a
line, the characters, holding them under his left thumb.

"And what do you call that little metal ruler?" said D'Artagnan, "for, I
suppose, all these things have names."

"This is called a composing-stick," said Jupenet; "it is by the aid of
this stick that the lines are formed."

"Come, then, I was not mistaken in what I said; you have a press in your
pocket," said D'Artagnan, laughing with an air of simplicity so stupid,
that the poet was completely his dupe.

"No," replied he; "but I am too lazy to write, and when I have a verse
in my head, I print it immediately. That is a labor spared."

"_Mordioux!_" thought D'Artagnan to himself, "this must be cleared up."
And under a pretext, which did not embarrass the musketeer, who was
fertile in expedients, he left the table, went downstairs, ran to the
shed under which stood the poet's little cart, and poked the point of
his poniard into the stuff which enveloped one of the packages, which he
found full of types, like those which the poet had in his pocket.

"Humph!" said D'Artagnan, "I do not yet know whether M. Fouquet wishes
to fortify Belle-Isle; but, at all events, here are some spiritual
munitions for the castle." Then, enchanted with his rich discovery, he
ran upstairs again, and resumed his place at the table.

D'Artagnan had learnt what he wished to know. He, however, remained,
none the less, face to face with his partner, to the moment when they
heard from the next room symptoms of a person's being about to go out.
The printer was immediately on foot; he had given orders for his horse
to be got ready. His carriage was waiting at the door. The second
traveler got into his saddle, in the courtyard, with his lackey.
D'Artagnan followed Jupenet to the door; he embarked his cart and horse
on board the boat. As to the opulent traveler, he did the same with
his two horses and servant. But all the wit D'Artagnan employed in
endeavoring to find out his name was lost--he could learn nothing. Only
he took such notice of his countenance, that it was impressed upon his
mind forever. D'Artagnan had a great inclination to embark with the
two travelers, but an interest more powerful than curiosity--that of
success--repelled him from the shore, and brought him back again to the
hostelry. He entered with a sigh, and went to bed directly in order to
be ready early in the morning with fresh ideas and the sage counsel of
sufficing sleep.

Chapter LXVIII. D'Artagnan cont