"Is there any one in here?" Le Cabuc shouted. But nothing stirred, and so he seized a musket and began hammering the door with the butt end. It was an old, low, narrow, solid door, made of oak, lined with sheet iron inside and a heavy bar, and a thorough postern gate. The blows made the whole house tremble, but did not shake the door. The inmates, however, were probably alarmed, for a little square trap window was at length lit up and opened on the third story, and a candle and the gray-haired head of a terrified old man, who was the porter, appeared in the orifice. The man who was knocking left off.
"What do you want, gentlemen?" the porter asked.
"Open the door!" said Le Cabuc.
"I cannot, gentlemen."
"Open, I tell you!"
"It is impossible, gentlemen."
Le Cabuc raised his musket and took aim at the porter, but as he was below and it was very dark the porter did not notice the fact.
"Will you open? Yes or no."
"No, gentlemen."
"You really mean it?"