“You will see,” continued Aramis, “that it breathes irreproachable passion. And so, my friends, we return to Paris? Bravo! I am ready. We are going to rejoin that good fellow, Porthos. So much the better. You can’t think how I have missed him, the great simpleton. To see him so self-satisfied reconciles me with myself. He would not sell his horse; not for a kingdom! I think I can see him now, mounted upon his superb animal and seated in his handsome saddle. I am sure he will look like the Great Mogul!” They made a halt for an hour to refresh their horses. Aramis discharged his bill, placed Bazin in the cart with his comrades, and they set forward to join Porthos. They found him up, less pale than when D’Artagnan left him after his first visit, and seated at a table on which, though he was alone, was spread enough for four persons. This dinner consisted of meats nicely dressed, choice wines, and superb fruit. “Ah, _pardieu!_” said he, rising, “you come in the nick of time, gentlemen. I was just beginning the soup, and you will dine with me.” “Oh, oh!” said D’Artagnan, “Mousqueton has not caught these bottles with his lasso. Besides, here is a piquant _fricandeau_ and a fillet of beef.” “I am recruiting myself,” said Porthos, “I am recruiting myself. Nothing weakens a man more than these devilish strains. Did you ever suffer from a strain, Athos?” “Never! Though I remember, in our affair of the Rue Férou, I received a sword wound which at the end of fifteen or eighteen days produced the same effect.” “But this dinner was not intended for you alone, Porthos?” said Aramis. “No,” said Porthos, “I expected some gentlemen of the neighborhood, who have just sent me word they could not come. You will take their places and I shall not lose by the exchange. _Holà_, Mousqueton, seats, and order double the bottles!” “Do you know what we are eating here?” said Athos, at the end of ten minutes. “_Pardieu!_” replied D’Artagnan, “for my part, I am eating veal garnished with shrimps and vegetables.” “And I some lamb chops,” said Porthos. “And I a plain chicken,” said Aramis. “You are all mistaken, gentlemen,” answered Athos, gravely; “you are eating horse.” “Eating what?” said D’Artagnan. “Horse!” said Aramis, with a grimace of disgust. Porthos alone made no reply. “Yes, horse. Are we not eating a horse, Porthos? And perhaps his saddle, therewith.” “No, gentlemen, I have kept the harness,” said Porthos. “My faith,” said Aramis, “we are all alike. One would think we had tipped the wink.” “What could I do?” said Porthos. “This horse made my visitors ashamed of theirs, and I don’t like to humiliate people.” “Then your duchess is still at the waters?” asked D’Artagnan. “Still,” replied Porthos. “And, my faith, the governor of the province—one of the gentlemen I expected today—seemed to have such a wish for him, that I gave him to him.” “Gave him?” cried D’Artagnan.