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se? Take it off; take it off, man! Get me the coat that came last month from Paris--the yellow one with the hanging sleeves and the gold buttons, and a sash--the crimson sash I had from Taillemant. Can you move no quicker, animal? Are you still here?" Anselme, thus enjoined, lent an unwonted alacrity to his movements, waddling grotesquely like a hastening waterfowl. Between him and the secretary they dressed my Lord the Seneschal, and decked him out till he was fit to compare with a bird of paradise for gorgeousness of colouring if not for harmony of hues and elegance of outline. Babylas held the mirror, and Anselme adjusted the Seneschal's wig, whilst Tressan himself twisted his black mustachios--how they kept their colour was a mystery to his acquaintance--and combed the tuft of beard that sprouted from one of his several chins. He took a last look at his reflection, rehearsed a smile, and bade Anselme introduce his visitor. He desired his secretary to go to the devil, but, thinking better of it, he recalled him as he reached the door. His cherished vanity craved expression. "Wait!" said he. "There is a letter must be written. The King's business may not suffer postponement--not for all the dowagers in France. Sit down." Babylas obeyed him. Tressan stood with his back to the open door. His ears, strained to listen, had caught the swish of a woman's gown. He cleared his throat, and began to dictate: "To Her Majesty the Queen-Regent--" He paused, and stood with knitted brows, deep in thought. Then he ponderously repeated--"To Her Majesty the Queen Regent--Have you got that?" "Yes, Monsieur le Comte. 'To Her Majesty the Queen Regent.'" There was a step, and a throat-clearing cough behind him. "Monsieur de Tressan," said a woman's voice, a rich, melodious voice, if haughty and arrogant of intonation. On the instant he turned, advanced a step, and bowed. "Your humblest servant, madame," said he, his hand upon his heart. "This is an honour which--" "Which necessity thrusts upon you," she broke in imperiously. "Dismiss that fellow." The secretary, pale and shy, had risen. His eyes dilated at the woman's speech. He looked for a catastrophe as the natural result of her taking such a tone with this man who was the terror of his household and of all Grenoble. Instead, the Lord Seneschal's meekness left him breathless with surprise. "He is my secretary, madame. We were at work as you came. I was on
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