“Yes,” said Porthos, “we have Mousqueton, but since he has been steward, he has become very heavy; never mind, let us call him, and to make sure that he will reply agreeably — —
“Here! Mouston,” cried Porthos.
Mouston appeared, with a most piteous face.
“What is the matter, my dear M. Mouston?” asked D’Artagnan. “Are you ill?”
“Sir, I am very hungry,” replied Mouston.
“Well, it is just for that reason that we have called you, my good M. Mouston. Could you not procure us a few of those nice little rabbits, and some of those delicious partridges, of which you used to make fricassees at the hotel — —