ve me another lodging, and so they
brought me here."

"It is the private park, I think, is it not?"

"Yes."

"Where the rendezvous are made: that park, indeed, which is so
celebrated in some of those mysterious stories about the surintendant."

"I don't know; I have had no rendezvous or heard mysterious stories
myself, but they have authorized me to exercise my muscles, and I take
advantage of the permission by rooting up some of the trees."

"What for?"

"To keep my hand in, and also to take some bird's-nests; I find that
more convenient than climbing up the trees."

"You are as pastoral as Tircis, my dear Porthos."

"Yes, I like the small eggs; I like them very much better than larger
ones. You have no idea how delicate an omelette is, if made of four or
five hundred eggs of linnets, chaffinches, starlings, blackbirds and
thrushes."

"But five hundred eggs is perfectly monstrous!"

"A salad-bowl will hold them easily enough," said Porthos.

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos admiringly for full five minutes, as if he
had seen him for the first time, while Porthos spread himself out
joyously and proudly. They remained in this state several minutes,
Porthos smiling, and D'Artagnan looking at him. D'Artagnan was evidently
trying to give the conversation a new turn. "Do you amuse yourself much
here, Porthos?" he asked, at last, very likely after he had found out
what he was searching for.

"Not always."

"I can imagine that; but when you get thoroughly bored, by-and-by, what
do you intend to do?"

"Oh! I shall not be here for any length of time. Aramis is waiting until
the last bump on my head disappears, in order to present me to the king,
who I am told cannot endure the sight of a bump."

"Aramis is still in Paris, then?"

"No."

"Whereabouts is he, then?"

"At Fontainebleau."

"Alone?"

"With M. Fouquet."

"Very good. But do you happen to know one thing?"

"No, tell it me, and then I shall know."

"Well, then, I think that Aramis is forgetting you."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes; for at Fontainebleau yonder, you must know, they are laughing,
dancing, banqueting and drawing the corks of M. de Mazarin's wine in
fine style. Are you aware that they have a ballet every evening there?"

"The deuce they have!"

"I assure you that your dear Aramis is forgetting you."

"Well, that is not at all unlikely, and I have myself thought so
sometimes."

"Unless he is playing you a trick, the sly fe