"I am going to the king's apartment," replied the unknown, haughtily, but
tranquilly.

The soldier called one of his eminence's officers, who, in the tone in
which a youth in office directs a solicitor to a minister, let fall these
words: "The other staircase, in front."

And the officer, without further notice of the unknown, resumed his
interrupted conversation.

The stranger, without reply, directed his steps towards the staircase
pointed out to him. On this side there was no noise, there were no more
flambeaux.

Obscurity, through which a sentinel glided like a shadow; silence, which
permitted him to hear the sound of his own footsteps, accompanied with
the jingling of his spurs upon the stone slabs.

This guard was one of the twenty musketeers appointed for attendance upon
the king, and who mounted guard with the stiffness and consciousness of a
statue.

"Who goes there?" said the guard.

"A friend," replied the unknown.

"What do you want?"

"To speak to the king."