ight, D'Artagnan; Mouston will do; Mouston has a
very fine appearance."

D'Artagnan smiled.

"But you, my friend--are you not going to change your dress?"

"No, I shall go as I am. This traveling dress will serve to show the
cardinal my haste to obey his commands."

They set out on Vulcan and Bayard, followed by Mousqueton on Phoebus,
and arrived at the Palais Royal at about a quarter to seven. The streets
were crowded, for it was the day of Pentecost, and the crowd looked in
wonder at these two cavaliers; one as fresh as if he had come out of a
bandbox, the other so covered with dust that he looked as if he had but
just come off a field of battle.

Mousqueton also attracted attention; and as the romance of Don Quixote
was then the fashion, they said that he was Sancho, who, after having
lost one master, had found two.

On reaching the palace, D'Artagnan sent to his eminence the letter in
which he had been ordered to return without delay. He was soon ordered
to the presence of the cardinal.

"Courage!" he whispered to Porthos, as they proceeded. "Do not be
intimidated. Believe me, the eye of the eagle is closed forever. We have
only the vulture to deal with. Hold yourself as bolt upright as on
the day of the bastion of St. Gervais, and do not bow too low to this
Italian; that might give him a poor idea of you."

"Good!" answered Porthos. "Good!"

Mazarin was in his study, working at a list of pensions and benefices,
of which he was trying to reduce the number. He saw D'Artagnan
and Porthos enter with internal pleasure, yet showed no joy in his
countenance.

"Ah! you, is it? Monsieur le lieutenant, you have been very prompt. 'Tis
well. Welcome to ye."

"Thanks, my lord. Here I am at your eminence's service, as well as
Monsieur du Vallon, one of my old friends, who used to conceal his
nobility under the name of Porthos."

Porthos bowed to the cardinal.

"A magnificent cavalier," remarked Mazarin.

Porthos turned his head to the right and to the left, and drew himself
up with a movement full of dignity.

"The best swordsman in the kingdom, my lord," said D'Artagnan.

Porthos bowed to his friend.

Mazarin was as fond of fine soldiers as, in later times, Frederick of
Prussia used to be. He admired the strong hands, the broad shoulders and
the steady eye of Porthos. He seemed to see before him the salvation of
his administration and of the kingdom, sculptured in flesh and bone. He
remembered that the ol