way along a well-sheltered walk, which
crossed a kitchen-garden, then a small paddock, and came out into a
little garden behind the house, the principal front of which, as we have
already noticed, was facing the street. As they approached, they could
see, through two open windows on the ground-floor, which led into a
sitting-room, the interior of Planchet's residence. This room, softly
lighted by a lamp placed on the table, seemed, from the end of the
garden, like a smiling image of repose, comfort and happiness. In every
direction where the rays of light fell, whether upon a piece of old
china, or upon an article of furniture, shining from excessive neatness,
or upon the weapons hanging against the wall, the soft light was as
softly reflected; and its rays seemed to linger everywhere upon
something or another agreeable to the eye. The lamp which lighted the
room, while the foliage of jasmine and climbing roses hung in masses
from the window-frames, splendidly illuminated a damask table-cloth as
white as snow. The table was laid for two persons. An amber-colored wine
sparkled in the long cut-glass bottle; and a large jug of blue china,
with a silver lid, was filled with foaming cider. Near the table, in a
high-backed armchair, reclined, fast asleep, a woman of about thirty
years of age, her face the very picture of health and freshness. Upon
her knees lay a large cat, with her paws folded under her, and her eyes
half-closed, purring in that significant manner which, according to
feline habits, indicates perfect contentment. The two friends paused
before the window in complete amazement, while Planchet, perceiving
their astonishment, was, in no little degree, secretly delighted at it.

"Ah, Planchet, you rascal!" said D'Artagnan, "I now understand your
absences."

"Oh, oh! there is some white linen!" said Porthos, in his turn, in a
voice of thunder. At the sound of this voice, the cat took flight, the
housekeeper woke up suddenly, and Planchet, assuming a gracious air,
introduced his two companions into the room, where the table was already
laid.

"Permit me, my dear," he said, "to present to you, Monsieur le Chevalier
d'Artagnan, my patron." D'Artagnan took the lady's hand in his in the
most courteous manner, and with precisely the same chivalrous air as he
would have taken Madame's.

"Monsieur le Baron de Valon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds," added Planchet.
Porthos bowed with a reverence which Anne of Austria would h