"By'r Lady! two or three years perhaps."
"So much the better," cried Porthos. "You have no idea, my friend, how my bones ache since I came here. Sometimes on a Sunday, I take a ride in the fields and on the property of my neighbours, in order to pick up a nice little quarrel, which I am really in want of, but nothing happens. Either they respect or they fear me, which is more likely, but they let me trample down the clover with my dogs, insult and obstruct every one, and I come back still more weary and low-spirited, that's all. At any rate, tell me: there's more chance of fighting in Paris, is there not?"
"In that respect, my dear friend, it's delightful. No more edicts, no more of the cardinal's guards, no more De Jussacs, nor other bloodhounds. I'Gad! underneath a lamp in an inn, anywhere, they ask 'Are you one of the Fronde?' They unsheathe, and that's all that is said. The Duke de Guise killed Monsieur de Coligny in the Place Royale and nothing was said of it."
"Ah, things go on gaily, then," said Porthos.
"Besides which, in a short time," resumed D'Artagnan, "We shall have set battles, cannonades, conflagrations and there will be great
variety."
"Well, then, I decide."
"I have your word, then?"
"Yes, 'tis given. I shall fight heart and soul for Mazarin; but----"
"But?"
"But he must make me a baron."
"Zounds!" said D'Artagnan, "that's settled already; I will be responsible for the barony."
On this promise being given, Porthos, who had never doubted his friend's assurance, turned back with him toward the castle.
12. In which it is shown that if Porthos was discontented with his Condition, Mousqueton was completely satisfied with his.
As they returned toward the castle, D'Artagnan thought of the miseries of poor human nature, always dissatisfied with what it has,
ever desirous of what it has not.
In the position of Porthos, D'Artagnan would have been perfectly happy; and to make Porthos contented there was wanting--what?
five letters to put before his three names, a tiny coronet to paint upon the panels of his carriage!
"I shall pass all my life," thought D'Artagnan, "in seeking for a man who is really contented with his lot."
Whilst making this reflection, chance seemed, as it were, to give him the lie direct. When Porthos had left him to give some orders he saw Mousqueton approaching. The face of the steward, despite one slight shade of care, light as a summer cloud, seemed a physiognomy of absolute felicity.
"Here is what I am looking for," thought D'Artagnan; "but alas! the poor fellow does not know the purpose for which I am here."
He then made a sign for Mousqueton to come to him. "Sir," said the servant, "I have a favour to ask you." "Speak out, my friend."
"I am afraid to do so. Perhaps you will think, sir, that prosperity has spoiled me?"
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"Art thou happy, friend?" asked D'Artagnan.
"As happy as possible; and yet, sir, you may make me even happier than I am."
"Well, speak, if it depends on me." "Oh, sir! it depends on you only." "I listen--I am waiting to hear."
"Sir, the favor I have to ask of you is, not to call me 'Mousqueton' but 'Mouston.' Since I have had the honor of being my lord's steward I have taken the last name as more dignified and calculated to make my inferiors respect me. You, sir, know how necessary subordination is in any large establishment of servants."
D'Artagnan smiled; Porthos wanted to lengthen out his names, Mousqueton to cut his short.
"Well, my dear Mouston," he said, "rest satisfied. I will call thee Mouston; and if it makes thee happy I will not 'tutoyer' you any
longer."
"Oh!" cried Mousqueton, reddening with joy; "if you do me, sir, such honor, I shall be grateful all my life; it is too much to ask."
"Alas!" thought D'Artagnan, "it is very little to offset the unexpected tribulations I am bringing to this poor devil who has so warmly welcomed me."
"Will monsieur remain long with us?" asked Mousqueton, with a serene and glowing countenance. "I go to-morrow, my friend," replied D'Artagnan.
"Ah, monsieur," said Mousqueton, "then you have come here only to awaken our regrets." "I fear that is true," said D'Artagnan, in a low tone.
D'Artagnan was secretly touched with remorse, not at inducing Porthos to enter into schemes in which his life and fortune would
be in jeopardy, for Porthos, in the title of baron, had his object and reward; but poor Mousqueton, whose only wish was to be called
Mouston--was it not cruel to snatch him from the delightful state of peace and plenty in which he was? He was thinking of these matters when Porthos summoned him to dinner.
"What! to dinner?" said D'Artagnan. "What time is it, then?" "Eh! why, it is after one o'clock."
"Your home is a paradise, Porthos; one takes no note of time. I follow you, though I am not hungry."
"Come, if one can't always eat, one can always drink--a maxim of poor Athos, the truth of which I have discovered since I began to be lonely."
D'Artagnan, who as a Gascon, was inclined to sobriety, seemed not so sure as his friend of the truth of Athos's maxim, but he did his best to keep up with his host. Meanwhile his misgivings in regard to Mousqueton recurred to his mind and with greater force because Mousqueton, though he did not himself wait on the table, which would have been beneath him in his new position, appeared
at the door from time to time and evinced his gratitude to D'Artagnan by the quality of the wine he directed to be served. Therefore, when, at dessert, upon a sign from D'Artagnan, Porthos had sent away his servants and the two friends were alone:
"Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "who will attend you in your campaigns?" "Why," replied Porthos, "Mouston, of course."
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This was a blow to D'Artagnan. He could already see the intendant's beaming smile change to a contortion of grief. "But," he said,
"Mouston is not so young as he was, my dear fellow; besides, he has grown fat and perhaps has lost his fitness for active service."
"That may be true," replied Porthos; "but I am used to him, and besides, he wouldn't be willing to let me go without him, he loves
me so much."
"Oh, blind self-love!" thought D'Artagnan.
"And you," asked Porthos, "haven't you still in your service your old lackey, that good, that brave, that intelligent---what, then, is his name?"
"Planchet--yes, I have found him again, but he is lackey no longer." "What is he, then?"
"With his sixteen hundred francs--you remember, the sixteen hundred francs he earned at the siege of La Rochelle by carrying a letter to Lord de Winter--he has set up a little shop in the Rue des Lombards and is now a confectioner."
"Ah, he is a confectioner in the Rue des Lombards! How does it happen, then, that he is in your service?"
"He has been guilty of certain escapades and fears he may be disturbed." And the musketeer narrated to his friend Planchet's adventure.
"Well," said Porthos, "if any one had told you in the old times that the day would come when Planchet would rescue Rochefort and that you would protect him in it----"
"I should not have believed him; but men are changed by events."
"There is nothing truer than that," said Porthos; "but what does not change, or changes for the better, is wine. Taste of this; it is a
Spanish wine which our friend Athos thought much of."
At that moment the steward came in to consult his master upon the proceedings of the next day and also with regard to the shooting