“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?” “No, sire, it is not even that.” “How then could you have recognized me, if you have never seen my portrait or my person?” “Sire, I saw his majesty your father at a terrible moment.” “The day—” “Yes.” A dark cloud passed over the brow of the prince; then, dashing his hand across it, “Do you see any difficulty in announcing me?” said he. “Sire, pardon me,” replied the officer, “but I could not imagine a king under so simple an exterior; and yet I had the honor to tell your majesty just now that I had seen Charles I. But pardon me, monsieur; I will go and inform the king.” But returning after going a few steps, “Your majesty is desirous, without doubt, that this interview should be a secret?” said he. “I do not require it; but if it were possible to preserve it—” “It is possible, sire, for I can dispense with informing the first gentleman on duty; but, for that, your majesty must please to consent to give up your sword.” “True, true; I had forgotten that no one armed is permitted to enter the chamber of a king of France.” “Your majesty will form an exception, if you wish it; but then I shall avoid my responsibility by informing the king’s attendant.”