The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [172]
XXXII
A DINNER AT THE HOUSE OF AN ATTORNEY-AT-LAW
Brilliantly as Porthos had fought in the fray, he did not forget his engagement for dinner with Madame Coquenard. Next day toward one o’clock he had Mousqueton brush, dust, sponge and press his uniform. Then, trim and smart, he strolled off toward the Rue aux Ours, a man doubly favored by the fortunes of war and love.
His heart beat fast but not with a youthful, impetuous love like that of D’Artagnan. No, a more material and practical interest stirred his blood. At last he was about to cross the mysterious threshold which led to the unknown stairway, which led to the unexplored corridor, which led to the office, which led to the safe of Maître Coquenard, Attorney-at-Law. Coin by ancient coin, bill by assigned bill, the lawyer’s fortune had progressed along the same path. Now Porthos was following triumphant in its wake.
Many a time in his dreams Porthos had visioned the lawyer’s ample coffer. Surely it was a long, deep and capricious receptacle, padlocked, bolted, barred and fastened to the floor. How often and in what detail Madame Attorney had described it! Today her somewhat wrinkled but not unshapely hands were to open it to his jubilant gaze.
And he, Porthos, a wanderer over the face of the earth, a man without family or fortune, a soldier accustomed to inns, taverns, cheap lodgings and pothouses, this epicure had been forced to content himself with what chance offered in the way of a friend treating him to a wretched meal. Now at least he was to enjoy the amenities of a comfortable home, to partake of good family meals and to revel in those little personal attentions which, the harder a man is, the sweeter they seem, as old soldiers say.
To be received in the capacity of a cousin . . . to sit at a good table every day . . . to unfurrow the yellow wrinkled brow of the aged attorney . . . to teach the clerks the highest subtleties of such card games as bassette and lansquenet or such dice games as passe-dix . . . to pluck them, too, taking as fee for an hour’s lesson, their savings of a month . . . what a delightful prospect! . . .
Amid his rosy dreams, Porthos did not forget the uncomplimentary traits attributed to attorneys even at that period (and still prevalent!). They were ever reported to be a stingy crew given to cheeseparing and frequent fasts. Still, save for occasional acts of parsimony, which Porthos had always found highly inopportune, Madame Attorney had been tolerably liberal—for a lawyer’s wife. Accordingly Porthos expected to find a household run on an ample and gracious scale.
But at the front door he was seized with misgivings. The approach was unprepossessing: a dingy, stinking passage . . . a dank stairway barely lighted by a few rays that filtered through a barred window from an adjoining courtyard . . . and, on the second floor, a squat door studded with enormous nails like the main gate of the Grand Châtelet prison. . . .
Porthos rapped at the door. A tall gangling clerk, pallid under a forest of tousled hair, opened, bowing with the air of a man forced to respect a lofty stature (which indicated strength), a uniform (which indicated valor) and a ruddy countenance (which indicated a familiarity with good living).
Behind the tall clerk stood a medium-sized clerk, and behind the medium-sized clerk, a third rather tall clerk, and behind him a diminutive errand boy of some twelve summers. Three and a half clerks all told, which in those days represented a most prosperous practice.
Though the musketeer was not expected before one o’clock, Madame Attorney had been watching the clock since noon, counting upon her suitor’s heart and perhaps his stomach to bring him earlier. Thus she entered the office from her private apartment just as her guest entered from the stairs and the worthy lady’s appearance rescued him from considerable embarrassment. The clerks eyed him with