All were asleep there, as everywhere else, only a large dog, of the race of those which the fishermen of Scheveningen harness to little carts to carry fish to the Hague, began to bark formidably as soon as the stranger’s steps were audible beneath the windows. But the watchfulness, instead of alarming the newly-landed man, appeared, on the contrary, to give him great joy, for his voice might perhaps have proved insufficient to rouse the people of the house, whilst, with an auxiliary of that sort, his voice became almost useless. The stranger waited, then, till these reiterated and sonorous barkings should, according to all probability, have produced their effect, and then he ventured a summons. On hearing his voice, the dog began to roar with such violence that another voice was soon heard from the interior, quieting the dog. With that the dog was quieted. “What do you want?” asked that voice, at the same time weak, broken, and civil. “I want his majesty King Charles II., king of England,” said the stranger. “What do you want with him?” “I want to speak to him.” “Who are you?” “Ah! Mordioux! you ask too much; I don’t like talking through doors.” “Only tell me your name.” “I don’t like to declare my name in the open air, either; besides, you may be sure I shall not eat your dog, and I hope to God he will be as reserved with respect to me.” “You bring news, perhaps, monsieur, do you not?” replied the voice, patient and querulous as that of an old man. “I will answer for it, I bring you news you little expect. Open the door, then, if you please, hein!” “Monsieur,” persisted the old man, “do you believe, upon your soul and conscience, that your news is worth waking the king?” “For God’s sake, my dear monsieur, draw your bolts; you will not be sorry, I swear, for the trouble it will give you. I am worth my weight in gold, parole d’honneur!” “Monsieur, I cannot open the door till you have told me your name.” “Must I, then?” “It is by the order of my master, monsieur.” “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.”