was no longer D'Artagnan who was
travelling,--it was a good man clothed in an iron-gray justaucorps,
brown haut-de-chausses, holding the medium between a priest and a
layman; that which brought him nearest to the churchman was, that
D'Artagnan had placed on his head a calotte of threadbare velvet, and
over the calotte, a large black hat; no more sword, a stick, hung by a
cord to his wrist, but to which, he promised himself, as an unexpected
auxiliary, to join, upon occasion, a good dagger, ten inches long,
concealed under his cloak. The bidet purchased at Chateaubriand
completed the metamorphosis; it was called, or rather D'Artagnan called
it, Furet (ferret).

"If I have changed Zephyr into Furet," said D'Artagnan, "I must make
some diminutive or other of my own name. So, instead of D'Artagnan, I
will be Agnan, short; that is a concession which I naturally owe to my
gray coat, my round hat, and my rusty calotte."

Monsieur D'Artagnan traveled, then, pretty easily upon Furet, who
ambled like a true butter-woman's pad, and who, with his amble, managed
cheerfully about twelve leagues a day, upon four spindle-shanks, of
which the practiced eye of D'Artagnan had appreciated the strength and
safety beneath the thick mass of hair which covered them. Jogging
along, the traveler took notes, studied the country, which he traversed
reserved and silent, ever seeking the most plausible pretext for
reaching Belle-Isle-en-Mer, and for seeing everything without arousing
suspicion. In this manner, he was enabled to convince himself of the
importance the event assumed in proportion as he drew near to it. In
this remote country, in this ancient duchy of Bretagne, which was not
France at that period, and is not so even now, the people knew nothing
of the king of France. They not only did not know him, but were
unwilling to know him. One face--a single one--floated visibly for them
upon the political current. Their ancient dukes no longer ruled them;
government was a void--nothing more. In place of the sovereign duke,
the seigneurs of parishes reigned without control; and, above these
seigneurs, God, who has never been forgotten in Bretagne. Among these
suzerains of chateaux and belfries, the most powerful, the richest, and
the most popular, was M. Fouquet, seigneur of Belle-Isle. Even in
the country, even within sight of that mysterious isle, legends and
traditions consecrate its wonders. Every one might not penetrate it: the
isle, of a