wife, and not to say a word of the wound?"

"That's agreed; you have my word."

"Oh, he would kill me!"

"Don't be afraid; he is not so much of a devil as he appears."

Saying these words, d'Artagnan went upstairs, leaving his host a little
better satisfied with respect to two things in which he appeared to be
very much interested--his debt and his life.

At the top of the stairs, upon the most conspicuous door of the
corridor, was traced in black ink a gigantic number "1." d'Artagnan
knocked, and upon the bidding to come in which came from inside, he
entered the chamber.

Porthos was in bed, and was playing a game at LANSQUENET with
Mousqueton, to keep his hand in; while a spit loaded with partridges was
turning before the fire, and on each side of a large chimneypiece, over
two chafing dishes, were boiling two stewpans, from which exhaled
a double odor of rabbit and fish stews, rejoicing to the smell. In
addition to this he perceived that the top of a wardrobe and the marble
of a commode were covered with empty bottles.

At the sight of his friend, Porthos uttered a loud cry of joy; and
Mousqueton, rising respectfully, yielded his place to him, and went
to give an eye to the two stewpans, of which he appeared to have the
particular inspection.

"Ah, PARDIEU! Is that you?" said Porthos to d'Artagnan. "You are right
welcome. Excuse my not coming to meet you; but," added he, looking
at d'Artagnan with a certain degree of uneasiness, "you know what has
happened to me?"

"No."

"Has the host told you nothing, then?"

"I asked after you, and came up as soon as I could."

Porthos seemed to breathe more freely.

"And what has happened to you, my dear Porthos?" continued d'Artagnan.

"Why, on making a thrust at my adversary, whom I had already hit three
times, and whom I meant to finish with the fourth, I put my foot on a
stone, slipped, and strained my knee."

"Truly?"

"Honor! Luckily for the rascal, for I should have left him dead on the
spot, I assure you."

"And what has became of him?"

"Oh, I don't know; he had enough, and set off without waiting for the
rest. But you, my dear d'Artagnan, what has happened to you?"

"So that this strain of the knee," continued d'Artagnan, "my dear
Porthos, keeps you in bed?"

"My God, that's all. I shall be about again in a few days."

"Why did you not have yourself conveyed to Paris? You must be cruelly
bored here."

"That was my intention; but, my dear f