"Nothing?"
"No, nothing, monsieur."
"Deuce take the Olympic pleasures! They must cost your master too dear; for widows and orphans--"
"They all had pensions, monsieur; a tenth of monseigneur's revenue was spent in that way."
"Then pass on to Friday," said D'Artagnan.
"Friday, noble and warlike pleasures. We hunt, we fence, we dress falcons and break horses. Then, Saturday is the day for intellectual pleasures: we adorn our minds; we look at monseigneur's pictures and statues; we write, even, and trace plans: and then we fire monseigneur's cannon."
"You draw plans, and fire cannon?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Why, my friend," said D'Artagnan, "M. du Vallon, in truth, possesses the most subtle and amiable mind that I know. But there is one kind of pleasure you have forgotten, it appears to me."
"What is that, monsieur?" asked Mousqueton, with anxiety.
"The material pleasures."
Mousqueton colored. "What do you mean by that, monsieur?" said he, casting down his eyes.
"I mean the table--good wine--evenings occupied in passing the bottle."
"Ah, monsieur, we don't reckon those pleasures,--we practice them every day."
"My brave Mousqueton," resumed D'Artagnan, "pardon me, but I was so absorbed in your charming recital that I have forgotten the principal object of our conversation, which was to learn what M. le Vicaire-General d'Herblay could have to write to your master about."
"That is true, monsieur," said Mousqueton; "the pleasures have misled us. Well, monsieur, this is the whole affair."
"I am all attention, Mousqueton."
"On Wednesday--"
"The day of the rustic pleasures?"
"Yes--a letter arrived; he received it from my hands. I had recognized the writing."
"Well?"
Monseigneur read it and cried out, "Quick, my horses! my arms!'"
"Oh, good Lord! then it was for some duel?" said D'Artagnan.
"No, monsieur, there were only these words: 'Dear Porthos, set out, if you would wish to arrive before the Equinox. I expect you.'"
"Mordioux!" said D'Artagnan, thoughtfully, "that was pressing, apparently."
"I think so; therefore," continued Mousqueton, "monseigneur set out the very same day with his secretary, in order to endeavor to arrive in time."
"And did he arrive in time?"
"I hope so. Monseigneur, who is hasty, as you know, monsieur, repeated incessantly, 'Tonne Dieu! What can this mean? The Equinox? Never mind, a fellow must be well mounted to arrive before I do.'"