aken him for a farmer's son upon a journey had it not
been for the long sword which, dangling from a leather baldric, hit
against the calves of its owner as he walked, and against the rough side
of his steed when he was on horseback.

For our young man had a steed which was the observed of all observers.
It was a Bearn pony, from twelve to fourteen years old, yellow in his
hide, without a hair in his tail, but not without windgalls on his legs,
which, though going with his head lower than his knees, rendering a
martingale quite unnecessary, contrived nevertheless to perform his
eight leagues a day. Unfortunately, the qualities of this horse were
so well concealed under his strange-colored hide and his unaccountable
gait, that at a time when everybody was a connoisseur in horseflesh, the
appearance of the aforesaid pony at Meung--which place he had entered
about a quarter of an hour before, by the gate of Beaugency--produced an
unfavorable feeling, which extended to his rider.

And this feeling had been more painfully perceived by young
d'Artagnan--for so was the Don Quixote of this second Rosinante
named--from his not being able to conceal from himself the ridiculous
appearance that such a steed gave him, good horseman as he was. He had
sighed deeply, therefore, when accepting the gift of the pony from M.
d'Artagnan the elder. He was not ignorant that such a beast was worth
at least twenty livres; and the words which had accompanied the present
were above all price.

"My son," said the old Gascon gentleman, in that pure Bearn PATOIS of
which Henry IV could never rid himself, "this horse was born in the
house of your father about thirteen years ago, and has remained in it
ever since, which ought to make you love it. Never sell it; allow it to
die tranquilly and honorably of old age, and if you make a campaign with
it, take as much care of it as you would of an old servant. At court,
provided you have ever the honor to go there," continued M. d'Artagnan
the elder, "--an honor to which, remember, your ancient nobility gives
you the right--sustain worthily your name of gentleman, which has been
worthily borne by your ancestors for five hundred years, both for your
own sake and the sake of those who belong to you. By the latter I mean
your relatives and friends. Endure nothing from anyone except Monsieur
the Cardinal and the king. It is by his courage, please observe, by
his courage alone, that a gentleman can make his way