rdinary about the fellow's livery. Put your
servants into pale orange with silver lace. Assume your old crest of
Mortemart, and as regards name, I will buy you an estate with a pretty
title."

"But I don't like pale orange," I instantly replied; "if I may, I should
like to choose dark blue, and gold lace, and as regards crest, I cannot
adopt my father's crest, except in lozenge form, which could not
seriously be done. As it is your gracious intention to give me the name
of an estate, give me (for to you everything is easy) a duchy like La
Valliere, or, better still, a principality."

The King smiled, and answered, "It shall be done, madame, as you wish."

The very, next day I went into Paris to acquaint my lawyer with my
intentions. Several magnificent estates were just then in the market,
but only marquisates, counties, or baronies! Nothing illustrious,
nothing remarkable! Duhamel assured me that the estate of Chabrillant,
belonging to a spendthrift, was up for sale.

"That," said he, "is a sonorous name, the brilliant renown of which would
only be enhanced by the title of princess."

Duhamel promised to see all his colleagues in this matter, and to find me
what I wanted without delay.

I quitted Paris without having met or recognised anybody, when, about
twenty paces at the most beyond the Porte Saint Honor, certain sergeants
or officials of some sort roughly stopped my carriage and seized my
horses' bridles "in the King's name."

"In the King's name?" I cried, showing myself at the coach door.

"Insolent fellows! How dare you thus take the King's name in vain?" At
the same time I told my coachman to whip up his horses with the reins and
to drive over these vagabonds. At a word from me the three footmen
jumped down and did their duty by dealing out lusty thwacks to the
sergeants. A crowd collected, and townsfolk and passers-by joined in the
fray.

A tall, fine-looking man, wrapped in a dressing-gown, surveyed the tumult
like a philosopher from his balcony overhead. I bowed graciously to him
and besought him to come down. He came, and in sonorous accents
exclaimed:

"Ho, there! serving-men of my lady, stop fighting, will you? And pray,
sergeants, what is your business?"

"It is a disgrace," cried they all, as with one breath. "Madame lets her
scoundrelly footmen murder us, despite the name of his Majesty, which we
were careful to utter at the outset of things. Madame is a person (as
everyb