The officer lounged out of the tavern door.
"Captain, M. de Mar."
"Oh, aye!" cried the captain, coming forward with brisk interest. "M. de Mar, you're the child of luck. You dine with the king."
"I am the child of bewilderment, captain."
"And you've not too much time to recover from it, M. le Comte. You are to go straight to the king."
"I may go to M. de St. Quentin's lodgings first?"
"No, monsieur; straight to the king."
"What! in my shirt?"
"I can't help it, monsieur," the captain laughed. "I suppose the king did not guess you were coming in your shirt. Anyway, his order was to fetch you direct. And direct you go. But never care. Our king's no stickler for toggery. He's known what it is himself to lack for a coat."
"I might wash my face, then."