r part, like the coursers of Hippolytus, shared the
sadness of their masters. Mousqueton collected a store of crusts; Bazin,
who had always been inclined to devotion, never quit the churches;
Planchet watched the flight of flies; and Grimaud, whom the general
distress could not induce to break the silence imposed by his master,
heaved sighs enough to soften the stones.

The three friends--for, as we have said, Athos had sworn not to stir a
foot to equip himself--went out early in the morning, and returned late
at night. They wandered about the streets, looking at the pavement as
if to see whether the passengers had not left a purse behind them. They
might have been supposed to be following tracks, so observant were they
wherever they went. When they met they looked desolately at one another,
as much as to say, "Have you found anything?"

However, as Porthos had first found an idea, and had thought of it
earnestly afterward, he was the first to act. He was a man of execution,
this worthy Porthos. D'Artagnan perceived him one day walking toward
the church of St. Leu, and followed him instinctively. He entered, after
having twisted his mustache and elongated his imperial, which always
announced on his part the most triumphant resolutions. As d'Artagnan
took some precautions to conceal himself, Porthos believed he had
not been seen. d'Artagnan entered behind him. Porthos went and leaned
against the side of a pillar. D'Artagnan, still unperceived, supported
himself against the other side.

There happened to be a sermon, which made the church very full of
people. Porthos took advantage of this circumstance to ogle the women.
Thanks to the cares of Mousqueton, the exterior was far from announcing
the distress of the interior. His hat was a little napless, his feather
was a little faded, his gold lace was a little tarnished, his laces were
a trifle frayed; but in the obscurity of the church these things were
not seen, and Porthos was still the handsome Porthos.

D'Artagnan observed, on the bench nearest to the pillar against which
Porthos leaned, a sort of ripe beauty, rather yellow and rather dry,
but erect and haughty under her black hood. The eyes of Porthos were
furtively cast upon this lady, and then roved about at large over the
nave.

On her side the lady, who from time to time blushed, darted with the
rapidity of lightning a glance toward the inconstant Porthos; and then
immediately the eyes of Porthos wandered anx