“Adores it.”
“Basset?”
“His mania.”
“Biribi?”
“Revels in it.”
“Good,” said Porthos; “we shall pass an agreeable evening.”
“The more so, as it will be the prelude to a better.”
“How so?”
“We invite him to play to-night; he has invited us in return to-morrow. But wait. To-night we stop at Derby; and if there is a bottle of wine in the town let Mousqueton buy it. It will be well to prepare a light supper, of which you, Athos and Aramis, are not to partake—Athos, because I told him you had a fever; Aramis, because you are a knight of Malta and won’t mix with fellows like us. Do you understand?”
“That’s no doubt very fine,” said Porthos; “but deuce take me if I understand at all.”