“‘Tis very simple,- they are waiting their turn.”
“Bah! Have the comedians of the Hotel de Bourgogne shifted their quarters?”
“No; their turn to obtain an entrance to M. Percerin’s house.”
“And we are going to wait too?”
“Oh, we shall show ourselves more ready and less proud than they!”
What are we to do, then?”
“Get down, pass through the footmen and lackeys, and enter the tailor’s house, which I will answer for our doing, especially if you go first.”
“Come, then,” said Porthos.
They both alighted, and made their way on foot towards the establishment. The cause of the confusion was that M. Percerin’s doors were closed, while a servant standing before them was explaining to the illustrious customers of the illustrious tailor that just then M. Percerin could not receive anybody. It was bruited about outside still, on the authority of what the great lackey had said confidentially to some great noble whom he favored, that M. Percerin was engaged upon five dresses for the King, and that, owing to the urgency of the case, he was meditating in his office on the ornaments, colors, and cut of these five suits. Some, contented with this reason, went away again, happy to repeat it to others; but others, more tenacious, insisted on having the doors opened,- and among these last, three Blue Ribbons, intended to take part in a ballet which would inevitably fail unless the said three had their costumes shaped by the very hand of the great Percerin himself.
D’Artagnan, pushing on Porthos, who scattered the groups of people right and left, succeeded in gaining the counter behind which the journeymen tailors were doing their best to answer questions. We forgot to mention that at the door they wanted to put off Porthos, like the rest; but d’Artagnan, showing himself, pronounced merely these words, “The King’s order,” and was let in with his friend. Those poor devils had enough to do, and did their best, to reply to the demands of the customers in the absence of their master, leaving off drawing a stitch to turn a sentence; and when wounded pride or disappointed expectation brought down upon them too cutting rebukes, he who was attacked made a dive and disappeared under the counter.
The line of discontented lords formed a picture full of curious details. Our captain of Musketeers, a man of sure and rapid observation, took it all in at a glance; but having run over the groups, his eye rested on a man in front of him. This man, seated upon a stool, scarcely showed his head above the counter which sheltered him. He was about forty years of age, with a melancholy aspect, pale face, and soft luminous eyes. He was looking at d’Artagnan and the rest, with his chin resting upon his hand, like a calm and inquiring spectator. Only, on perceiving and doubtless recognizing our captain, he pulled his hat down over his eyes. It was this action, perhaps, that attracted d’Artagnan’s attention. If so, the gentleman who had pulled down his hat produced an effect entirely different from what he had desired. In other respects, his costume was plain, and his hair evenly cut enough for customers who were not close observers to take him for a mere tailor’s apprentice perched behind the board and carefully stitching cloth or velvet. Nevertheless, this man held up his head too often to be very productively employed with his fingers. D’Artagnan was not deceived,- not he; and he saw at once that if this man was working on anything, it certainly was not on cloth.
“Eh!” said he, addressing this man, “and so you have become a tailor’s boy, M. Moliere?”
“Hush, M. d’Artagnan!” replied the man, softly; “in Heaven’s name! you will make them recognize me.”
“Well, and what harm?”
“The fact is, there is no harm; but “You were going to say there is no good in doing it, either, is it not so?”
“Alas! no; for I was occupied in looking at some excellent figures.”
“Go on, go on, M. Moliere! I quite understand the interest you take in it. I will not disturb your study.”
“Thank you.”
“But on one condition,- that you tell me where M. Percerin really is.”