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She was very tired, but restless, and disinclined for bed. Dropping down on the low seat she stared out over the moonlit landscape. The repentant Mouston, abject at her continued neglect, crawled from his basket and crept tentatively to her, and as absently her hand went out to him gained courage and climbed up beside her.
A glamour hung over it, a certain settled peace that soothed the tumult of her mind and calmed her nerves. Surrendering to the charm of its almost unearthly loveliness she slowly paced the long length of the terrace, the wondering Mouston pressing close beside her. Then when her tired limbs could go no further she halted by the steps and leant her arms on the coping of the balustrade.
You were dining out, and Mouston and I had gone for a ramble in the park it's gorgeous there in the crepuscule and we were quite close to the Hermitage. I heard him and I eaves-dropped is there such a word? It was so lovely that I had to clap and he came out and found an unexpected audience on the windowsill. Wasn't it dreadful?
The little troop recommenced their march, and at the end of two hours perceived a considerable body of horsemen about half a league ahead. "My dear friends," said D'Artagnan, "give your swords to Monsieur Mouston, who will return them to you at the proper time and place, and do not forget you are our prisoners." It was not long before they joined the escort.
"Ha! ha!" cried Porthos, who was not completely taken in by D'Artagnan's Gasconades. "Come my brother, go with me," added D'Artagnan, "and I will see that you are made a duke!" "No," answered Porthos, "Mouston has no desire to fight; besides, they have erected a triumphal arch for me to enter my barony, which will kill my neighbors with envy."
"Yes; when he used to call himself Mousqueton." "And you remember, too, the period when he began to grow fatter?" "No, not exactly. I beg your pardon, my good Mouston." "Oh! you are not in fault, monsieur," said Mouston, graciously. "You were in Paris, and as for us, we were at Pierrefonds." "Well, well, my dear Porthos; there was a time when Mouston began to grow fat.
To Mouston her only confidant she whispered now the new projects she had formed during the last two solitary days for a better understanding of the obscure mind that had hitherto baffled her, for a further endeavour to break through the barrier existing between them. To speak, if only to a dog, was relief and she was too engrossed to notice the sound the poodle's quick ears caught directly.
"Indeed! so well, that I have not discovered and joined you?" "Yes; but how did you discover and join me?" "Stop a bit. I was going to tell you how. Do you imagine Mouston " "Ah! it was that fellow, Mouston," said Porthos, gathering up those two triumphant arches which served him for eyebrows. "But stop, I tell you it was no fault of Mouston's because he was ignorant of where you were."
"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.
Mouston must have made a mistake." "Perhaps." "He has confused the names." "Possibly. That rascal Mouston never can remember names." "I will take it all upon myself." "Very good." "Stop the carriage, Porthos; here we are." "Here! how here? We are at the Halles; and you told me the house was at the corner of the Rue de l'Arbre Sec." "'Tis true, but look." "Well, I do look, and I see " "What?"
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