pace must be a Monseigneur."

Truly the traveller, clad in the uniform of a musketeer, as he drew
up to the door of the hostelry, did not seem to have spared his
horse. Throwing his reins to the landlord, he leaped lightly to
the ground. He was a young man of four-and-twenty, and spoke with
a slight Gascon accent.

"I am hungry, Morbleu! I wish to dine!"

The gigantic innkeeper bowed and led the way to a neat apartment,
where a table stood covered with tempting viands. The musketeer at
once set to work. Fowls, fish, and pates disappeared before him.
Perigord sighed as he witnessed the devastations. Only once the
stranger paused.

"Wine!" Perigord brought wine. The stranger drank a dozen
bottles. Finally he rose to depart. Turning to the expectant
landlord, he said:--

"Charge it."

"To whom, your highness?" said Perigord, anxiously.

"To his Eminence!"

"Mazarin!" ejaculated the innkeeper.

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