Mazarin for any future service he might render the cardinal.
From Blois to Paris was a journey of four days for ordinary
travelers, but D’Artagnan arrived on the third day at the
Barriere Saint Denis. In turning the corner of the Rue
Montmartre, in order to reach the Rue Tiquetonne and the
Hotel de la Chevrette, where he had appointed Porthos to
meet him, he saw at one of the windows of the hotel, that
friend himself dressed in a sky-blue waistcoat, embroidered
with silver, and gaping, till he showed every one of his
white teeth; whilst the people passing by admiringly gazed
at this gentleman, so handsome and so rich, who seemed to
weary of his riches and his greatness.
D’Artagnan and Planchet had hardly turned the corner when
Porthos recognized them.
“Eh! D’Artagnan!” he cried. “Thank God you have come!”
“Eh! good-day, dear friend!” replied D’Artagnan.
Porthos came down at once to the threshold of the hotel.
“Ah, my dear friend!” he cried, “what bad stabling for my
horses here.”
“Indeed!” said D’Artagnan; “I am most unhappy to hear it, on
account of those fine animals.”
“And I, also — I was also wretchedly off,” he answered,
moving backward and forward as he spoke; “and had it not
been for the hostess,” he added, with his air of vulgar
self-complacency, “who is very agreeable and understands a
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joke, I should have got a lodging elsewhere.”
The pretty Madeleine, who had approached during this
colloquy, stepped back and turned pale as death on hearing
Porthos’s words, for she thought the scene with the Swiss
was about to be repeated. But to her great surprise
D’Artagnan remained perfectly calm, and instead of being
angry he laughed, and said to Porthos:
“Yes, I understand, the air of La Rue Tiquetonne is not like
that of Pierrefonds; but console yourself, I will soon
conduct you to one much better.”
“When will you do that?”
“Immediately, I hope.”
“Ah! so much the better!”
To that exclamation of Porthos’s succeeded a groaning, low
and profound, which seemed to come from behind a door.
D’Artagnan, who had just dismounted, then saw, outlined
against the wall, the enormous stomach of Mousqueton, whose
down-drawn mouth emitted sounds of distress.
“And you, too, my poor Monsieur Mouston, are out of place in
this poor hotel, are you not?” asked D’Artagnan, in that
rallying tone which may indicate either compassion or
mockery.
“He finds the cooking detestable,” replied Porthos.
“Why, then, doesn’t he attend to it himself, as at
Chantilly?”
“Ah, monsieur, I have not here, as I had there, the ponds of
monsieur le prince, where I could catch those beautiful
carp, nor the forests of his highness to provide me with
partridges. As for the cellar, I have searched every part
and poor stuff I found.”
“Monsieur Mouston,” said D’Artagnan, “I should indeed
condole with you had I not at this moment something very
pressing to attend to.”
Then taking Porthos aside:
“My dear Du Vallon,” he said, “here you are in full dress
most fortunately, for I am going to take you to the
cardinal’s.”
“Gracious me! really!” exclaimed Porthos, opening his great
wondering eyes.
“Yes, my friend.”
“A presentation? indeed!”
“Does that alarm you?”
“No, but it agitates me.”
“Oh! don’t be distressed; you have to deal with a cardinal
of another kind. This one will not oppress you by his
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dignity.”
“‘Tis the same thing — you understand me, D’Artagnan — a
court.”
“There’s no court now. Alas!”
“The queen!”
“I was going to say, there’s no longer a queen. The queen!
Rest assured, we shall not see her.”
“And you say that we are going from here to the Palais
Royal?”
“Immediately. Only, that there may be no delay, I shall
borrow one of your horses.”
“Certainly; all the four are at your service.”
“Oh, I need only one of them for the time being.”
“Shall we take our valets?”
“Yes, you may as well take Mousqueton. As to Planchet, he has
certain reasons for not going to court.”
“And what are they?”
“Oh, he doesn’t stand well with his eminence.”