is way toward the Quai des Grands Augustins, while the two
friends went to ring at the bell of the unfortunate Porthos. He, having
seen them crossing the yard, took care not to answer, and they rang in
vain.

Meanwhile Mousqueton continued on his way, and crossing the Pont Neuf,
still driving the two sorry animals before him, he reached the Rue aux
Ours. Arrived there, he fastened, according to the orders of his master,
both horse and mule to the knocker of the procurator's door; then,
without taking any thought for their future, he returned to Porthos, and
told him that his commission was completed.

In a short time the two unfortunate beasts, who had not eaten anything
since the morning, made such a noise in raising and letting fall the
knocker that the procurator ordered his errand boy to go and inquire in
the neighborhood to whom this horse and mule belonged.

Mme. Coquenard recognized her present, and could not at first comprehend
this restitution; but the visit of Porthos soon enlightened her. The
anger which fired the eyes of the Musketeer, in spite of his efforts to
suppress it, terrified his sensitive inamorata. In fact, Mousqueton had
not concealed from his master that he had met d'Artagnan and Aramis,
and that d'Artagnan in the yellow horse had recognized the Bearnese pony
upon which he had come to Paris, and which he had sold for three crowns.

Porthos went away after having appointed a meeting with the procurator's
wife in the cloister of St. Magloire. The procurator, seeing he was
going, invited him to dinner--an invitation which the Musketeer refused
with a majestic air.

Mme. Coquenard repaired trembling to the cloister of St. Magloire,
for she guessed the reproaches that awaited her there; but she was
fascinated by the lofty airs of Porthos.

All that which a man wounded in his self-love could let fall in the
shape of imprecations and reproaches upon the head of a woman Porthos
let fall upon the bowed head of the procurator's wife.

"Alas," said she, "I did all for the best! One of our clients is a
horsedealer; he owes money to the office, and is backward in his pay. I
took the mule and the horse for what he owed us; he assured me that they
were two noble steeds."

"Well, madame," said Porthos, "if he owed you more than five crowns,
your horsedealer is a thief."

"There is no harm in trying to buy things cheap, Monsieur Porthos," said
the procurator's wife, seeking to excuse herself.

"No, m