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?"