wrist of steel would have belied. What a rich nature was
that of this man! He had all the passions, all the defects,
all the weaknesses, and the spirit of contradiction familiar
to his understanding changed all these imperfections into
corresponding qualities. D'Artagnan, thanks to his ever
active imagination, was afraid of a shadow; and ashamed of
being afraid, he marched straight up to that shadow, and
then became extravagant in his bravery if the danger proved
to be real. Thus everything in him was emotion, and
therefore enjoyment. He loved the society of others, but
never became tired of his own; and more than once, if he
could have been heard when he was alone, he might have been
seen laughing at the jokes he related to himself or the
tricks his imagination created just five minutes before
ennui might have been looked for. D'Artagnan was not perhaps
so gay this time as he would have been with the prospect of
finding some good friends at Calais, instead of joining the
ten scamps there; melancholy, however, did not visit him
more than once a day, and it was about five visits that he
received from that somber deity before he got sight of the
sea at Boulogne, and then these visits were indeed but
short. But when once D'Artagnan found himself near the field
of action, all other feelings but that of confidence
disappeared never to return. From Boulogne he followed the
coast to Calais. Calais was the place of general rendezvous,
and at Calais he had named to each of his recruits the
hostelry of "Le Grand Monarque," where living was not
extravagant, where sailors messed, and where men of the
sword, with sheath of leather, be it understood, found
lodging, table, food, and all the comforts of life, for