When D'Artagnan had perfectly convinced himself that theabsence of the Vicar-General d'Herblay was real, and thathis friend was not to be found at Melun or in its vicinity,he left Bazin without regret, cast an ill-natured glance atthe magnificent Chateau de Vaux which was beginning to shinewith that splendor which brought on its ruin, and,compressing his lips like a man full of mistrust andsuspicion, he put spurs to his pied horse, saying, "Well,well! I have still Pierrefonds left, and there I shall findthe best man and the best filled coffer. And that is all Iwant, for I have an idea of my own."

We will spare our readers the prosaic incidents ofD'Artagnan's journey, which terminated on the morning of thethird day within sight of Pierrefonds. D'Artagnan came bythe way of Nanteuil-le-Hardouin and Crepy. At a distance heperceived the Castle of Louis of Orleans, which, havingbecome part of the crown domain, was kept by an oldconcierge. This was one of those marvelous manors of themiddle ages, with walls twenty feet in thickness, and ahundred in height.

D'Artagnan rode slowly past its walls, measured its towerswith his eye and descended into the valley. From afar helooked down upon the chateau of Porthos, situated on theshores of a small lake, and contiguous to a magnificentforest. It was the same place we have already had the honorof describing to our readers; we shall therefore satisfyourselves with naming it. The first thing D'Artagnanperceived after the fine trees, the May sun gilding thesides of the green hills, the long rows of feather-toppedtrees which stretched out towards Compiegne, was a largerolling box, pushed forward by two servants and dragged bytwo others. In this box there was an enormous green-and-goldthing, which went along the smiling glades of the park, thusdragged and pushed. This thing, at a distance, could not bedistinguished, and signified absolutely nothing; nearer, itwas a hogshead muffled in gold-bound green cloth; whenclose, it was a man, or rather a poussa, the interiorextremity of whom, spreading over the interior of the box,entirely filled it, when still closer, the man wasMousqueton - Mousqueton, with gray hair and a face as redas Punchinello's.

"Pardieu!" cried D'Artagnan; "why, that's my dear MonsieurMousqueton!"

"Ah!" cried the fat man - "ah! what happiness! what joy!There's M. d'Artagnan. Stop, you rascals!" These last wordswere addressed to the lackeys who pushed and dragged him.The box stopped, and the four lackeys, with a precisionquite military, took off their laced hats and rangedthemselves behind it.

"Oh, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" said Mousqueton, "why can I notembrace your knees? But I have become impotent, as you see."

"Dame! my dear Mousqueton, it is age."

"No, monsieur, it is not age; it is infirmities - troubles."

"Troubles! you, Mousqueton?" said D'Artagnan making the tourof the box; "are you out of your mind, my dear friend? ThankGod! you are as hearty as a three-hundred-year-old oak."

"Ah! but my legs, monsieur, my legs!" groaned the faithfulservant.

"What's the matter with your legs?"

"Oh, they will no longer bear me!"

"Ah, the ungrateful things! And yet you feed them well,Mousqueton, apparently."

"Alas, yes! They can reproach me with nothing in thatrespect," said Mousqueton, with a sigh; "I have always donewhat I could for my poor body; I am not selfish." AndMousqueton sighed afresh.

"I wonder whether Mousqueton wants to be a baron, too, as hesighs after that fashion?" thought D'Artagnan.

"Mon Dieu, monsieur!" said Mousqueton, as if rousing himselffrom a painful reverie; "how happy monseigneur will be thatyou have thought of him!"

"Kind Porthos!" cried D'Artagnan, "I am anxious to embracehim."

"Oh!" said Mousqueton, much affected, "I shall certainlywrite to him."

"What!" cried D'Artagnan, "you will write to him?"

"This very day; I shall not delay it an hour."

"Is he not here, then?"

"No, monsieur."

"But is he near at hand? - is he far off?"

"Oh, can I tell, monsieur, can I tell?"

"Mordioux!" cried the musketeer, stamping with his foot, "Iam unfortunate. Porthos such a stay-at-home!"

"Monsieur, there is not a more sedentary man thanmonseigneur, but - - "

"But what?"

"When a friend presses you - - "

"A friend?"

"Doubtless - the worthy M. d'Herblay."

"What, has Aramis pressed Porthos?"

"This is how the thing happened, Monsieur d'Artagnan. M.d'Herblay wrote to monseigneur - - "

"Indeed!"

"A letter, monsieur, such a pressing letter that it threw usall into a bustle."

"Tell me all about it, my dear friend." said D'Artagnan;"but remove these people a little further off first."

Mousqueton shouted, "Fall back, you fellows," with suchpowerful lungs that the breath, without the words, wouldhave been sufficient to disperse the four lackeys.D'Artagnan seated himself on the shaft of the box and openedhis ears. "Monsieur," said Mousqueton, "monseigneur, then,received a letter from M. le Vicaire-General d'Herblay,eight or nine days ago; it was the day of the rusticpleasures, yes, it must have been Wednesday."

"What do you mean?" said D'Artagnan. "The day of rusticpleasures?"

"Yes, monsieur; we have so many pleasures to take in thisdelightful country, that we were encumbered by them; so muchso, that we have been forced to regulate the distribution ofthem."

"How easily do I recognize Porthos's love of order in that!Now, that idea would never have occurred to me; but then Iam not encumbered with pleasures."

"We were, though," said Mousqueton.

"And how did you regulate the matter, let me know?" saidD'Artagnan.

"It is rather long, monsieur."

"Never mind, we have plenty of time; and you speak so well,my dear Mousqueton, that it is really a pleasure to hearyou."

"It is true," said Mousqueton, with a sigh of satisfaction,which emanated evidently from the justice which had beenrendered him, "it is true I have made great progress in thecompany of monseigneur."

"I am waiting for the distribution of the pleasures,Mousqueton, and with impatience. I want to know if I havearrived on a lucky day."

"Oh, Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Mousqueton in a melancholytone, "since monseigneur's departure all the pleasures havegone too!"

"Well, my dear Mousqueton, refresh your memory."

"With what day shall I begin?"

"Eh, pardieux! begin with Sunday; that is the Lord's day."

"Sunday, monsieur?"

"Yes."

"Sunday pleasures are religious: monseigneur goes to mass,makes the bread-offering, and has discourses andinstructions made to him by his almoner-in-ordinary. That isnot very amusing, but we expect a Carmelite from Paris whowill do the duty of our almonry, and who, we are assured,speaks very well, which will keep us awake, whereas ourpresent almoner always sends us to sleep. These are Sundayreligious pleasures. On Monday, worldly pleasures."

"Ah, ah!" said D'Artagnan, "what do you mean by that? Let ushave a glimpse at your worldly pleasures."

"Monsieur, on Monday we go into the world; we pay andreceive visits, we play on the lute, we dance, we makeverses, and burn a little incense in honor of the ladies."

"Peste! that is the height of gallantry," said themusketeer, who was obliged to call to his aid all thestrength of his facial muscles to suppress an enormousinclination to laugh.

"Tuesday, learned pleasures."

"Good!" cried D'Artagnan. "What are they? Detail them, mydear Mousqueton."

"Monseigneur has bought a sphere or globe, which I shallshow you; it fills all the perimeter of the great tower,except a gallery which he has had built over the sphere:there are little strings and brass wires to which the sunand moon are hooked. It all turns; and that is verybeautiful. Monseigneur points out to me seas and distantcountries. We don't intend to visit them, but it is veryinteresting."

"Interesting! yes, that's the word," repeated D'Artagnan."And Wednesday?"

"Rustic pleasures, as I have had the honor to tell you,monsieur le chevalier. We look over monseigneur's sheep andgoats; we make the shepherds dance to pipes and reeds, as iswritten in a book monseigneur has in his library, which iscalled `Bergeries.' The author died about a month ago."

"Monsieur Racan, perhaps," said D'Artagnan,

"Yes, that was his name - M. Racan. But that is not all: weangle in the little canal, after which we dine, crowned withflowers. That is Wednesday."

"Peste!" said D'Artagnan, "you don't divide your pleasuresbadly. And Thursday? - what can be left for poor Thursday?"

"It is not very unfortunate, monsieur," said Mousqueton,smiling. "Thursday, Olympian pleasures. Ah, monsieur, thatis superb! We get together all monseigneur's young vassals,and we make them throw the disc, wrestle, and run races.Monseigneur can't run now, no more can I; but monseigneurthrows the disc as nobody else can throw it. And when hedoes deal a blow, oh, that proves a misfortune!"

"How so?"

"Yes, monsieur, we were obliged to renounce the cestus. Hecracked heads; he broke jaws - beat in ribs. It wascharming sport; but nobody was willing to play with him."

"Then his wrist - - "

"Oh, monsieur, firmer than ever. Monseigneur gets a trifleweaker in his legs, - he confesses that himself; but hisstrength has all taken refuge in his arms, so that - - "

"So that he can knock down bullocks, as he used formerly."

"Monsieur, better than that - he beats in walls. Lately,after having supped with one of our farmers - you know howpopular and kind monseigneur is - after supper as a joke,he struck the wall a blow. The wall crumbled away beneathhis hand, the roof fell in, and three men and an old womanwere stifled."

"Good God, Mousqueton! And your master?"

"Oh, monseigneur, a little skin was rubbed off his head. Webathed the wounds with some water which the monks gave us.But there was nothing the matter with his hand."

"Nothing?"

"No, nothing, monsieur."

"Deuce take the Olympic pleasures! They must cost yourmaster too dear, for widows and orphans - - "

"They all had pensions, monsieur; a tenth of monseigneur'srevenue was spent in that way."

"Then pass on to Friday," said D'Artagnan.

"Friday, noble and warlike pleasures. We hunt, we fence, wedress falcons and break horses. Then, Saturday is the dayfor intellectual pleasures: we adorn our minds; we look atmonseigneur's pictures and statues; we write, even, andtrace plans: and then we fire monseigneur's cannon."

"You draw plans, and fire cannon?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Why, my friend," said D'Artagnan, "M. du Vallon, in truth,possesses the most subtle and amiable mind that I know. Butthere is one kind of pleasure you have forgotten, it appearsto me."

"What is that, monsieur?" asked Mousqueton, with anxiety.

"The material pleasures."

Mousqueton colored. "What do you mean by that, monsieur?"said he, casting down his eyes.

"I mean the table - good wine - evenings occupied inpassing the bottle."

"Ah, monsieur, we don't reckon those pleasures, - wepractice them every day."

"My brave Mousqueton," resumed D'Artagnan, "pardon me, but Iwas so absorbed in your charming recital that I haveforgotten the principal object of our conversation, whichwas to learn what M. le Vicaire-General d'Herblay could haveto write to your master about."

"That is true, monsieur," said Mousqueton; "the pleasureshave misled us. Well, monsieur, this is the whole affair."

"I am all attention, Mousqueton."

"On Wednesday - - "

"The day of the rustic pleasures?"

"Yes - a letter arrived; he received it from my hands. Ihad recognized the writing."

"Well?"

"Monseigneur read it and cried out, `Quick, my horses! myarms!'"

"Oh, good Lord! then it was for some duel?" said D'Artagnan.

"No, monsieur, there were only these words: `Dear Porthos,set out, if you would wish to arrive before the Equinox. Iexpect you.'"

"Mordioux!" said D'Artagnan, thoughtfully, "that waspressing, apparently."

"I think so; therefore," continued Mousqueton, "monseigneurset out the very same day with his secretary, in order toendeavor to arrive in time."

"And did he arrive in time?"

"I hope so. Monseigneur, who is hasty, as you know,monsieur, repeated incessantly, `Tonno Dieu! What can thismean? The Equinox? Never mind, a fellow must be well mountedto arrive before I do.'"

"And you think Porthos will have arrived first, do you?"asked D'Artagnan.

"I am sure of it. This Equinox, however rich he may be, hascertainly no horses so good as monseigneur's."

D'Artagnan repressed his inclination to laugh, because thebrevity of Aramis's letter gave rise to reflection. Hefollowed Mousqueton, or rather Mousqueton's chariot, to thecastle. He sat down to a sumptuous table, of which they didhim the honors as to a king. But he could draw nothing fromMousqueton, - the faithful servant seemed to shed tears atwill, but that was all.

D'Artagnan, after a night passed in an excellent bed,reflected much upon the meaning of Aramis's letter; puzzledhimself as to the relation of the Equinox with the affairsof Porthos; and being unable to make anything out unless itconcerned some amour of the bishop's, for which it wasnecessary that the days and nights should be equal,D'Artagnan left Pierrefonds as he had left Melun, as he hadleft the chateau of the Comte de la Fere. It was not,however, without a melancholy, which might in good soothpass for one of the most dismal of D'Artagnan's moods. Hishead cast down, his eyes fixed, he suffered his legs to hangon each side of his horse, and said to himself, in thatvague sort of reverie which ascends sometimes to thesublimest eloquence:

"No more friends! no more future! no more anything! Myenergies are broken like the bonds of our ancientfriendship. Oh, old age is coming, cold and inexorable; itenvelops in its funereal crape all that was brilliant, allthat was embalming in my youth; then it throws that sweetburthen on its shoulders and carries it away with the restinto the fathomless gulf of death."

A shudder crept through the heart of the Gascon, so braveand so strong against all the misfortunes of life; andduring some moments the clouds appeared black to him, theearth slippery and full of pits as that of cemeteries.

"Whither am I going?" said he to himself. "What am I goingto do! Alone, quite alone - without family, withoutfriends! Bah!" cried he all at once. And he clapped spurs tohis horse, who, having found nothing melancholy in the heavyoats of Pierrefonds profited by this permission to show hisgayety in a gallop which absorbed two leagues. "To Paris!"said D'Artagnan to himself. And on the morrow he alighted inParis. He had devoted six days to this journey.