t the silk aside, and came to meet him, by no means radiant with
joy, and by no means courteous, but, take it altogether, in a tolerably
civil manner.

"The captain of the king's musketeers will excuse me, I am sure, for I
am engaged."

"Eh! yes, on the king's costumes; I know that, my dear Monsieur
Percerin. You are making three, they tell me."

"Five, my dear sir, five."

"Three or five, 'tis all the same to me, my dear monsieur; and I know
that you will make them most exquisitely."

"Yes, I know. Once made they will be the most beautiful in the world,
I do not deny it; but that they may be the most beautiful in the word,
they must first be made; and to do this, captain, I am pressed for
time."

"Oh, bah! there are two days yet; 'tis much more than you require,
Monsieur Percerin," said D'Artagnan, in the coolest possible manner.

Percerin raised his head with the air of a man little accustomed to be
contradicted, even in his whims; but D'Artagnan did not pay the least
attention to the airs which the illustrious tailor began to assume.

"My dear M. Percerin," he continued, "I bring you a customer."

"Ah! ah!" exclaimed Percerin, crossly.

"M. le Baron du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds," continued
D'Artagnan. Percerin attempted a bow, which found no favor in the eyes
of the terrible Porthos, who, from his first entry into the room, had
been regarding the tailor askance.

"A very good friend of mine," concluded D'Artagnan.

"I will attend to monsieur," said Percerin, "but later."

"Later? but when?"

"When I have time."

"You have already told my valet as much," broke in Porthos,
discontentedly.

"Very likely," said Percerin; "I am nearly always pushed for time."

"My friend," returned Porthos, sententiously, "there is always time to
be found when one chooses to seek it."

Percerin turned crimson; an ominous sign indeed in old men blanched by
age.

"Monsieur is quite at liberty to confer his custom elsewhere."

"Come, come, Percerin," interposed D'Artagnan, "you are not in a good
temper to-day. Well, I will say one more word to you, which will bring
you on your knees; monsieur is not only a friend of mine, but more, a
friend of M. Fouquet's."

"Ah! ah!" exclaimed the tailor, "that is another thing." Then turning
to Porthos, "Monsieur le baron is attached to the superintendent?" he
inquired.

"I am attached to myself," shouted Porthos, at the very moment that the
tapestry was raised to int