the honor of being presented to you, sire. They are here in the antechamber."
I joined him presently, passing my arm through his. The look on his face was honey to me. We entered the antechamber in fraternal fashion. Michael beckoned, and three men came forward.
"These gentlemen," said Michael, with a stately courtesy which, to do him justice, he could assume with perfect grace and ease, "are the loyalest and most devoted of your Majesty's servants, and are my very faithful and attached friends."
"On the last ground as much as the first," said I, "I am very pleased to see them."
They came one by one and kissed my hand—De Gautet, a tall, lean fellow, with hair standing straight up and waxed mustache; Bersonin, the Belgian, a portly man of middle height with a bald head (though he was not far past thirty); and last, the Englishman, Detchard, a narrow-faced fellow, with close-cut fair hair and a bronzed complexion. He was a finely made man, broad in the shoulders and slender in the hips. A good fighter, but a crooked customer, I put him down for. I spoke
