monsigneur du Trémigon,” she began, “you wish to see me?” “Madame, it is the constant wish of every gentleman in France.” “Prettily said, Monsieur, and, as it happens, I also wish to see you.” “Your Majesty honors me.” “You come at an opportune time, therefore.” “Any time that I can be of service to Your Majesty is opportune,” he answered—the clever villain had a glib tongue, as he had a fine taste in clothes, I could but admit. “I wish that Your Majesty,” he continued, “could give me back my remark.” “And what was that, Monsieur?” “That every woman in France might wish to see me.” “That would be an embarrassment of riches.” “I should be satisfied if the one nearest Your Majesty cherished that desire.” He shot one glance at the Countess. I could see them by moving the hangings slightly, and I didn’t scruple to look. The old Duke stood like a stone, wondering why he had been brought here, and as yet unable to comprehend the situation. “You said that you wished to see me, Monsieur?” asked the Queen, disregarding his last remark. “My desire gives place to Your Majesty’s.” “And my will claims precedence of yours, Monsieur. Proffer your petition.” “Your Majesty, I love devotedly the Comtesse de Villars. We were betrothed in childhood. The time for the carrying out of the contract our fathers made has arrived. I crave Your Majesty’s influence to persuade Mademoiselle de Villars to honor me.” There was a certain amount of truth in the rascal’s words. I wondered if he really loved her a little bit, or whether it was only to get her money. “But Mademoiselle de Villars doesn’t love you, Monsieur.” “With Your Majesty’s aid I trust I shall be able to teach her to do so.” “I fear that task is beyond you or me, Monsieur du Trémigon.” “Permit me in Your Majesty’s own interest to dispute that assertion.” “How now, Gabrielle?” said the Queen, turning to Mademoiselle.