d the gardens and outbuildings,
which could be seen through the trees. All these statues threw in white
relief their profiles upon the dark ground of the tall cypresses, which
darted their somber summits towards the sky. Around these cypresses were
entwined climbing roses, whose flowering rings were fastened to every
fork of the branches, and spread over the lower boughs and the various
statues, showers of flowers of the rarest fragrance. These enchantments
seemed to the musketeer the result of the greatest efforts of the human
mind. He felt in a dreamy, almost poetical, frame of mind. The idea
that Porthos was living in so perfect an Eden gave him a higher idea of
Porthos, showing how tremendously true it is, that even the very highest
orders of minds are not quite exempt from the influence of surroundings.
D'Artagnan found the door, and on, or rather in the door, a kind
of spring which he detected; having touched it, the door flew open.
D'Artagnan entered, closed the door behind him, and advanced into a
pavilion built in a circular form, in which no other sound could be
heard but cascades and the songs of birds. At the door of the pavilion
he met a lackey.

"It is here, I believe," said D'Artagnan, without hesitation, "that M.
le Baron du Vallon is staying?"

"Yes, monsieur," answered the lackey.

"Have the goodness to tell him that M. le Chevalier d'Artagnan, captain
of the king's musketeers, is waiting to see him."

D'Artagnan was introduced into the _salon_, and had not long to remain
in expectation: a well-remembered step shook the floor of the adjoining
room, a door opened, or rather flew open, and Porthos appeared and threw
himself into his friend's arms with a sort of embarrassment which did
not ill become him. "You here?" he exclaimed.

"And you?" replied D'Artagnan. "Ah, you sly fellow!"

"Yes," said Porthos, with a somewhat embarrassed smile; "yes, you see
I am staying in M. Fouquet's house, at which you are not a little
surprised, I suppose?"

"Not at all; why should you not be one of M. Fouquet's friends? M.
Fouquet has a very large number, particularly among clever men."

Porthos had the modesty not to take the compliment to himself.
"Besides," he added, "you saw me at Belle-Isle."

"A greater reason for my believing you to be one of M. Fouquet's
friends."

"The fact is, I am acquainted with him," said Porthos, with a certain
embarrassment of manner.

"Ah, friend Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "