“Well, since there is another finer and younger, why, you may take the old one; and let us drink.”
“What?” asked the host, quite cheerful again.
“Some of that at the bottom, near the laths. There are twenty-five bottles of it left; all the rest were broken by my fall. Bring six of them.”
“Why, this man is a cask!” said the host, aside. “If he only remains here a fortnight, and pays for what he drinks, I shall soon re-establish my business.”
“And don’t forget,” said D’Artagnan, “to bring up four bottles of the same sort for the two English gentlemen.”
“And now,” said Athos, “while they bring the wine, tell me, D’Artagnan, what has become of the others, come!”
D’Artagnan related how he had found Porthos in bed with a strained knee, and Aramis at a table between two theologians. As he finished, the host entered with the wine ordered and a ham which, fortunately for him, had been left out of the cellar.
“That’s well!” said Athos, filling his glass and that of his friend; “here’s to Porthos and Aramis! But you, D’Artagnan, what is the matter with you, and what has happened to you personally? You have a sad air.”
“Alas,” said D’Artagnan, “it is because I am the most unfortunate.”
“Tell me.”