The Three Musketeers | Page 5

impertinent
personage who ridiculed him. He fixed his haughty eye upon the stranger, and perceived
a man of from forty to forty-five years of age, with black and piercing eyes, pale
complexion, a strongly marked nose, and a black and well-shaped mustache. He was
dressed in a doublet and hose of a violet color, with aiguillettes of the same color, without
any other ornaments than the customary slashes, through which the shirt appeared. This
doublet and hose, though new, were creased, like traveling clothes for a long time packed
in a portmanteau. d'Artagnan made all these remarks with the rapidity of a most minute
observer, and doubtless from an instinctive feeling that this stranger was destined to have
a great influence over his future life.

Now, as at the moment in which d'Artagnan fixed his eyes upon the gentleman in the
violet doublet, the gentleman made one of his most knowing and profound remarks
respecting the Bearnese pony, his two auditors laughed even louder than before, and he
himself, though contrary to his custom, allowed a pale smile (if I may allowed to use such
an expression) to stray over his countenance. This time there could be no doubt;
d'Artagnan was really insulted. Full, then, of this conviction, he pulled his cap down over
his eyes, and endeavoring to copy some of the court airs he had picked up in Gascony
among young traveling nobles, he advanced with one hand on the hilt of his sword and
the other resting on his hip. Unfortunately, as he advanced, his anger increased at every
step; and instead of the proper and lofty speech he had prepared as a prelude to his
challenge, he found nothing at the tip of his tongue but a gross personality, which he
accompanied with a furious gesture.
"I say, sir, you sir, who are hiding yourself behind that shutter--yes, you, sir, tell me what
you are laughing at, and we will laugh together!"
The gentleman raised his eyes slowly from the nag to his cavalier, as if he required some
time to ascertain whether it could be to him that such strange reproaches were addressed;
then, when he could not possibly entertain any doubt of the matter, his eyebrows slightly
bent, and with an accent of irony and insolence impossible to be described, he replied to
d'Artagnan, "I was not speaking to you, sir."
"But I am speaking to you!" replied the young man, additionally exasperated with this
mixture of insolence and good manners, of politeness and scorn.
The stranger looked at him again with a slight smile, and retiring from the window, came
out of the hostelry with a slow step, and placed himself before the horse, within two
paces of d'Artagnan. His quiet manner and the ironical expression of his countenance
redoubled the mirth of the persons with whom he had been talking, and who still
remained at the window.
D'Artagnan, seeing him approach, drew his sword a foot out of the scabbard.
"This horse is decidedly, or rather has been in his youth, a buttercup," resumed the
stranger, continuing the remarks he had begun, and addressing himself to his auditors at
the window, without paying the least attention to the exasperation of d'Artagnan, who,
however placed himself between him and them. "It is a color very well known in botany,
but till the present time very rare among horses."
"There are people who laugh at the horse that would not dare to laugh at the master,"
cried the young emulator of the furious Treville.
"I do not often laugh, sir," replied the stranger, "as you may perceive by the expression of
my countenance; but nevertheless I retain the privilege of laughing when I please."
"And I," cried d'Artagnan, "will allow no man to laugh when it displeases me!"
"Indeed, sir," continued the stranger, more calm than ever; "well, that is perfectly right!"

and turning on his heel, was about to re-enter the hostelry by the front gate, beneath
which d'Artagnan on arriving had observed a saddled horse.
But, d'Artagnan was not of a character to allow a man to escape him thus who had the
insolence to ridicule him. He drew his sword entirely from the scabbard, and followed
him, crying, "Turn, turn, Master Joker, lest I strike you behind!"
"Strike me!" said the other, turning on his heels, and surveying the young man with as
much astonishment as contempt. "Why, my good fellow, you must be mad!" Then, in a
suppressed tone, as if speaking to himself, "This is annoying," continued he. "What a
godsend this would be for his Majesty, who is seeking everywhere for brave fellows to
recruit for his Musketeers!"
He had scarcely finished, when d'Artagnan made such a furious lunge at him that if he
had not sprung nimbly backward, it