meddle with a matter which only concerned himself. Since that time, Monsieur, nobody entered his chamber but his servant.”
“What! Mousqueton is here, then?”
“Oh, yes, Monsieur. Five days after your departure, he came back, and in a very bad condition, too. It appears that he had met with disagreeableness, likewise, on his journey. Unfortunately, he is more nimble than his master; so that for the sake of his master, he puts us all under his feet, and as he thinks we might refuse what he asked for, he takes all he wants without asking at all.”
“The fact is,” said d’Artagnan, “I have always observed a great degree of intelligence and devotedness in Mousqueton.”
“That is possible, Monsieur; but suppose I should happen to be brought in contact, even four times a year, with such intelligence and devotedness—why, I should be a ruined man!”
“No, for Porthos will pay you.”
“Hum!” said the host, in a doubtful tone.
“The favorite of a great lady will not be allowed to be inconvenienced for such a paltry sum as he owes you.”
“If I durst say what I believe on that head—”
“What you believe?”
“I ought rather to say, what I know.”
“What you know?”
“And even what I am sure of.”
“And of what are you so sure?”