“Well, my name is — but, I warn you, my name will tell you absolutely nothing.”

“Never mind, tell it, notwithstanding.”

“Well, I am the Chevalier d’Artagnan.”

The voice uttered an exclamation.

“Oh! good heavens!” said a voice on the other side of the door.  “Monsieur d’Artagnan.  What happiness!  I could not help thinking I knew that voice.”

“Humph!” said D’Artagnan.  “My voice is known here!  That’s flattering.”

“Oh! yes, we know it,” said the old man, drawing the bolts; “and here is the proof.”  And at these words he let in D’Artagnan, who, by the light of the lantern he carried in his hand, recognized his obstinate interlocutor.

“Ah! Mordioux!” cried he:  “why, it is Parry!  I ought to have known that.”

“Parry, yes, my dear Monsieur d’Artagnan, it is I. What joy to see you once again!”

“You are right there, what joy!” said D’Artagnan, pressing the old man’s hand.  “There, now you’ll go and inform the king, will you not?”

“But the king is asleep, my dear monsieur.”

“Mordioux! then wake him.  He won’t scold you for having disturbed him, I will promise you.”

“You come on the part of the count, do you not?”

“The Comte de la Fere?”

“From Athos?”

“Ma foi! no; I come on my own part.  Come, Parry, quick!  The king — I want the king.”

Parry did not think it his duty to resist any longer; he knew D’Artagnan of old; he knew that, although a Gascon, his words never promised more than they could stand to.  He crossed a court and a little garden, appeased the dog, that seemed most anxious to taste of the musketeer’s flesh, and went to knock at the window of a chamber forming the ground-floor of a little pavilion.  Immediately a little dog inhabiting that chamber replied to the great dog inhabiting the court.

“Poor king!” said D’Artagnan to himself, “these are his body-guards.  It is true he is not the worse guarded on that account.”

“What is wanted with me?” asked the king, from the back of the chamber.

“Sire, it is M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan, who brings you some news.”

A noise was immediately heard in the chamber, a door was opened, and a flood of light inundated the corridor and the garden.  The king was working by the light of a lamp.  Papers were lying about upon his desk, and he had commenced the first copy of a letter which showed, by the numerous erasures, the trouble he had had in writing it.

“Come in, monsieur le chevalier,” said he, turning around.  Then perceiving the fisherman, “What do you mean, Parry?  Where is M. le Chevalier d’Artagnan?” asked Charles.

“He is before you, sire,” said M. d’Artagnan.

“What, in that costume?”

“Yes; look at me, sire; do you not remember having seen me at Blois, in the ante-chamber of King Louis XIV.?”