ng 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 looking at some excellent figures."

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

"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?"

"For 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 very promising to him,
for he immediately rose and led the way into the adjoining chamber.

CHAPTER LXXVIII.

THE PATTERNS.

During all this time the crowd was slowly rolling 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 put the
silk aside, and came to meet him, by no means radiant with joy, and by
no means courteous, but take it altogether,