The friends embraced, then entered the restaurant.
For a few brief hours they had secured leave of absence from the Stygian Fields, and before pushing on to Paris, had determined to visit a scene precious by reason of its manifold memories.
Porthos ordered dinner.
“Come hither, lackey,” he roared in a voice that made the china jingle. “The best—the best of everything—and champagne; no baser wine.”
He flung down his sword, and made his chair creak and groan.
“What thoughts of Milady and dear Lord Winter rise up in memory!” mused Athos.
“Of Buckingham and the Court,” said D’Artagnan.
Aramis read the evening paper.
Suddenly he became violently agitated and transported with feverish excitement.
“Behold!” he cried, “the mummers have us! the mummers have us! At the playhouse named ‘Her Majesty’s’ The Musketeers fret their hour nightly to crowded houses!”