The Duc Armand de Choleaux Lasuer opened one eye and then the other. Then he shut them quickly and called for his valet de chambre, whom he cursed roundly for not seeing that there was a gap between the silken curtains of his bedroom window, a little space of which the winter sun had taken full advantage.
His grace yawned and smothered an exclamation. Then he watched with a lazy interest the sedate and black-garbed figure of his servant as he went about his duties. The brows of the duke were contracted as though in pain, which was not to be wondered at considering the time at which his grace had gone to bed. To be precise, the duke had a shocking head.
"Rémy."
"Yes, your grace."
"What o'clock is it?"
"A quarter to one, your grace."
"Then bring my letters and chocolate at a quarter past, Rémy."
Left to himself, the nobleman turned his pillow over and rested his aching head on the cool freshness and slept fitfully, until Rémy woke him and placed a little table containing a silver chocolate service by his elbow. He then pulled up the blinds, lit the fire, and entered the adjacent room to prepare his master's bath.
Duke Armand tumbled out of bed and thrust his feet into a pair of Turkish slippers and himself into a Japanese dressing-gown, and drew up a commodious arm-chair to the fire. Rémy, hearing the movement, followed noiselessly with the chocolate, beside which he now placed an ivory box of cigarettes and a spirit-lamp.
It was one of Rémy's duties, previous to brushing and folding his master's evening clothes each night, to empty the pockets en masse into a small drawer in the dressing-table. The duke was thereby enabled to piece together, by the evidence of the articles, the hazy threads of the previous evening's doings. He now drew out this drawer and emptied the assorted collection in the lap of his barbaric dressing-gown.