“Oh! yes, speak of dinner in a country where for a feast they eat boiled mutton, and as a treat drink beer. What the devil did you come to such a country for, Athos? But I forgot,” added the Gascon, smiling, “pardon, I forgot you are no longer Athos; but never mind, let us hear your plan for dinner, Porthos.”
“My plan!”
“Yes, have you a plan?”
“No! I am hungry, that is all.”
“Pardieu, if that is all, I am hungry, too; but it is not everything to be hungry, one must find something to eat, unless we browse on the grass, like our horses——”
“Ah!” exclaimed Aramis, who was not quite so indifferent to the good things of the earth as Athos, “do you remember, when we were at Parpaillot, the beautiful oysters that we ate?”
“And the legs of mutton of the salt marshes,” said Porthos, smacking his lips.
“But,” suggested D’Artagnan, “have we not our friend Mousqueton, who managed for us so well at Chantilly, Porthos?”
“Yes,” said Porthos, “we have Mousqueton, but since he has been steward, he has become very heavy; never mind, let us call him, and to make sure that he will reply agreeably——
“Here! Mouston,” cried Porthos.