the
tough fowl they had served up to him, and which they had evidently
forgotten to fatten,--"it appears that I have done wrong in not seeking
service with that master yonder. A powerful noble this intendant,
seemingly! In good truth, we poor fellows know nothing at the court, and
the rays of the sun prevent our seeing the large stars, which are also
suns, at a little greater distance from our earth,--that is all."

As D'Artagnan delighted, both from pleasure and system, in making people
talk about things which interested him, he fenced in his best style
with Master Bazin, but it was pure loss of time; beyond the tiresome and
hyperbolical praises of monsieur le surintendant of the finances, Bazin,
who, on his side, was on his guard, afforded nothing but platitudes to
the curiosity of D'Artagnan, so that our musketeer, in a tolerably bad
humor, desired to go to bed as soon as he had supped. D'Artagnan was
introduced by Bazin into a mean chamber, in which there was a poor bed;
but D'Artagnan was not fastidious in that respect. He had been told that
Aramis had taken away the key of his own private apartment, and as he
knew Aramis was a very particular man, and had generally many things
to conceal in his apartment, he had not been surprised. He, therefore,
although it seemed comparatively even harder, attacked the bed as
bravely as he had done the fowl; and, as he had as good an inclination
to sleep as he had had to eat, he took scarcely longer time to be
snoring harmoniously than he had employed in picking the last bones of
the bird.

Since he was no longer in the service of any one, D'Artagnan had
promised himself to indulge in sleeping as soundly as he had formerly
slept lightly; but with whatever good faith D'Artagnan had made himself
this promise, and whatever desire he might have to keep it religiously,
he was awakened in the middle of the night by a loud noise of carriages,
and servants on horseback. A sudden illumination flashed over the walls
of his chamber; he jumped out of bed and ran to the window in his shirt.
"Can the king be coming this way?" he thought, rubbing his eyes; "in
truth, such a suite can only be attached to royalty."

"_Vive le monsieur le surintendant!_" cried, or rather vociferated, from
a window on the ground-floor, a voice which he recognized as Bazin's,
who at the same time waved a handkerchief with one hand, and held
a large candle in the other. D'Artagnan then saw something like a
brill