“Then he is there?  I shall find him there?”

“Without doubt you will, monsieur; he persists in remaining there.  We every day pass through the air hole some bread at the end of a fork, and some meat when he asks for it; but alas!  It is not of bread and meat of which he makes the greatest consumption.  I once endeavored to go down with two of my servants; but he flew into terrible rage.  I heard the noise he made in loading his pistols, and his servant in loading his musketoon.  Then, when we asked them what were their intentions, the master replied that he had forty charges to fire, and that he and his lackey would fire to the last one before he would allow a single soul of us to set foot in the cellar.  Upon this I went and complained to the governor, who replied that I only had what I deserved, and that it would teach me to insult honorable gentlemen who took up their abode in my house.”

“So that since that time—­” replied d’Artagnan, totally unable to refrain from laughing at the pitiable face of the host.

“So from that time, monsieur,” continued the latter, “we have led the most miserable life imaginable; for you must know, monsieur, that all our provisions are in the cellar.  There is our wine in bottles, and our wine in casks; the beer, the oil, and the spices, the bacon, and sausages.  And as we are prevented from going down there, we are forced to refuse food and drink to the travelers who come to the house; so that our hostelry is daily going to ruin.  If your friend remains another week in my cellar I shall be a ruined man.”

“And not more than justice, either, you ass!  Could you not perceive by our appearance that we were people of quality, and not coiners—­say?”

“Yes, monsieur, you are right,” said the host.  “But, hark, hark!  There he is!”

“Somebody has disturbed him, without doubt,” said d’Artagnan.

“But he must be disturbed,” cried the host; “Here are two English gentlemen just arrived.”

“Well?”

“Well, the English like good wine, as you may know, monsieur; these have asked for the best.  My wife has perhaps requested permission of Monsieur Athos to go into the cellar to satisfy these gentlemen; and he, as usual, has refused.  Ah, good heaven!  There is the hullabaloo louder than ever!”

D’Artagnan, in fact, heard a great noise on the side next the cellar.  He rose, and preceded by the host wringing his hands, and followed by Planchet with his musketoon ready for use, he approached the scene of action.

The two gentlemen were exasperated; they had had a long ride, and were dying with hunger and thirst.

“But this is tyranny!” cried one of them, in very good French, though with a foreign accent, “that this madman will not allow these good people access to their own wine!  Nonsense, let us break open the door, and if he is too far gone in his madness, well, we will kill him!”