nothing. I shall not satisfy your curiosity."

Mr. Niclas still stood at the door of the stage. His demand had not
been attended to; he repeated it for the third time.

"Is it customary here to demand passports of travellers?" asked a
commanding voice from the stage.

Niclas, and taking the two mysterious cases from the stage, he
placed them before the strangers.

"Let us go into the house," whispered the king to his friends. "We
must make bonne mine a mauvais jeu," and he approached the door of
the house--there stood the wife of the postmaster, with sparkling
eyes and a malicious grin.

"The postilion is going, and you will lose your money," she said,
"they never return money when once they have it."

"Ah! I thought that was only a habit of the church," said the king,
laughing. "Nevertheless, the postmaster can keep what he has. Will
you have the kindness to show me a room, where I can open my bag at
leisure, and send some coffee and good wine to us?"

There was something so commanding in the king's voice, so imposing
in his whole appearance, that even the all-conquering Madame Niclas
felt awed, and she silently stepped forward and showed him her best
room. The servant followed with the two cases and the bag, and laid
them upon the table, then placed himself at the door.