As Garnache's tall figure loomed before him he let the girl go and turned a half-laughing, half-startled face upon the intruder.
"Who the devil may you be ?" he inquired, and a brown eye, rakish and roving in its glance, played briskly over the Parisian, whilst Garnache himself returned the compliment, and calmly surveyed this florid gentleman of middle height with the fair hair and regular features.
The girl scurried by and darted from the room, dodging the smiting hand which the host raised as she flew past him.

The Parisian felt his gorge rising.

Was this the sort of fever that had kept Monsieur le Marquis at La Rochette, whilst mademoiselle was suffering in durance at Condillac?
His last night's jealous speculations touching a man he did not know had leastways led him into no exaggeration.

He found just such a man as he had pictured--a lightly-loving, pleasure-taking roysterer, with never a thought beyond the amusement which the hour afforded him.
With curling lip Garnache bowed stiffly, and in a cold, formal voice he announced himself.
"My name is Martin Marie Rigobert de Garnache.

I am an emissary dispatched from Paris by her Majesty the Queen-mother to procure the enlargement of Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye from the durance in which she is held by madame your stepmother." The pleasant gentleman's eyebrows went up; a smile that was almost insolent broke on his face.
"That being so, monsieur, why the devil are you here ?" "I am here, monsieur," answered him Garnache, throwing back his head, his nostrils quivering, "because you are not at Condillac." The tone was truculent to the point of defiance, for despite the firm resolve he had taken last night never again to let his temper overmaster him, already Garnache's self-control was slipping away.
The Marquis noted the tone, and observed the man.