e, with a large tiled
roof. Two of the windows, which were quite dark, looked upon the street.
Between the two, a small door, with a porch supported by a couple of
pillars, formed the entrance to the house. The door was gained by a step
raised a little from the ground. Planchet got off his horse, as if he
intended to knock at the door; but, on second thoughts, he took hold of
his horse by the bridle, and led it about thirty paces further on, his
two companions following him. He then advanced about another thirty
paces, until he arrived at the door of a cart-house, lighted by an iron
grating; and, lifting up a wooden latch, pushed open one of the
folding-doors. He entered first, leading his horse after him by the
bridle, into a small courtyard, where an odor met them which revealed
their close vicinity to a stable. "That smells all right," said Porthos
loudly, getting off his horse, "and I almost begin to think I am near my
own cows at Pierrefonds."

"I have only one cow," Planchet hastened to say, modestly.

"And I have thirty," said Porthos; "or, rather, I don't exactly know how
many I have."

When the two cavaliers had entered, Planchet fastened the door behind
them. In the meantime, D'Artagnan, who had dismounted with his usual
agility, inhaled the fresh perfumed air with the delight a Parisian
feels at the sight of green fields and fresh foliage, plucked a piece of
honeysuckle with one hand, and of sweet-briar with the other. Porthos
had laid hold of some peas which were twined round poles stuck into the
ground, and ate, or rather browsed upon them, shells and all; and
Planchet was busily engaged trying to wake up an old and infirm peasant,
who was fast asleep in a shed, lying on a bed of moss, and dressed in an
old stable suit of clothes. The peasant, recognizing Planchet, called
him "the master" to the grocer's great satisfaction. "Stable the horses
well, old fellow, and you shall have something good for yourself," said
Planchet.

"Yes, yes; fine animals they are, too," said the peasant. "Oh! they
shall have as much as they like."

"Gently, gently, my man," said D'Artagnan. "We are getting on a little
too fast. A few oats, and a good bed--nothing more."

"Some bran and water for my horse," said Porthos, "for it is very warm,
I think."

"Don't be afraid, gentlemen," replied Planchet; "Daddy Celestin is an
old gendarme, who fought at Ivry. He knows all about stables; so come
into the house." And he led the