Asimov's Foundation

Sub-prefect Anselm received the cheers with the complaisant indifference of a soldier and a nobleman.

The ground car that received them then – preceded, flanked, and followed by the suitable cloud of minor functionaries – proceeded in a slow, ceremonious manner to Cyclopedia Square, cheered on its way by a properly enthusiastic crowd.

if Hardin noted the barest bulge at Haut Rodric's shoulder, he prudently said nothing.

With a tight smile and a low bow, the sub-prefect had flipped his blaster from its holster and presented it to Hardin butt first. Hardin returned the compliment with, a blaster specifically borrowed for the occasion. Friendship and good will were thus established

Anselm haut Rodric – "haut" itself signifying noble blood -Sub-prefect of Pluema and Envoy Extraordinary of his Highness of Anacreon- plus half a dozen other titles was met by Salvor Hardin at the spaceport with all the imposing ritual of a state occasion.

Hardin stood up, and shoved his chair back up against the desk. "I give you one guess." And he left – quite unceremoniously.

"An envoy? Here? From Anacreon?" Pirenne chewed that. "What for?"