e before his departure for the
campaign, will he not, Madame Coquenard?"

This time Porthos received the blow right in his stomach, and felt it.
It appeared likewise that Mme. Coquenard was not less affected by it on
her part, for she added, "My cousin will not return if he finds that we
do not treat him kindly; but otherwise he has so little time to pass in
Paris, and consequently to spare to us, that we must entreat him to give
us every instant he can call his own previous to his departure."

"Oh, my legs, my poor legs! where are you?" murmured Coquenard, and he
tried to smile.

This succor, which came to Porthos at the moment in which he was
attacked in his gastronomic hopes, inspired much gratitude in the
Musketeer toward the procurator's wife.

The hour of dinner soon arrived. They passed into the eating room--a
large dark room situated opposite the kitchen.

The clerks, who, as it appeared, had smelled unusual perfumes in the
house, were of military punctuality, and held their stools in hand
quite ready to sit down. Their jaws moved preliminarily with fearful
threatenings.

"Indeed!" thought Porthos, casting a glance at the three hungry
clerks--for the errand boy, as might be expected, was not admitted to
the honors of the magisterial table, "in my cousin's place, I would not
keep such gourmands! They look like shipwrecked sailors who have not
eaten for six weeks."

M. Coquenard entered, pushed along upon his armchair with casters by
Mme. Coquenard, whom Porthos assisted in rolling her husband up to the
table. He had scarcely entered when he began to agitate his nose and his
jaws after the example of his clerks.

"Oh, oh!" said he; "here is a soup which is rather inviting."

"What the devil can they smell so extraordinary in this soup?" said
Porthos, at the sight of a pale liquid, abundant but entirely free from
meat, on the surface of which a few crusts swam about as rare as the
islands of an archipelago.

Mme. Coquenard smiled, and upon a sign from her everyone eagerly took
his seat.

M. Coquenard was served first, then Porthos. Afterward Mme. Coquenard
filled her own plate, and distributed the crusts without soup to the
impatient clerks. At this moment the door of the dining room unclosed
with a creak, and Porthos perceived through the half-open flap the
little clerk who, not being allowed to take part in the feast, ate his
dry bread in the passage with the double odor of the dining room and
kitc