canal, after which we dine, crowned with flowers. That is
Wednesday."

"_Peste!_" said D'Artagnan; "you don't divide your pleasures badly. And
Thursday?--what can be left for poor Thursday?"

"It is not very unfortunate, monsieur," said Mousqueton, smiling.
"Thursday, Olympian pleasures. Ah, monsieur, that is superb! We get
together all monseigneur's young vassals, and we make them throw the
disc, wrestle, and run races. Monseigneur can't run now, no more can I;
but monseigneur throws the disc as nobody else can throw it. And when he
does deal a blow, oh, that proves a misfortune!"

"How so?"

"Yes, monsieur, we were obliged to renounce the cestus. He cracked
heads; he broke jaws--beat in ribs. It was charming sport; but nobody
was willing to play with him."

"Then his wrist--"

"Oh, monsieur, firmer than ever. Monseigneur gets a trifle weaker in his
legs,--he confesses that himself; but his strength has all taken refuge
in his arms, so that--"

"So that he can knock down bullocks, as he used to formerly."

"Monsieur, better than that--he beats in walls. Lately, after
having supped with one of our farmers--you know how popular and kind
monseigneur is--after supper, as a joke, he struck the wall a blow. The
wall crumbled away beneath his hand, the roof fell in, and three men and
an old woman were stifled."

"Good God, Mousqueton! And your master?"

"Oh, monseigneur, a little skin was rubbed off his head. We bathed the
wounds with some water which the monks gave us. But there was nothing
the matter with his hand."

"Nothing?"

"No, nothing, monsieur."

"Deuce take the Olympic pleasures! They must cost your master too dear;
for widows and orphans--"

"They all had pensions, monsieur; a tenth of monseigneur's revenue was
spent in that way."

"Then pass on to Friday," said D'Artagnan.

"Friday, noble and warlike pleasures. We hunt, we fence, we dress
falcons and break horses. Then, Saturday is the day for intellectual
pleasures: we adorn our minds; we look at monseigneur's pictures and
statues; we write, even, and trace plans: and then we fire monseigneur's
cannon."

"You draw plans, and fire cannon?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Why, my friend," said D'Artagnan, "M. du Vallon, in truth, possesses
the most subtle and amiable mind that I know. But there is one kind of
pleasure you have forgotten, it appears to me."

"What is that, monsieur?" asked Mousqueton, with anxiety.

"The material pleasures."