in the crook of his left arm he carried a fencing-mask, a thing of leather with a wire grating to protect the eyes.  His keen glance played over Andre-Louis from head to foot.

“Monsieur?” he inquired, politely.

It was clear that he mistook Andre-Louis’ quality, which is not surprising, for despite his sadly reduced fortunes, his exterior was irreproachable, and M. des Amis was not to guess that he carried upon his back the whole of his possessions.

“You have a notice below, monsieur,” he said, and from the swift lighting of the fencing-master’s eyes he saw that he had been correct in his assumption that applicants for the position had not been jostling one another on his threshold.  And then that flash of satisfaction was followed by a look of surprise.

“You are come in regard to that?”

Andre-Louis shrugged and half smiled.  “One must live,” said he.

“But come in.  Sit down there.  I shall be at your....  I shall be free to attend to you in a moment.”

Andre-Louis took a seat on the bench ranged against one of the whitewashed walls.  The room was long and low, its floor entirely bare.  Plain wooden forms such as that which he occupied were placed here and there against the wall.  These last were plastered with fencing trophies, masks, crossed foils, stuffed plastrons, and a variety of swords, daggers, and targets, belonging to a variety of ages and countries.  There was also a portrait of an obese, big-nosed gentleman in an elaborately curled wig, wearing the blue ribbon of the Saint Esprit, in whom Andre-Louis recognized the King.  And there was a framed parchment — M. des Amis’ certificate from the King’s Academy.  A bookcase occupied one corner, and near this, facing the last of the four windows that abundantly lighted the long room, there was a small writing-table and an armchair.  A plump and beautifully dressed young gentleman stood by this table in the act of resuming coat and wig.  M. des Amis sauntered over to him — moving, thought Andre-Louis, with extraordinary grace and elasticity — and stood in talk with him whilst also assisting him to complete his toilet.

At last the young gentleman took his departure, mopping himself with a fine kerchief that left a trail of perfume on the air.  M. des Amis closed the door, and turned to the applicant, who rose at once.

“Where have you studied?” quoth the fencing-master abruptly.

“Studied?” Andre-Louis was taken aback by the question.  “Oh, at Louis Le Grand.”

M. des Amis frowned, looking up sharply as if to see whether his applicant was taking the liberty of amusing himself.

“In Heaven’s name!  I am not asking you where you did your humanities, but in what academy you studied fencing.”

“Oh — fencing!” It had hardly ever occurred to Andre-Louis that the sword ranked seriously as a study.  “I never studied it very much.  I had some lessons in... in the country once.”