But the careless manner in which he doubled up and thrust away the paper on which I had spent so much labour, no less than the covert sneer of his valet, who ran after me to get the customary present--and ran, as I still blush to remember, in vain--warned me to refrain from hope.
In this, however, having little save hope left, I failed so signally as to spend the next day and the day after in a fever of alternate confidence and despair, the cold fit following the hot with perfect regularity.

At length, on the morning of the third day--I remember it lacked but three of Christmas--I heard a step on the stairs.

My landlord living in his shop, and the two intervening floors being empty, I had no doubt the message was for me, and went outside the door to receive it, my first glance at the messenger confirming me in my highest hopes, as well as in all I had ever heard of the generosity of the King of Navarre.

For by chance I knew the youth to be one of the royal pages; a saucy fellow who had a day or two before cried 'Old Clothes' after me in the street.

I was very far from resenting this now, however, nor did he appear to recall it; so that I drew the happiest augury as to the contents of the note he bore from the politeness with which he presented it to me.
I would not, however, run the risk of a mistake, and before holding out my hand, I asked him directly and with formality if it was for me.
He answered, with the utmost respect, that it was for the Sieur de Marsac, and for me if I were he.
'There is an answer, perhaps ?' I said, seeing that he lingered.
'The King of Navarre, sir,' he replied, with a low bow, 'will receive your answer in person, I believe.' And with that, replacing the hat which he had doffed out of respect to me, he turned and went down the stairs.
Returning to my room, and locking the door, I hastily opened the missive, which was sealed with a large seal, and wore every appearance of importance.