“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.”