t is
true I have made great progress in the company of monseigneur."

"I am waiting for the distribution of the pleasures, Mousqueton, and
with impatience. I want to know if I have arrived on a lucky day."

"Oh, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Mousqueton in a melancholy tone, "since
monseigneur's departure all the pleasures have gone too!"

"Well, my dear Mousqueton, refresh your memory."

"With what day shall I begin?"

"Eh, _pardieux!_ begin with Sunday; that is the Lord's day."

"Sunday, monsieur?"

"Yes."

"Sunday pleasures are religious: monseigneur goes to mass, makes the
bread-offering, and has discourses and instructions made to him by his
almoner-in-ordinary. That is not very amusing, but we expect a Carmelite
from Paris who will do the duty of our almonry, and who, we are assured,
speaks very well, which will keep us awake, whereas our present almoner
always sends us to sleep. These are Sunday religious pleasures. On
Monday, worldly pleasures."

"Ah, ah!" said D'Artagnan, "what do you mean by that? Let us have a
glimpse at your worldly pleasures."

"Monsieur, on Monday we go into the world; we pay and receive visits, we
play on the lute, we dance, we make verses, and burn a little incense in
honor of the ladies."

"_Peste!_ that is the height of gallantry," said the musketeer, who was
obliged to call to his aid all the strength of his facial muscles to
suppress an enormous inclination to laugh.

"Tuesday, learned pleasures."

"Good!" cried D'Artagnan. "What are they? Detail them, my dear
Mousqueton."

"Monseigneur has bought a sphere or globe, which I shall show you; it
fills all the perimeter of the great tower, except a gallery which he
has had built over the sphere: there are little strings and brass wires
to which the sun and moon are hooked. It all turns; and that is very
beautiful. Monseigneur points out to me the seas and distant countries.
We don't intend to visit them, but it is very interesting."

"Interesting! yes, that's the word," repeated D'Artagnan. "And
Wednesday?"

"Rustic pleasures, as I have had the honor to tell you, monsieur le
chevalier. We look over monseigneur's sheep and goats; we make the
shepherds dance to pipes and reeds, as is written in a book monseigneur
has in his library, which is called 'Bergeries.' The author died about a
month ago."

"Monsieur Racan, perhaps," said D'Artagnan.

"Yes, that was his name--M. Racan. But that is not all: we angle in
the little