productively employed with his
fingers. D'Artagnan was not deceived,--not he; and he saw at once that
if this man was working at anything, it certainly was not at velvet.

"Eh!" said he, addressing this man, "and so you have become a tailor's
boy, Monsieur Moliere!"

"Hush, M. d'Artagnan!" replied the man, softly, "you will make them
recognize me."

"Well, and what harm?"

"The fact is, there is no harm, but--"

"You were going to say there is no good in doing it either, is it not
so?"

"Alas! no; for I was occupied in examining some excellent figures."

"Go on--go on, Monsieur Moliere. I quite understand the interest you
take in the plates--I will not disturb your studies."

"Thank you."

"But on one condition; that you tell me where M. Percerin really is."

"Oh! willingly; in his own room. Only--"

"Only that one can't enter it?"

"Unapproachable."

"For everybody?"

"Everybody. He brought me here so that I might be at my ease to make my
observations, and then he went away."

"Well, my dear Monsieur Moliere, but you will go and tell him I am
here."

"I!" exclaimed Moliere, in the tone of a courageous dog, from which
you snatch the bone it has legitimately gained; "I disturb myself! Ah!
Monsieur d'Artagnan, how hard you are upon me!"

"If you don't go directly and tell M. Percerin that I am here, my dear
Moliere," said D'Artagnan, in a low tone, "I warn you of one thing: that
I won't exhibit to you the friend I have brought with me."

Moliere indicated Porthos by an imperceptible gesture, "This gentleman,
is it not?"

"Yes."

Moliere fixed upon Porthos one of those looks which penetrate the minds
and hearts of men. The subject doubtless appeared a very promising one,
for he immediately rose and led the way into the adjoining chamber.

Chapter IV. The Patterns.

During all this time the noble mob was slowly heaving away, leaving at
every angle of the counter either a murmur or a menace, as the waves
leave foam or scattered seaweed on the sands, when they retire with the
ebbing tide. In about ten minutes Moliere reappeared, making another
sign to D'Artagnan from under the hangings. The latter hurried after
him, with Porthos in the rear, and after threading a labyrinth of
corridors, introduced him to M. Percerin's room. The old man, with his
sleeves turned up, was gathering up in folds a piece of gold-flowered
brocade, so as the better to exhibit its luster. Perceiving D'Artagnan,
he pu