'I have given my name twice already, monsieur,' I answered. 'I am the Chevalier d'Auriac, and as for my business it is of vital import, and is for Monseigneur's ear alone—you will, therefore, excuse me if I decline to mention it to you.'
Ivoy bowed. 'It will come to me in its own good time, monsieur. Will you be seated? I will deliver your message to the duke; but I am afraid it will be of little use.'
'I take the risk. Monsieur d'Ivoy.'
'But not the rating, chevalier,' and the secretary, with a half-smile on his face, went out and left me to myself. In a few minutes he returned.
'The duke will see you, monsieur—this way, please.'
'Pardieu!' I muttered to myself as I followed Ivoy, 'he keeps as much state as if he were the chancellor himself. However, I have a relish for Monseigneur's soup.'
Ivoy led the way up a winding staircase of oak, so old that it was black as ebony, and polished as glass. At the end of this was a landing, where a couple of lackeys were lounging on a bench before a closed door. They sprang up at our approach, and Ivoy tapped gently at the door.
'Come in,' was the answer, given in a cold voice, and the next moment we were in the room.
'Monsieur le Chevalier d'Auriac,' and Ivoy had presented me.
Sully inclined his head frigidly to my bow, and then motioned to Ivoy to retire. When we were alone, he turned to me with a brief 'Well?'