When M. Pascal passed before the porter's lodge, he was challenged by that functionary, who from the depth of his armchair called: "Eh!--speak, sir, where are you going?" Either M. Pascal did not hear the porter, or he did not wish to give himself the trouble to reply, as he continued to walk toward the entrance of the palace without saying a word. The porter, forced to rise from his armchair, ran after the mute visitor, and said, impatiently: "I ask again, sir, where are you going? You can reply, can you not?" M. Pascal stopped, took a disdainful survey of his interlocutor, shrugged his shoulders, and said, as he turned again toward the entrance: "I am going--to see the archduke." The porter knew the class with which he was accustomed to deal. He could not imagine that this visitor, in a summer greatcoat and loose cravat, really had an audience with the prince, or would dare to present himself before his Highness in a costume so impertinently outside of the regulation, for all persons who had the honour of being received at the palace were usually attired in black; so taking M. Pascal for some half-witted or badly informed tradesman, he followed him, calling in a loud voice: "But sir, tradespeople who come to see his Highness do not pass by the grand staircase. Down there at the right you will see the door for tradesmen and servants by which you ought to enter." M. Pascal did not care to talk; he shrugged his shoulders again, and continued his march toward the staircase without a word. The porter, exasperated by this silence and this obstinacy, seized M. Pascal by the arm, and, speaking louder still, said: "Must I tell you again, sir, that you cannot pass that way?" "What do you mean, scoundrel?" cried M. Pascal, in a tone of contempt and anger, as if this outrage on the part of the porter was as insolent as inconceivable, "do you know to whom you are talking?" There was in these words an expression of authority so threatening, that the poor porter, frightened for a moment, stammered: "Monsieur,--I--do--not--know." The great door of the vestibule was suddenly opened. One of the aids-de-camp of the prince, having seen from the parlour window the altercation between the visitor and the porter, hastily descended the staircase, and, eagerly approaching M. Pascal, said to him in excellent French, with a sympathetic tone: "Ah, monsieur, his Royal Highness will, I am sure, be much grieved by this misunderstanding. Do me the honour to follow me; I will introduce you at once. I have just received orders from monseigneur concerning you, sir." M. Pascal bowed his head in assent, and followed the aid-de-camp, leaving the porter amazed and afflicted by his own want of address. When M. Pascal and his guide arrived in the chamber of waiting, where other officials were congregated, the young officer said: