"Mazarin!" ejaculated the innkeeper.

   "The same. Bring me my horse," and the musketeer, remounting his favorite animal, rode away.

   The innkeeper slowly turned back into the inn. Scarcely had he reached the courtyard before the clatter of hoofs again called him to the doorway. A young musketeer of a light and graceful figure rode up.

   "Parbleu, my dear Perigord, I am famishing. What have you got for dinner?"

   "Venison, capons, larks, and pigeons, your excellency," replied the obsequious landlord, bowing to the ground.

   "Enough!" The young musketeer dismounted and entered the inn. Seating himself at the table replenished by the careful Perigord, he speedily swept it as clean as the first comer.

   "Some wine, my brave Perigord," said the graceful young musketeer, as soon as he could find utterance.

   Perigord brought three dozen of Charlevoix. The young man emptied them almost at a draught.

   "By-by, Perigord," he said lightly, waving his hand, as, preceding the astonished landlord, he slowly withdrew.

   "But, your highness,—the bill," said the astounded Perigord.

   "Ah, the bill. Charge it!"

   "To whom?"

   "The Queen!"

   "What, Madame?"

   "The same. Adieu, my good Perigord." And the graceful stranger rode away. An interval of quiet succeeded, in which the innkeeper gazed wofully at his wife. Suddenly he was startled by a clatter of hoofs, and an aristocratic figure stood in the doorway.

   "Ah," said the courtier good-naturedly. "What, do my eyes deceive me? No, it is the festive and luxurious Perigord. Perigord, listen. I famish. I languish. I would dine."

   The innkeeper again covered the table with viands. Again it was swept clean as the fields of Egypt 

 Prev. P 32/90 next