“Honey is very cooling,” said Porthos, stretching out his hand toward a small barrel of honey which was open, and he plunged the scoop with which the wants of the customers were supplied into it, and swallowed a good half-pound at one gulp.
“I must trouble you for some water now, my man,” said Porthos.
“In a pail, monsieur?” asked the lad, simply.
“No, in a water-bottle; that will be quite enough;” and raising the bottle to his mouth, as a trumpeter does his trumpet, he emptied the bottle at a single draught.
Planchet was agitated in every fibre of propriety and self-esteem. However, a worthy representative of the hospitality which prevailed in early days, he feigned to be talking very earnestly with D’Artagnan, and incessantly repeated:—“Ah! monsieur, what a happiness! what an honor!”
“What time shall we have supper, Planchet?” inquired Porthos, “I feel hungry.”
The foreman clasped his hands together. The two others got under the counters, fearing Porthos might have a taste for human flesh.
“We shall only take a sort of snack here,” said D’Artagnan; “and when we get to Planchet’s country-seat, we will have supper.”
“Ah, ah! so we are going to your country-house, Planchet,” said Porthos; “so much the better.”
“You overwhelm me, monsieur le baron.”