e of a very singular
oath, which is unusual for you."

"You mean Malaga! I suppose?"

"Precisely."

"It is the oath I have used ever since I have been a grocer."

"Very proper, too; it is the name of a dried grape, or raisin, I
believe?"

"It is my most ferocious oath: when I have once said Malaga! I am a man
no longer."

"Still, I never knew you use that oath before."

"Very likely not, monsieur. I had a present made me of it," said
Planchet; and as he pronounced these words, he winked his eye with a
cunning expression, which thoroughly awakened D'Artagnan's attention.

"Come, come, M. Planchet."

"Why, I am not like you, monsieur," said Planchet. "I don't pass my life
in thinking."

"You are wrong, then."

"I mean, in boring myself to death. We have but a very short time to
live--why not make the best of it?"

"You are an Epicurean philosopher, I begin to think, Planchet."

"Why not? My hand is still as steady as ever; I can write, and can weigh
out my sugar and spices; my foot is firm; I can dance and walk about; my
stomach has its teeth still, for I eat and digest well; my heart is not
quite hardened. Well, monsieur?"

"Well, what, Planchet?"

"Why, you see--" said the grocer, rubbing his hands together.

D'Artagnan crossed one leg over the other, and said, "Planchet, my
friend, I am astounded by surprise: for you are revealing yourself to me
under a perfectly new light."

Planchet, flattered in the highest degree by this remark, continued to
rub his hands very hard together. "Ah! ah!" he said, "because I happen
to be only stupid, you think me, perhaps, a positive fool."

"Very good, Planchet; very well reasoned."

"Follow my idea, monsieur, if you please. I said to myself," continued
Planchet, "that, without enjoyment, there is no happiness on this
earth."

"Quite true, what you say, Planchet," interrupted D'Artagnan.

"At all events, if we cannot obtain pleasure--for pleasure is not so
common a thing after all--let us, at least, get consolations of some
kind or other."

"And so you console yourself?"

"Exactly so."

"Tell me how you console yourself."

"I put on a buckler for the purpose of confronting ennui. I place my
time at the direction of patience; and on the very eve of feeling I am
going to get bored, I amuse myself."

"And you don't find any difficulty in that?"

"None."

"And you found it out quite by yourself?"

"Quite so."

"It is miraculous."

"What do you