in his hand, whose glimmering light revealed the saddest picture a king
could look upon. Louis could not help saying to himself that his dream
still lasted, and that all he had to do to cause it to disappear was
to move his arms or to say something aloud; he darted from his bed, and
found himself upon the damp, moist ground. Then, addressing himself to
the man who held the lamp in his hand, he said:

"What is this, monsieur, and what is the meaning of this jest?"

"It is no jest," replied in a deep voice the masked figure that held the
lantern.

"Do you belong to M. Fouquet?" inquired the king, greatly astonished at
his situation.

"It matters very little to whom we belong," said the phantom; "we are
your masters now, that is sufficient."

The king, more impatient than intimidated, turned to the other masked
figure. "If this is a comedy," he said, "you will tell M. Fouquet that I
find it unseemly and improper, and that I command it should cease."

The second masked person to whom the king had addressed himself was a
man of huge stature and vast circumference. He held himself erect and
motionless as any block of marble. "Well!" added the king, stamping his
foot, "you do not answer!"

"We do not answer you, my good monsieur," said the giant, in a
stentorian voice, "because there is nothing to say."

"At least, tell me what you want," exclaimed Louis, folding his arms
with a passionate gesture.

"You will know by and by," replied the man who held the lamp.

"In the meantime tell me where I am."

"Look."

Louis looked all round him; but by the light of the lamp which the
masked figure raised for the purpose, he could perceive nothing but the
damp walls which glistened here and there with the slimy traces of the
snail. "Oh--oh!--a dungeon," cried the king.

"No, a subterranean passage."

"Which leads--?"

"Will you be good enough to follow us?"

"I shall not stir from hence!" cried the king.

"If you are obstinate, my dear young friend," replied the taller of the
two, "I will lift you up in my arms, and roll you up in your own cloak,
and if you should happen to be stifled, why--so much the worse for you."

As he said this, he disengaged from beneath his cloak a hand of which
Milo of Crotona would have envied him the possession, on the day when
he had that unhappy idea of rending his last oak. The king dreaded
violence, for he could well believe that the two men into whose power he
had fallen had not g