“Yes.”

“No matter:  I must speak to him.”

“And I tell you that is impossible.”

“And yet — "

“Go back!”

“Do you require the word?”

“I have no account to render to you.  Stand back!”

And this time the soldier accompanied his word with a threatening gesture; but the unknown stirred no more than if his feet had taken root.

“Monsieur le mousquetaire,” said he, “are you a gentleman?”

“I have that honor.”

“Very well!  I also am one; and between gentlemen some consideration ought to be observed.”

The soldier lowered his arms, overcome by the dignity with which these words were pronounced.

“Speak, monsieur,” said he; “and if you ask me anything in my power — "

“Thank you.  You have an officer, have you not?”

“Our lieutenant?  Yes, monsieur.”

“Well, I wish to speak to him.”

“Oh, that’s a different thing.  Come up, monsieur.”

The unknown saluted the soldier in a lofty fashion, and ascended the staircase; whilst a cry, “Lieutenant, a visit!” transmitted from sentinel to sentinel, preceded the unknown, and disturbed the slumbers of the officer.

Dragging on his boot, rubbing his eyes, and hooking his cloak, the lieutenant made three steps towards the stranger.

“What can I do to serve you, monsieur?” asked he.

“You are the officer on duty, lieutenant of the musketeers, are you?”

“I have that honor,” replied the officer.

“Monsieur, I must absolutely speak to the king.”

The lieutenant looked attentively at the unknown, and in that look, he saw all he wished to see — that is to say, a person of high distinction in an ordinary dress.

“I do not suppose you to be mad,” replied he; “and yet you seem to me to be in a condition to know, monsieur, that people do not enter a king’s apartments in this manner without his consent.”

“He will consent.”

“Monsieur, permit me to doubt that.  The king has retired this quarter of an hour; he must be now undressing.  Besides, the word is given.”

“When he knows who I am, he will recall the word.”

The officer was more and more surprised, more and more subdued.

“If I consent to announce you, may I at least know whom to announce, monsieur?”

“You will announce His Majesty Charles II., King of England, Scotland, and Ireland.”

The officer uttered a cry of astonishment, drew back, and there might be seen upon his pallid countenance one of the most poignant emotions that ever an energetic man endeavored to drive back to his heart.

“Oh, yes, sire; in fact,” said he, “I ought to have recognized you.”

“You have seen my portrait, then?”

“No, sire.”

“Or else you have seen me formerly at court, before I was driven from France?”