bstantial meal, and a meal into a
regular feast. Fresh butter, salt beef, anchovies, tunny, a shopful of
Planchet's commodities, fowls, vegetables, salad, fish from the pond and
the river, game from the forest--all the produce, in fact, of the
province. Moreover, Planchet returned from the cellar, laden with ten
bottles of wine, the glass of which could hardly be seen for the thick
coating of dust which covered them. Porthos' heart seemed to expand as
he said, "I am hungry;" and he sat himself beside Madame Truechen, whom
he looked at in the most killing manner. D'Artagnan seated himself on
the other side of her, while Planchet, discreetly and full of delight,
took his seat opposite.

"Do not trouble yourselves," he said, "if Truechen should leave the table
now and then during supper; for she will have to look after your
bedrooms."

In fact, the housekeeper made her escape very frequently, and they could
hear, on the first floor above them, the creaking of the wooden
bedsteads and the rolling of the castors on the floor. While this was
going on, the three men, Porthos especially, ate and drank
gloriously--it was wonderful to see them. The ten full bottles were ten
empty ones by the time Truechen returned with the cheese. D'Artagnan
still preserved his dignity and self-possession, but Porthos had lost a
portion of his; the mirth soon began to be somewhat uproarious.
D'Artagnan recommended a new descent into the cellar, and, as Planchet
did not walk with the steadiness of a well-trained foot-soldier, the
captain of the musketeers proposed to accompany him. They set off,
humming song's wild enough to frighten anybody who might be listening.
Truechen remained behind at table with Porthos. While the two wine
bibbers were looking behind the firewood for what they wanted, a sharp,
sonorous sound was heard like the impression of a pair of lips on a
cheek.

"Porthos fancies himself at La Rochelle," thought D'Artagnan, as they
returned freighted with bottles. Planchet was singing so loudly that he
was incapable of noticing anything. D'Artagnan, whom nothing ever
escaped, remarked how much redder Truechen's left cheek was than her
right. Porthos was sitting on Truechen's left, and was curling with both
his hands both sides of his mustache at once, and Truechen was looking at
him with a most bewitching smile. The sparkling wine of Anjou very soon
produced a remarkable effect upon the three companions. D'Artagnan had
hardly stre