led."

"Good God, Mousqueton! And your master?"

"Oh, monseigneur, a little skin was rubbed off his head. We bathed 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 your master too dear,
for widows and orphans----"

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

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

"Friday, noble and warlike pleasures. We hunt, we fence, we dress
falcons and break horses. Then, Saturday is the day for intellectual
pleasures: we adorn our minds; we look at monseigneur's pictures and
statues; we write, even, and trace 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. But there is one kind of
pleasure you have forgotten, it appears to 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 in passing the bottle."

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

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

"That is true, monsieur," said Mousqueton; "the pleasures have 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. I had recognized
the writing."

"Well?"

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

"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. I expect you.'"

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

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

"And did he