ast on what was left by
D'Artagnan.

It was nearly eight o'clock when they set out again. Their course was
clearly defined: they were to follow the road toward Compiegne and on
emerging from the forest turn to the right.

The morning was beautiful, and in this early springtime the birds sang
on the trees and the sunbeams shone through the misty glades, like
curtains of golden gauze.

In other parts of the forest the light could scarcely penetrate through
the foliage, and the stems of two old oak trees, the refuge of the
squirrel, startled by the travelers, were in deep shadow.

There came up from all nature in the dawn of day a perfume of herbs,
flowers and leaves, which delighted the heart. D'Artagnan, sick of
the closeness of Paris, thought that when a man had three names of his
different estates joined one to another, he ought to be very happy in
such a paradise; then he shook his head, saying, "If I were Porthos and
D'Artagnan came to make me such a proposition as I am going to make to
him, I know what I should say to it."

As to Planchet, he thought of little or nothing, but was happy as a
hunting-hound in his old master's company.

At the extremity of the wood D'Artagnan perceived the road that had been
described to him, and at the end of the road he saw the towers of an
immense feudal castle.

"Oh! oh!" he said, "I fancied this castle belonged to the ancient
branch of Orleans. Can Porthos have negotiated for it with the Duc de
Longueville?"

"Faith!" exclaimed Planchet, "here's land in good condition; if it
belongs to Monsieur Porthos I wish him joy."

"Zounds!" cried D'Artagnan, "don't call him Porthos, nor even Vallon;
call him De Bracieux or De Pierrefonds; thou wilt knell out damnation to
my mission otherwise."

As he approached the castle which had first attracted his eye,
D'Artagnan was convinced that it could not be there that his friend
dwelt; the towers, though solid and as if built yesterday, were open
and broken. One might have fancied that some giant had cleaved them with
blows from a hatchet.

On arriving at the extremity of the castle D'Artagnan found himself
overlooking a beautiful valley, in which, at the foot of a charming
little lake, stood several scattered houses, which, humble in their
aspect, and covered, some with tiles, others with thatch, seemed to
acknowledge as their sovereign lord a pretty chateau, built about the
beginning of the reign of Henry IV., and surmounted by fo