“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 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.”

“Mouston,” said Porthos, “saddle Vulcan and Bayard.”

“And for myself, monsieur, shall I saddle Rustaud?”

“No, take a more stylish horse, Phoebus or Superbe; we are going with some ceremony.”

“Ah,” said Mousqueton, breathing more freely, “you are only going, then, to make a visit?”

“Oh! yes, of course, Mouston; nothing else.  But to avoid risk, put the pistols in the holsters.  You will find mine on my saddle, already loaded.”

Mouston breathed a sigh; he couldn’t understand visits of ceremony made under arms.

“Indeed,” said Porthos, looking complacently at his old lackey as he went away, “you are right, D’Artagnan; Mouston will do; Mouston has a very fine appearance.”

D’Artagnan smiled.

“But you, my friend —­ are you not going to change your dress?”

“No, I shall go as I am.  This traveling dress will serve to show the cardinal my haste to obey his commands.”