“I have heard this, Monsieur, but I have an affair—­”

“It is lucky for you he stopped short in the middle of your career.”

“An affair of honor—­”

“Whereas Mazarin is quite a friend of yours.”

“But will you, or will you not, listen to me?”

“Yes, a friend indeed! your adventures are always uppermost in his thoughts.  Your fine duel with Monsieur de Coutenan about the pretty little pin-maker,—­he even spoke of it to the King.  Adieu, my dear Abbe, we are in great haste; adieu, adieu!” And, taking his friend’s arm, the young mocker, without listening to another word, walked rapidly down the gallery and disappeared in the throng.

The poor Abbe was much mortified at being able to get only one second, and was watching sadly the passing of the hour and of the crowd, when he perceived a young gentleman whom he did not know, seated at a table, leaning on his elbow with a pensive air; he wore mourning which indicated no connection with any great house or party, and appeared to await, without any impatience, the time for attending the King, looking with a heedless air at those who surrounded him, and seeming not to notice or to know any of them.

Gondi looked at him a moment, and accosted him without hesitation: 

“Monsieur, I have not the honor of your acquaintance, but a fencing-party can never be unpleasant to a man of honor; and if you will be my second, in a quarter of an hour we shall be on the ground.  I am Paul de Gondi; and I have challenged Monsieur de Launay, one of the Cardinal’s clique, but in other respects a very gallant fellow.”

The unknown, apparently not at all surprised at this address, replied, without changing his attitude:  “And who are his seconds?”

“Faith, I don’t know; but what matters it who serves him?  We stand no worse with our friends for having exchanged a thrust with them.”

The stranger smiled nonchalantly, paused for an instant to pass his hand through his long chestnut hair, and then said, looking idly at a large, round watch which hung at his waist: 

“Well, Monsieur, as I have nothing better to do, and as I have no friends here, I am with you; it will pass the time as well as anything else.”

And, taking his large, black-plumed hat from the table, he followed the warlike Abbe, who went quickly before him, often running back to hasten him on, like a child running before his father, or a puppy that goes backward and forward twenty times before it gets to the end of a street.

Meanwhile, two ushers, attired in the royal livery, opened the great curtains which separated the gallery from the King’s tent, and silence reigned.  The courtiers began to enter slowly, and in succession, the temporary dwelling of the Prince.  He received them all gracefully, and was the first to meet the view of each person introduced.