“No; I only thought that a pretty mule makes sometimes as good an appearance as a horse, and it seemed to me that by getting a pretty mule for Mousqueton—” “Well, agreed for a pretty mule,” said Porthos; “you are right, I have seen very great Spanish nobles whose whole suite were mounted on mules. But then you understand, Madame Coquenard, a mule with feathers and bells.” “Be satisfied,” said the procurator’s wife. “There remains the valise,” added Porthos. “Oh, don’t let that disturb you,” cried Mme. Coquenard. “My husband has five or six valises; you shall choose the best. There is one in particular which he prefers in his journeys, large enough to hold all the world.” “Your valise is then empty?” asked Porthos, with simplicity. “Certainly it is empty,” replied the procurator’s wife, in real innocence. “Ah, but the valise I want,” cried Porthos, “is a well-filled one, my dear.” Madame uttered fresh sighs. Molière had not written his scene in “L’Avare” then. Mme. Coquenard was in the dilemma of Harpagan. Finally, the rest of the equipment was successively debated in the same manner; and the result of the sitting was that the procurator’s wife should give eight hundred livres in money, and should furnish the horse and the mule which should have the honor of carrying Porthos and Mousqueton to glory. These conditions being agreed to, Porthos took leave of Mme. Coquenard. The latter wished to detain him by darting certain tender glances; but Porthos urged the commands of duty, and the procurator’s wife was obliged to give place to the king. The Musketeer returned home hungry and in bad humor. Chapter XXXIII. SOUBRETTE AND MISTRESS Meantime, as we have said, despite the cries of his conscience and the wise counsels of Athos, D’Artagnan became hourly more in love with Milady. Thus he never failed to pay his diurnal court to her; and the self-satisfied Gascon was convinced that sooner or later she could not fail to respond. One day, when he arrived with his head in the air, and as light at heart as a man who awaits a shower of gold, he found the _soubrette_ under the gateway of the hôtel; but this time the pretty Kitty was not contented with touching him as he passed, she took him gently by the hand. “Good!” thought D’Artagnan, “She is charged with some message for me from her mistress; she is about to appoint some rendezvous of which she had not courage to speak.” And he looked down at the pretty girl with the most triumphant air imaginable. “I wish to say three words to you, Monsieur Chevalier,” stammered the _soubrette_. “Speak, my child, speak,” said D’Artagnan; “I listen.” “Here? Impossible! That which I have to say is too long, and above all, too secret.” “Well, what is to be done?” “If Monsieur Chevalier would follow me?” said Kitty, timidly. “Where you please, my dear child.” “Come, then.”