both his men and arms.

The day on which d'Artagnan presented himself the assemblage was
imposing, particularly for a provincial just arriving from his
province. It is true that this provincial was a Gascon; and
that, particularly at this period, the compatriots of d'Artagnan
had the reputation of not being easily intimidated. When he had
once passed the massive door covered with long square-headed
nails, he fell into the midst of a troop of swordsmen, who
crossed one another in their passage, calling out, quarreling,
and playing tricks one with another. In order to make one's way
amid these turbulent and conflicting waves, it was necessary to
be an officer, a great noble, or a pretty woman.

It was, then, into the midst of this tumult and disorder that our
young man advanced with a beating heat, ranging his long rapier
up his lanky leg, and keeping one hand on the edge of his cap,
with that half-smile of the embarrassed a provincial who wishes
to put on a good face. When he had passed one group he began to
breathe more freely; but he could not help observing that they
turned round to look at him, and for the first time in his life
d'Artagnan, who had till that day entertained a very good opinion
of himself, felt ridiculous.

Arrived at the staircase, it was still worse. There were four
Musketeers on the bottom steps, amusing themselves with the
following exercise, while ten or twelve of their comrades waited
upon the landing place to take their turn in the sport.

One of them, stationed upon the top stair, naked sword in hand,