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"Thank you," replied the musketeer, politely; after which the two partners reperused their deed. "That is perfect, monsieur," said Planchet; "and the late M. Coquenard, the first husband of Madame la Baronne du Vallon, could not have done it better." "Do you find it so? Let us sign it then." And both affixed their signatures.
Monsieur de Rochefide allowed her five hundred francs a month, furnished for her, rather shabbily, an apartment costing twelve hundred francs a year on a second floor in the rue Coquenard, and set himself to study Aurelie's character, while she, perceiving his object, gave him a character to study. Consequently, Rochefide became happy in meeting with a woman of noble nature.
"Certainly it is empty," replied the procurator's wife, in real innocence. "Ah, but the valise I want," cried Porthos, "is a well-filled one, my dear." Madame uttered fresh sighs. Moliere had not written his scene in "L'Avare" then. Mme. Coquenard was in the dilemma of Harpagan.
"Oh, my legs, my poor legs! where are you?" murmured Coquenard, and he tried to smile. This succor, which came to Porthos at the moment in which he was attacked in his gastronomic hopes, inspired much gratitude in the Musketeer toward the procurator's wife. The hour of dinner soon arrived. They passed into the eating room a large dark room situated opposite the kitchen.
"You should have left it to me, then, madame, who know what they are; but you wished to be frugal, and consequently to lend at usury." "It was wrong, Monsieur Porthos; but I will repair that wrong, upon my word of honor." "How so?" asked the Musketeer. "Listen. This evening M. Coquenard is going to the house of the Due de Chaulnes, who has sent for him.
Nevertheless, one thing afforded him inward consolation; it was expected by everybody that the campaign would be a severe one. He whispered a hope to himself that this beloved relative might be killed in the field. Porthos paid his compliments to M. Coquenard and bade him farewell. M. Coquenard wished him all sorts of prosperities. As to Mme.
"No; I only thought that a pretty mule makes sometimes as good an appearance as a horse, and it seemed to me that by getting a pretty mule for Mousqueton " "Well, agreed for a pretty mule," said Porthos; "you are right, I have seen very great Spanish nobles whose whole suite were mounted on mules. But then you understand, Madame Coquenard, a mule with feathers and bells."
"A great age, you mean, Monsieur Porthos. Yes, the poor man may be expected to leave me a widow, any hour," continued she, throwing a significant glance at Porthos. "Fortunately, by our marriage contract, the survivor takes everything." "All?" "Yes, all." "You are a woman of precaution, I see, my dear Madame Coquenard," said Porthos, squeezing the hand of the procurator's wife tenderly.
"What the devil can they smell so extraordinary in this soup?" said Porthos, at the sight of a pale liquid, abundant but entirely free from meat, on the surface of which a few crusts swam about as rare as the islands of an archipelago. Mme. Coquenard smiled, and upon a sign from her everyone eagerly took his seat. M. Coquenard was served first, then Porthos. Afterward Mme.
The procurator's wife took Porthos into an adjoining room, and they began to lay the basis of a reconciliation. "You can come and dine three times a week," said Mme. Coquenard. "Thanks, madame!" said Porthos, "but I don't like to abuse your kindness; besides, I must think of my outfit!" "That's true," said the procurator's wife, groaning, "that unfortunate outfit!"
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