Perceiving a lean, lantern-jawed young man, with straight, lank black hair, in a caped riding-coat of brown cloth, and yellow buckskin breeches, his knee-boots splashed with mud, the scowl upon that August visage deepened until it brought together the thick black eyebrows above the great hooked nose.

“You announce yourself as a lawyer of Gavrillac with an important communication,” he growled.  It was a peremptory command to make this communication without wasting the valuable time of a King’s Lieutenant, of whose immense importance it conveyed something more than a hint.  M. de Lesdiguieres accounted himself an imposing personality, and he had every reason to do so, for in his time he had seen many a poor devil scared out of all his senses by the thunder of his voice.

He waited now to see the same thing happen to this youthful lawyer from Gavrillac.  But he waited in vain.

Andre-Louis found him ridiculous.  He knew pretentiousness for the mask of worthlessness and weakness.  And here he beheld pretentiousness incarnate.  It was to be read in that arrogant poise of the head, that scowling brow, the inflexion of that reverberating voice.  Even more difficult than it is for a man to be a hero to his valet — who has witnessed the dispersal of the parts that make up the imposing whole — is it for a man to be a hero to the student of Man who has witnessed the same in a different sense.

Andre-Louis stood forward boldly — impudently, thought M. de Lesdiguieres.

“You are His Majesty’s Lieutenant here in Brittany,” he said — and it almost seemed to the August lord of life and death that this fellow had the incredible effrontery to address him as one man speaking to another.  “You are the dispenser of the King’s high justice in this province.”

Surprise spread on that handsome, sallow face under the heavily powdered wig.

“Is your business concerned with this infernal insubordination of the canaille?” he asked.

“It is not, monsieur.”

The black eyebrows rose.  “Then what the devil do you mean by intruding upon me at a time when all my attention is being claimed by the obvious urgency of this disgraceful affair?”

“The affair that brings me is no less disgraceful and no less urgent.”

“It will have to wait!” thundered the great man in a passion, and tossing back a cloud of lace from his hand, he reached for the little silver bell upon his table.

“A moment, monsieur!” Andre-Louis’ tone was peremptory.  M. de Lesdiguieres checked in sheer amazement at its impudence.  “I can state it very briefly... "

“Haven’t I said already... "

“And when you have heard it,” Andre-Louis went on, relentlessly, interrupting the interruption, “you will agree with me as to its character.”

M. de Lesdiguieres considered him very sternly.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Andre-Louis Moreau.”