ed
livres."

"Thirteen hundred livres! why, that is royal!"

"This is the whole history. I strongly suspect some canon of the parish
(these canons are all rich as Croesus)--I suspect some canon of having
hired the garden to take his pleasure in. The tenant has given the name
of M. Godard. That is either a false name or a real name; if true, he is
a canon; if false, he is some unknown; but of what consequence is it to
me? he always pays in advance. I had also an idea just now, when I met
you, of buying a house in the Place Baudoyer, the back premises of which
join my garden, and would make a magnificent property. Your dragoons
interrupted my calculations. But come, let us take the Rue de la
Vannerie: that will lead us straight to M. Planchet's." D'Artagnan
mended his pace, and conducted Raoul to Planchet's dwelling, a chamber
of which the grocer had given up to his old master. Planchet was out,
but the dinner was ready. There was a remains of military regularity and
punctuality preserved in the grocer's household. D'Artagnan returned to
the subject of Raoul's future.

"Your father brings you up rather strictly?" said he.

"Justly, monsieur le chevalier."

"Oh, yes, I know Athos is just; but close, perhaps?"

"A royal hand, Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"Well, never want, my boy! If ever you stand in need of a few pistoles,
the old musketeer is at hand."

"My dear Monsieur d'Artagnan!"

"Do you play a little?"

"Never."

"Successful with the ladies, then?--Oh! my little Aramis! That, my dear
friend, costs even more than play. It is true we fight when we lose;
that is a compensation. Bah! that little sniveller, the king, makes
winners give him his revenge. What a reign! my poor Raoul, what a reign!
When we think that, in my time, the musketeers were besieged in their
houses like Hector and Priam in the city of Troy; and the women wept,
and then the walls laughed, and then five hundred beggarly fellows
clapped their hands and cried, 'Kill! kill!' when not one musketeer was
hurt. _Mordioux!_ you will never see anything like that."

"You are very hard upon the king, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan and yet
you scarcely know him."

"I! Listen, Raoul. Day by day, hour by hour,--take note of my words,--I
will predict what he will do. The cardinal being dead, he will fret;
very well, that is the least silly thing he will do, particularly if he
does not shed a tear."

"And then?"

"Why, then he will get M. Fouquet to allo