However brilliant had been the part played by Porthos in theduel, it had not made him forget the dinner of theprocurator's wife.

On the morrow he received the last touches of Mousqueton'sbrush for an hour, and took his way toward the Rue aux Ourswith the steps of a man who was doubly in favor withfortune.

His heart beat, but not like D'Artagnan's with a young andimpatient love. No; a more material interest stirred hisblood. He was about at last to pass that mysteriousthreshold, to climb those unknown stairs by which, one byone, the old crowns of M. Coquenard had ascended. He wasabout to see in reality a certain coffer of which he hadtwenty times beheld the image in his dreams - a coffer longand deep, locked, bolted, fastened in the wall; a coffer ofwhich he had so often heard, and which the hands - a littlewrinkled, it is true, but still not without elegance - of theprocurator's wife were about to open to his admiring looks.

And then he - a wanderer on the earth, a man without fortune,a man without family, a soldier accustomed to inns,cabarets, taverns, and restaurants, a lover of wine forcedto depend upon chance treats - was about to partake of familymeals, to enjoy the pleasures of a comfortableestablishment, and to give himself up to those littleattentions which "the harder one is, the more they please,"as old soldiers say.

To come in the capacity of a cousin, and seat himself everyday at a good table; to smooth the yellow, wrinkled brow ofthe old procurator; to pluck the clerks a little by teachingthem BASSETTE, PASSE-DIX, and LANSQUENET, in their utmostnicety, and winning from them, by way of fee for the lessonhe would give them in an hour, their savings of a month - allthis was enormously delightful to Porthos.

The Musketeer could not forget the evil reports which thenprevailed, and which indeed have survived them, of theprocurators of the period - meanness, stinginess, fasts; butas, after all, excepting some few acts of economy whichPorthos had always found very unseasonable, the procurator'swife had been tolerably liberal - that is, be it understood,for a procurator's wife - he hoped to see a household of ahighly comfortable kind.

And yet, at the very door the Musketeer began to entertainsome doubts. The approach was not such as to prepossesspeople - an ill-smelling, dark passage, a staircase half-lighted by bars through which stole a glimmer from aneighboring yard; on the first floor a low door studded withenormous nails, like the principal gate of the GrandChatelet.

Porthos knocked with his hand. A tall, pale clerk, his faceshaded by a forest of virgin hair, opened the door, andbowed with the air of a man forced at once to respect inanother lofty stature, which indicated strength, themilitary dress, which indicated rank, and a ruddycountenance, which indicated familiarity with good living.

A shorter clerk came behind the first, a taller clerk behindthe second, a stripling of a dozen years rising behind thethird. In all, three clerks and a half, which, for thetime, argued a very extensive clientage.

Although the Musketeer was not expected before one o'clock,the procurator's wife had been on the watch ever sincemidday, reckoning that the heart, or perhaps the stomach, ofher lover would bring him before his time.

Mme. Coquenard therefore entered the office from the houseat the same moment her guest entered from the stairs, andthe appearance of the worthy lady relieved him from anawkward embarrassment. The clerks surveyed him with greatcuriosity, and he, not knowing well what to say to thisascending and descending scale, remained tongue-tied.

"It is my cousin!" cried the procurator's wife. "Come in,come in, Monsieur Porthos!"

The name of Porthos produced its effect upon the clerks, whobegan to laugh; but Porthos turned sharply round, and everycountenance quickly recovered its gravity.

They reached the office of the procurator after havingpassed through the antechamber in which the clerks were, andthe study in which they ought to have been. This lastapartment was a sort of dark room, littered with papers. Onquitting the study they left the kitchen on the right, andentered the reception room.

All these rooms, which communicated with one another, didnot inspire Porthos favorably. Words might be heard at adistance through all these open doors. Then, while passing,he had cast a rapid, investigating glance into the kitchen;and he was obliged to confess to himself, to the shame ofthe procurator's wife and his own regret, that he did notsee that fire, that animation, that bustle, which when agood repast is on foot prevails generally in that sanctuaryof good living.

The procurator had without doubt been warned of his visit,as he expressed no surprise at the sight of Porthos, whoadvanced toward him with a sufficiently easy air, andsaluted him courteously.

"We are cousins, it appears, Monsieur Porthos?" said theprocurator, rising, yet supporting his weight upon the armsof his cane chair.

The old man, wrapped in a large black doublet, in which thewhole of his slender body was concealed, was brisk and dry.His little gray eyes shone like carbuncles, and appeared,with his grinning mouth, to be the only part of his face inwhich life survived. Unfortunately the legs began to refusetheir service to this bony machine. During the last five orsix months that this weakness had been felt, the worthyprocurator had nearly become the slave of his wife.

The cousin was received with resignation, that was all. M.Coquenard, firm upon his legs, would have declined allrelationship with M. Porthos.

"Yes, monsieur, we are cousins," said Porthos, without beingdisconcerted, as he had never reckoned upon being receivedenthusiastically by the husband.

"By the female side, I believe?" said the procurator,maliciously.

Porthos did not feel the ridicule of this, and took it for apiece of simplicity, at which he laughed in his largemustache. Mme. Coquenard, who knew that a simple-mindedprocurator was a very rare variety in the species, smiled alittle, and colored a great deal.

M. Coquenard had, since the arrival of Porthos, frequentlycast his eyes with great uneasiness upon a large chestplaced in front of his oak desk. Porthos comprehended thatthis chest, although it did not correspond in shape withthat which he had seen in his dreams, must be the blessedcoffer, and he congratulated himself that the reality wasseveral feet higher than the dream.

M. Coquenard did not carry his genealogical investigationsany further; but withdrawing his anxious look from the chestand fixing it upon Porthos, he contented himself with saying,"Monsieur our cousin will do us the favor of dining with usonce 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 wasnot less affected by it on her part, for she added, "Mycousin will not return if he finds that we do not treat himkindly; but otherwise he has so little time to pass in Paris,and consequently to spare to us, that we must entreat him togive us every instant he can call his own previous to hisdeparture."

"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 hewas attacked in his gastronomic hopes, inspired muchgratitude in the Musketeer toward the procurator's wife.

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

The clerks, who, as it appeared, had smelled unusual perfumesin the house, were of military punctuality, and held theirstools in hand quite ready to sit down. Their jaws movedpreliminarily with fearful threatenings.

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

M. Coquenard entered, pushed along upon his armchair withcasters by Mme. Coquenard, whom Porthos assisted in rollingher husband up to the table. He had scarcely entered whenhe began to agitate his nose and his jaws after the exampleof his clerks.

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

"What the devil can they smell so extraordinary in thissoup?" said Porthos, at the sight of a pale liquid, abundantbut entirely free from meat, on the surface of which a fewcrusts swam about as rare as the islands of an archipelago.

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

M. Coquenard was served first, then Porthos. Afterward Mme.Coquenard filled her own plate, and distributed the crustswithout soup to the impatient clerks. At this moment thedoor of the dining room unclosed with a creak, and Porthosperceived through the half-open flap the little clerk who,not being allowed to take part in the feast, ate his drybread in the passage with the double odor of the dining roomand kitchen.

After the soup the maid brought a boiled fowl - a piece ofmagnificence which caused the eyes of the diners to dilatein such a manner that they seemed ready to burst.

"One may see that you love your family, Madame Coquenard,"said the procurator, with a smile that was almost tragic."You are certainly treating your cousin very handsomely!"

The poor fowl was thin, and covered with one of those thick,bristly skins through which the teeth cannot penetrate withall their efforts. The fowl must have been sought for along time on the perch, to which it had retired to die ofold age.

"The devil!" thought Porthos, "this is poor work. I respectold age, but I don't much like it boiled or roasted."

And he looked round to see if anybody partook of hisopinion; but on the contrary, he saw nothing but eager eyeswhich were devouring, in anticipation, that sublime fowlwhich was the object of his contempt.

Mme. Coquenard drew the dish toward her, skillfully detachedthe two great black feet, which she placed upon herhusband's plate, cut off the neck, which with the head sheput on one side for herself, raised the wing for Porthos,and then returned the bird otherwise intact to the servantwho had brought it in, who disappeared with it before theMusketeer had time to examine the variations whichdisappointment produces upon faces, according to thecharacters and temperaments of those who experience it.

In the place of the fowl a dish of haricot beans made itsappearance - an enormous dish in which some bones of muttonthat at first sight one might have believed to have somemeat on them pretended to show themselves.

But the clerks were not the dupes of this deceit, and theirlugubrious looks settled down into resigned countenances.

Mme. Coquenard distributed this dish to the young men withthe moderation of a good housewife.

The time for wine came. M. Coquenard poured from a verysmall stone bottle the third of a glass for each of theyoung men, served himself in about the same proportion, andpassed the bottle to Porthos and Mme. Coquenard.

The young men filled up their third of a glass with water;then, when they had drunk half the glass, they filled it upagain, and continued to do so. This brought them, by theend of the repast, to swallowing a drink which from thecolor of the ruby had passed to that of a pale topaz.

Porthos ate his wing of the fowl timidly, and shuddered whenhe felt the knee of the procurator's wife under the table,as it came in search of his. He also drank half a glass ofthis sparingly served wine, and found it to be nothing butthat horrible Montreuil - the terror of all expert palates.

M. Coquenard saw him swallowing this wine undiluted, andsighed deeply.

"Will you eat any of these beans, Cousin Porthos?" said Mme.Coquenard, in that tone which says, "Take my advice, don'ttouch them."

"Devil take me if I taste one of them!" murmured Porthos tohimself, and then said aloud, "Thank you, my cousin, I am nolonger hungry."

There was silence. Porthos could hardly keep hiscountenance.

The procurator repeated several times, "Ah, MadameCoquenard! Accept my compliments; your dinner has been areal feast. Lord, how I have eaten!"

M. Coquenard had eaten his soup, the black feet of the fowl,and the only mutton bone on which there was the leastappearance of meat.

Porthos fancied they were mystifying him, and began to curlhis mustache and knit his eyebrows; but the knee of Mme.Coquenard gently advised him to be patient.

This silence and this interruption in serving, which wereunintelligible to Porthos, had, on the contrary, a terriblemeaning for the clerks. Upon a look from the procurator,accompanied by a smile from Mme. Coquenard, they aroseslowly from the table, folded their napkins more slowlystill, bowed, and retired.

"Go, young men! go and promote digestion by working," saidthe procurator, gravely.

The clerks gone, Mme. Coquenard rose and took from a buffeta piece of cheese, some preserved quinces, and a cake whichshe had herself made of almonds and honey.

M. Coquenard knit his eyebrows because there were too manygood things. Porthos bit his lips because he saw not thewherewithal to dine. He looked to see if the dish of beanswas still there; the dish of beans had disappeared.

"A positive feast!" cried M. Coquenard, turning about in hischair, "a real feast, EPULCE EPULORUM. Lucullus dines withLucullus."

Porthos looked at the bottle, which was Dear him, and hopedthat with wine, bread, and cheese, he might make a dinner;but wine was wanting, the bottle was empty. M. and Mme.Coquenard did not seem to observe it.

"This is fine!" said Porthos to himself; "I am prettilycaught!"

He passed his tongue over a spoonful of preserves, and stuckhis teeth into the sticky pastry of Mme. Coquenard.

"Now," said he, "the sacrifice is consummated! Ah! if I hadnot the hope of peeping with Madame Coquenard into herhusband's chest!"

M. Coquenard, after the luxuries of such a repast, which hecalled an excess, felt the want of a siesta. Porthos beganto hope that the thing would take place at the presentsitting, and in that same locality; but the procurator wouldlisten to nothing, he would be taken to his room, and wasnot satisfied till he was close to his chest, upon the edgeof which, for still greater precaution, he placed his feet.

The procurator's wife took Porthos into an adjoining room,and they began to lay the basis of a reconciliation.

"You can come and dine three times a week," said Mme.Coquenard.

"Thanks, madame!" said Porthos, "but I don't like to abuseyour kindness; besides, I must think of my outfit!"

"That's true," said the procurator's wife, groaning, "thatunfortunate outfit!"

"Alas, yes," said Porthos, "it is so."

"But of what, then, does the equipment of your companyconsist, Monsieur Porthos?"

"Oh, of many things!" said Porthos. "The Musketeers are, asyou know, picked soldiers, and they require many thingsuseless to the Guardsmen or the Swiss."

"But yet, detail them to me."

"Why, they may amount to - ", said Porthos, who preferreddiscussing the total to taking them one by one.

The procurator's wife waited tremblingly.

"To how much?" said she. "I hope it does not exceed - " Shestopped; speech failed her.

"Oh, no," said Porthos, "it does not exceed two thousandfive hundred livres! I even think that with economy I couldmanage it with two thousand livres."

"Good God!" cried she, "two thousand livres! Why, that is afortune!"

Porthos made a most significant grimace; Mme. Coquenardunderstood it.

"I wished to know the detail," said she, "because, havingmany relatives in business, I was almost sure of obtainingthings at a hundred per cent less than you would payyourself."

"Ah, ah!" said Porthos, "that is what you meant to say!"

"Yes, dear Monsieur Porthos. Thus, for instance, don't youin the first place want a horse?"

"Yes, a horse."

"Well, then! I can just suit you."

"Ah!" said Porthos, brightening, "that's well as regards myhorse; but I must have the appointments complete, as theyinclude objects which a Musketeer alone can purchase, andwhich will not amount, besides, to more than three hundredlivres."

"Three hundred livres? Then put down three hundred livres,"said the procurator's wife, with a sigh.

Porthos smiled. It may be remembered that he had the saddlewhich came from Buckingham. These three hundred livres hereckoned upon putting snugly into his pocket.

"Then," continued he, "there is a horse for my lackey, andmy valise. As to my arms, it is useless to trouble youabout them; I have them."

"A horse for your lackey?" resumed the procurator's wife,hesitatingly; "but that is doing things in lordly style, myfriend."

"Ah, madame!" said Porthos, haughtily; "do you take me for abeggar?"

"No; I only thought that a pretty mule makes sometimes asgood an appearance as a horse, and it seemed to me that bygetting a pretty mule for Mousqueton - "

"Well, agreed for a pretty mule," said Porthos; "you areright, I have seen very great Spanish nobles whose wholesuite were mounted on mules. But then you understand,Madame Coquenard, a mule with feathers and bells."

"Be satisfied," said the procurator's wife.

"There remains the valise," added Porthos.

"Oh, don't let that disturb you," cried Mme. Coquenard. "Myhusband has five or six valises; you shall choose the best.There is one in particular which he prefers in his journeys,large enough to hold all the world."

"Your valise is then empty?" asked Porthos, with simplicity.

"Certainly it is empty," replied the procurator's wife, inreal innocence.

"Ah, but the valise I want," cried Porthos, "is a well-filled one, my dear."

Madame uttered fresh sighs. Moliere had not written hisscene in "L'Avare" then. Mme. Coquenard was in the dilemmaof Harpagan.

Finally, the rest of the equipment was successively debatedin the same manner; and the result of the sitting was thatthe procurator's wife should give eight hundred livres inmoney, and should furnish the horse and the mule whichshould have the honor of carrying Porthos and Mousqueton toglory.

These conditions being agreed to, Porthos took leave of Mme.Coquenard. The latter wished to detain him by dartingcertain tender glances; but Porthos urged the commands ofduty, and the procurator's wife was obliged to give place tothe king.

The Musketeer returned home hungry and in bad humor.