said the peasant. “Oh! they shall have as much as they like.”

“Gently, gently, my man,” said D’Artagnan, “we are getting on a little too fast. A few oats and a good bed — nothing more.”

“Some bran and water for my horse,” said Porthos, “for it is very warm, I think.”

“Don’t be afraid, gentlemen,” replied Planchet; “Daddy Celestin is an old gendarme, who fought at Ivry. He knows all about horses; so come into the house.” And he led the way along a well-sheltered walk, which crossed a kitchen-garden, then a small paddock, and came out into a little garden behind the house, the principal front of which, as we have already noticed, faced the street.