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“Yes, Monsieur, and it was he who taught me to tie a snare and set a bottom line. The result was that when I saw our scoundrel of a host feeding us a heap of crude meat fit for yokels, and by no means suited to two stomachs as enfeebled as ours, I went back somewhat to my old trade. While strolling in the woods of M. le Prince,102 I set some snares in the runs; while lying on the banks of His Highness’s ponds, I slipped some lines into the water. So that now, thank God, we’re not lacking, as Monsieur can verify, in partridges and rabbits, carps and eels—all light and healthful foods, proper for sick men.”

“But the wine,” asked d’Artagnan, “who furnishes the wine? Is it your host?”

“Yes and no.”

“How do you mean, yes and no?”

“He furnishes it, true, but he doesn’t know he has that honor.”

“Explain yourself, Mousqueton, your conversation is full of instructive things.”

“It’s like this, Monsieur. Chance brought it about that I met a Spaniard in my peregrinations who had seen many countries, the New World among others.”

“What relation can the New World have with the bottles standing on this writing desk and that chest of drawers?”

“Patience, Monsieur, each thing in its turn.”

“Fair enough, Mousqueton; I rely on you, and I’m listening.”

“This Spaniard had a lackey in his service who had accompanied him on his voyage to Mexico. This lackey was my compatriot, so that we made friends all the more quickly, in that there were strong similarities of character between us. We both loved hunting more than anything, so that he told me how, in the plains of the pampas, the natives of the country hunt tigers and bulls with a simple slipknot, which they throw around the necks of these terrible animals. At first I refused to believe one could reach such a degree of skill as to throw the end of a rope accurately for twenty or thirty paces; but in the face of proof, the truth of the story had to be acknowledged. My friend placed a bottle thirty paces away, and he caught the neck in the slipknot every time. I took up the exercise, and as nature has granted me certain abilities, today I can throw a lasso as well as any man in the world. Well, do you understand? Our host has a very well-furnished cellar, but he never parts with the key. However, the cellar has a vent window. So I throw the lasso through this vent window; and as I now know where the good corner is, I draw from it. That, Monsieur, is how the New World turns out to have a relation with the bottles on that chest of drawers and this writing desk. Now, kindly taste our wine, and tell us, without reservation, what you think of it.”

“Thank you, my friend, thank you, but unfortunately I’ve just had lunch.”

“Well, then,” said Porthos, “set the table, and while we two are having lunch, d’Artagnan can tell us what’s become of him in the ten days since he left us.”

“Gladly,” said d’Artagnan.

While Porthos and Mousqueton lunched with the appetites of convalescents and that brotherly cordiality which draws men together in misfortune, d’Artagnan told how the wounded Aramis had been forced to stop at Crèvecoeur, how he had left Athos to fight it out in Amiens with four men who accused him of being a counterfeiter, and how he, d’Artagnan, had been forced to run the comte de Wardes through the belly in order to get to England.

But there d’Artagnan’s confidences stopped. He only declared that, on his return from Great Britain, he had brought four magnificent horses, one for himself and one for each of his companions. Then he ended by declaring to Porthos that the one destined for him was already installed in the hôtel stable.

At that moment Planchet came in. He informed his master that the horses were sufficiently rested, and that it would be possible for them to spend the night in Clermont.

As d’Artagnan was all but reassured about Porthos and was longing for news of his two other friends, he held out his hand to the patient and informed him that he was setting out to continue his search. Moreover, as he counted on returning by the same