time, at the siege of Rochelle, when I was there, when you were there, when we both were there, a certain Arab, who was celebrated for the manner in which he adjusted culverins. He was a clever fellow, although very singular with regard to his complexion, which was the same color as your olives. Well, this Arab, whenever he had done eating or working, used to sit down to rest himself, as I am resting myself now, and smoked I cannot tell you what sort of magical leaves, in a large amber-mouthed tube; and if any officer, happening to pass, reproached him for being always asleep, he used quietly to reply: 'Better to sit down than to stand up, to lie down than to sit down, to be dead than to lie down.' He was a very melancholy Arab, and I remember him perfectly well, from his color and his style of conversation. He used to cut off the heads of the Protestants with extreme satisfaction."
"Precisely; and then used to embalm them, when they were worth the trouble."
"Yes; and when he was engaged in his embalming occupations, with his herbs and other plants about him, he looked like a basket-maker making baskets."
"You are quite right, Planchet; he did so."
"Oh, I can remember things very well at times!"
"I have no doubt of it; but what do you think of his mode of reasoning?"
"I think it very good in one sense, and stupid in another."
"Propound your meaning, M. Planchet."
"Well, monsieur, in point of fact, then, 'better to sit down than to stand up' is plain enough, especially when one may be fatigued under certain circumstances:" and Planchet smiled in a roguish way. "As for 'better to be lying down than sitting down,' let that pass; but as for the last proposition, that it is 'better to be dead than alive,' it is, in my opinion, very absurd, my own undoubted preference being for my bed; and if you are not of my opinion, it is simply, as I have already had the honor of telling you, because you are boring yourself to death."
"Planchet, do you know M. la Fontaine?"
"The chemist at the corner of the Rue Saint-Mederie?"
"No; the writer of fables?"
"Oh! Maitre Corbeau!"
"Exactly so; well, then, I am like his hare."
"He has got a hare also, then?"
"He has all sorts of animals."
"Well, what does his hare do, then?"
"His hare thinks."
"Ah, ah!"
"Planchet, I am like M. la Fontaine's hare—I am thinking."
"You're thinking, you say?" said Planchet, uneasily.
"Yes; your house is dull enough to drive people to think. You will admit that, I hope."
"And yet, monsieur, you have a look out upon the street."
"Yes; and wonderfully interesting that is, of course."
"But it is no less true, monsieur, that, if you were living at the back of the house, you would bore yourself—I mean, you would think—more than ever."
"Upon my word, Planchet, I hardly know that."
"Still," said the grocer, "if your reflections were at all like those which led you to restore King Charles II.;" and Planchet finished by a little laugh which was not without its meaning.
"Ah, Planchet, my friend," returned D'Artagnan, "you are getting ambitious."
"Is there no other king to be restored, M. d'Artagnan—no other Monk to be put into a box?"
"No, my dear Planchet; all the kings are seated on their various thrones—less comfortably so, perhaps, than I am upon this chair; but, at all events, there they are." And D'Artagnan sighed very deeply.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Planchet, "you are making me very uneasy."
"You're very good, Planchet."
"I begin to suspect something."
"What is it?"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, you are getting thin."
"Oh!" said D'Artagnan, striking his chest, which sounded like an empty cuirass; "it is impossible, Planchet."
"Ah!" said Planchet, slightly overcome, "if you were to get thin in my house—"
"Well?"
"I should do something rash."
"What would you do? Tell me."
"I should look out for the man who was the cause of all your anxieties."
"Ah! according to your account, I am anxious now."
"Yes, you are anxious, and you are getting thin, visibly getting thin. Malaga! if you go on getting thin in this way, I will take my sword in my hand, and go straight to M. d'Herblay, and have it out with him."
"What!" said M. d'Artagnan, starting in his chair—"what's that you say? And what has M. d'Herblay's name to do with your groceries?"
"Just as you please. Get angry if you like, or call me names, if you prefer it: but the deuce is in it—I know what I know."
D'Artagnan had, during this second outburst of Planchet, so placed himself as not to lose a single look of his face—that is, he sat with both his hands resting on his knees, and his head stretched out toward the grocer. "Come, explain yourself," he said, "and tell me how you could possibly utter such a blasphemy. M. d'Herblay, your old master, my friend, an ecclesiastic, a musketeer turned bishop—do you mean to say you would raise your sword against him, Planchet?"
"I could raise my sword against my own father, when I see you in such a state as you are now."
"M. d'Herblay, a gentleman!"
"It's all the same to me whether he's a gentleman or not. He gives you the blue devils, that is all I know. And the blue devils make people get thin. Malaga! I have no notion of M. d'Artagnan leaving my house thinner than he entered it."
"How does he give me the blue devils, as you call it? Come, explain, explain."
"You have had the nightmare during the last three nights."
"I?"
"Yes, you; and in your nightmare you called out, several times, 'Aramis, sly Aramis!'"
"Ah! I said that, did I?" murmured D'Artagnan, uneasily.
"Yes, those very words, upon my honor."
"Well, what else? You know the saying, Planchet, 'dreams go by contraries.'"
"Not so; for, every time during the last three days, when you went out, you have not once failed to ask me, on your return, 'Have you seen M. d'Herblay?' or else, 'Have you received any letters for me from M. d'Herblay?'"
"Well,
