e thou art--how fat! thou hast prospered and grown
stout!" and D'Artagnan could not restrain his astonishment at the change
good fortune had produced on the once famished one.

"Hey, yes, thank God, I am pretty well," said Mousqueton.

"But hast thou nothing to say to thy friend Planchet?"

"How, my friend Planchet? Planchet--art thou there?" cried Mousqueton,
with open arms and eyes full of tears.

"My very self," replied Planchet; "but I wanted first to see if thou
wert grown proud."

"Proud toward an old friend? never, Planchet! thou wouldst not have
thought so hadst thou known Mousqueton well."

"So far so well," answered Planchet, alighting, and extending his arms
to Mousqueton, the two servants embraced with an emotion which touched
those who were present and made them suppose that Planchet was a
great lord in disguise, so highly did they estimate the position of
Mousqueton.

"And now, sir," resumed Mousqueton, when he had rid himself of Planchet,
who had in vain tried to clasp his hands behind his friend's fat back,
"now, sir, allow me to leave you, for I could not permit my master to
hear of your arrival from any but myself; he would never forgive me for
not having preceded you."

"This dear friend," said D'Artagnan, carefully avoiding to utter either
the former name borne by Porthos or his new one, "then he has not
forgotten me?"

"Forgotten--he!" cried Mousqueton; "there's not a day, sir, that we
don't expect to hear that you were made marshal either instead of
Monsieur de Gassion, or of Monsieur de Bassompierre."

On D'Artagnan's lips there played one of those rare and melancholy
smiles which seemed to emanate from the depth of his soul--the last
trace of youth and happiness that had survived life's disillusions.

"And you--fellows," resumed Mousqueton, "stay near Monsieur le Comte
d'Artagnan and pay him every attention in your power whilst I go to
prepare my lord for his visit."

And mounting his horse Mousqueton rode off down the avenue on the grass
at a hand gallop.

"Ah, there! there's something promising," said D'Artagnan. "No
mysteries, no cloak to hide one's self in, no cunning policy here;
people laugh outright, they weep for joy here. I see nothing but faces a
yard broad; in short, it seems to me that nature herself wears a holiday
garb, and that the trees, instead of leaves and flowers, are covered
with red and green ribbons as on gala days."

"As for me," said Planchet, "I seem to