ton, of course."

This was a blow to D'Artagnan. He could already see the intendant's
beaming smile change to a contortion of grief. "But," he said, "Mouston
is not so young as he was, my dear fellow; besides, he has grown fat and
perhaps has lost his fitness for active service."

"That may be true," replied Porthos; "but I am used to him, and besides,
he wouldn't be willing to let me go without him, he loves me so much."

"Oh, blind self-love!" thought D'Artagnan.

"And you," asked Porthos, "haven't you still in your service your old
lackey, that good, that brave, that intelligent---what, then, is his
name?"

"Planchet--yes, I have found him again, but he is lackey no longer."

"What is he, then?"

"With his sixteen hundred francs--you remember, the sixteen hundred
francs he earned at the siege of La Rochelle by carrying a letter to
Lord de Winter--he has set up a little shop in the Rue des Lombards and
is now a confectioner."

"Ah, he is a confectioner in the Rue des Lombards! How does it happen,
then, that he is in your service?"

"He has been guilty of certain escapades and fears he may be disturbed."
And the musketeer narrated to his friend Planchet's adventure.

"Well," said Porthos, "if any one had told you in the old times that the
day would come when Planchet would rescue Rochefort and that you would
protect him in it----"

"I should not have believed him; but men are changed by events."

"There is nothing truer than that," said Porthos; "but what does not
change, or changes for the better, is wine. Taste of this; it is a
Spanish wine which our friend Athos thought much of."

At that moment the steward came in to consult his master upon the
proceedings of the next day and also with regard to the shooting party
which had been proposed.

"Tell me, Mouston," said Porthos, "are my arms in good condition?"

"Your arms, my lord--what arms?"

"Zounds! my weapons."

"What weapons?"

"My military weapons."

"Yes, my lord; at any rate, I think so."

"Make sure of it, and if they want it, have them burnished up. Which is
my best cavalry horse?"

"Vulcan."

"And the best hack?"

"Bayard."

"What horse dost thou choose for thyself?"

"I like Rustaud, my lord; a good animal, whose paces suit me."

"Strong, thinkest thou?"

"Half Norman, half Mecklenburger; will go night and day."

"That will do for us. See to these horses. Polish up or make some one
else polish my arms. Then take pistols