The four old Friends prepare to meet again.
“Well,” said Porthos, seated in the courtyard of the Hotel de la Chevrette, to D’Artagnan, who, with a long and melancholy face, had returned from the Palais Royal; “did he receive you ungraciously, my dear friend?”
“I’faith, yes!
a brute, that cardinal. What are you eating there, Porthos?”
“I am dipping a biscuit in a glass of Spanish wine; do the same.”
“You are right. Gimblou, a glass of wine.”
“Well, how has all gone off?”
“Zounds! you know there’s only one way of saying things, so I went in and said,