ho was not quite so indifferent to the
good things of the earth as Athos, "do you remember, when we were at
Parpaillot, the beautiful oysters that we ate?"

"And the legs of mutton of the salt marshes," said Porthos, smacking his
lips.

"But," suggested D'Artagnan, "have we not our friend Mousqueton, who
managed for us so well at Chantilly, Porthos?"

"Yes," said Porthos, "we have Mousqueton, but since he has been steward,
he has become very heavy; never mind, let us call him, and to make sure
that he will reply agreeably----

"Here! Mouston," cried Porthos.

Mouston appeared, with a most piteous face.

"What is the matter, my dear M. Mouston?" asked D'Artagnan. "Are you
ill?"

"Sir, I am very hungry," replied Mouston.

"Well, it is just for that reason that we have called you, my good M.
Mouston. Could you not procure us a few of those nice little rabbits,
and some of those delicious partridges, of which you used to make
fricassees at the hotel----? 'Faith, I do not remember the name of the
hotel."

"At the hotel of----," said Porthos; "by my faith--nor do I remember it
either."

"It does not matter; and a few of those bottles of old Burgundy wine,
which cured your master so quickly of his sprain!"

"Alas! sir," said Mousqueton, "I much fear that what you ask for are
very rare things in this detestable and barren country, and I think we
should do better to go and seek hospitality from the owner of a little
house we see on the fringe of the forest."

"How! is there a house in the neighborhood?" asked D'Artagnan.

"Yes, sir," replied Mousqueton.

"Well, let us, as you say, go and ask a dinner from the master of
that house. What is your opinion, gentlemen, and does not M. Mouston's
suggestion appear to you full of sense?"

"Oh!" said Aramis, "suppose the master is a Puritan?"

"So much the better, mordioux!" replied D'Artagnan; "if he is a Puritan
we will inform him of the capture of the king, and in honor of the news
he will kill for us his fatted hens."

"But if he should be a cavalier?" said Porthos.

"In that case we will put on an air of mourning and he will pluck for us
his black fowls."

"You are very happy," exclaimed Athos, laughing, in spite of himself,
at the sally of the irresistible Gascon; "for you see the bright side of
everything."

"What would you have?" said D'Artagnan. "I come from a land where there
is not a cloud in the sky."

"It is not like this, then," said Porthos stre