“You cannot pass!” cried the provost, in a voice of thunder.

“But, monsieur, I want—­”

“Ah, M. Chicot, is it you?  In the streets in this cold?” asked the officer.

“Ah, decidedly!  It must be a bet,” thought Chicot; and, bowing, he tried to pass on.

“M.  Chicot, take care!” said the provost.

“Take care of what?”

“You are going wrong; you are going toward the gates.”

“Just so.”

“Then I arrest you!”

“Not so, monsieur; you would be very wrong.”

“However—­”

“Approach, monsieur, that your soldiers may not hear.”

The man approached.

“The king has given me a commission for the lieutenant of the Porte of
Agen.”

“Ah!”

“That astonishes you?”

“Yes.”

“It ought not, since you know me.”

“I know you from having seen you at the palace with the king.”

Chicot stamped his foot impatiently.  “That should prove to you that I possess the king’s confidence.”

“Doubtless; go on, M. Chicot, and execute your commission.”

“Come,” thought Chicot, “I advance slowly, but I do advance.  Ventre de biche! here is a gate; it must be that of Agen; in five minutes I shall be out.”

He arrived at the gate, which was guarded by a sentinel walking up and down, his musket on his shoulder.

“My friend, will you open the gate for me?” said Chicot.

“I cannot, M. Chicot,” replied the man, “being only a private soldier.”

“You also know me?” cried Chicot in a rage.

“I have that honor; I was on guard at the palace this morning, and saw you talking with the king.”

“Well! my friend, the king has given me a very urgent message to convey to Agen; open the postern for me.”

“I would with pleasure, but I have not the keys.”

“And who has them?”

“The officer for the night.”

Chicot sighed.

“And where is he?”

The soldier rang a bell to wake his officer.

“What is it?” said he, passing his head through a window.

“Lieutenant, it is a gentleman who wants the gate opened.”

“Ah!  M. Chicot,” cried the officer, “I will be down in a moment.”

“What! does every one know me?” cried Chicot.  “Nerac seems a lantern, and I the candle.”

“Excuse me, monsieur,” said the officer, approaching, “but I was asleep.”

“Oh! monsieur, that is what night is made for; will you be good enough to open the door.  Unluckily, I cannot sleep, for the king, whom you doubtless also saw me talking to—­”

“Yes, I did, monsieur.”

“Of course!” growled Chicot.  “Well! the king has sent me on a commission to Agen; this is the right gate, is it not?”

“Yes, M. Chicot.”

“Will you please to have it opened?”

“Of course.  Anthenas, open the gate quickly for M. Chicot.”