He had risen at my knock, and was standing in the light of the window.  He was dressed in a dark suit, very plain, yet of very rich stuff, and had laid his periwig aside, so that I could see his features.  He was a dark secret-looking man with his eyes set near together, and with a lip so short that it seemed as if he sneered; he stooped a little too.  Yet I am bound to say that his manner was perfection itself.

“Mr. Chiffinch,” I said.  And at that he bowed.

“I am Mr. Roger Mallock,” I said; “and I was bidden to come here at this hour.”

“I am honoured to meet you, Mr. Mallock,” he said.  “I have had His Majesty’s instructions very particular in your regard.  I am ashamed that you should find me so unready; but I will not keep you above five minutes, if you will sit down for a little.”

He made haste to set me a chair near the window; and with another apology or two he went out of a second door.  The room in which he left me was like the suit that he wore—­in that it was both plain and rich.  There were three or four chairs with arms; a table, with twisted legs, on which lay a great heap of papers and a pair of candlesticks:  and there was a tall lightly-carved press, with locks, between the windows.  The walls were plain, with a few good engravings hung upon them.  I went up to examine one, and found it to be a new one, by Faithorne.

Now that I was drawing so near to the King, I found my apprehensions returning upon me, for half my success, I knew, if not all, turned upon the manner I first shewed to him.  I knew very well that I could bear myself with sufficient address; but sufficient address was not all that was needed:  I must so act that His Majesty would remember me afterwards, and with pleasure.  Yet how was I to ensure this?

As I was so thinking to myself, Mr. Chiffinch came in again, having, with marvellous speed, changed his suit into one of brown velvet, with a great black periwig, from which his sharp face looked out like a ferret from a hole.

“I must ask your pardon, Mr. Mallock,” he said, as I stood up to meet him, “again and again; but I have scarcely an hour to myself day or night.  Duty treads on the heels of duty all day long.  But we have still time:  His Majesty does not expect us till half-past five.”

I made the usual compliments and answers, to which he bowed again; and then, as I thought he would, he began upon what was not his business—­at least I thought not then.

“You are come from Rome, I hear.  I trust that His Holiness was in good health?”

“The reports were excellent,” I said, determined not to be taken in this way.

“You have seen His Holiness lately, no doubt?”

“It was the French and Spanish ambassadors,” I said, “who gave me my letters.  A poor gentleman like myself does not see the Holy Father once in a twelvemonth.”

He seemed contented with that; and I think he put me down as something of a well-bred simpleton, which was precisely what I wished him to think; for his manner changed a little.