“Excuse me, monsieur,” said he, “I am as you are, a traveler; I know no one in the hotel, and I have the bad habit of losing my spirits when I eat alone; so that my repast appears a bad one to me, and does not nourish me.  Your face, which I saw just now, when you came down to have some oysters opened, — your face pleased me much.  Besides, I have observed you have a horse just like mine, and that the host, no doubt on account of that resemblance, has placed them side by side in the stable, where they appear to agree amazingly well together.  I therefore, monsieur, do not see any reason why the masters should be separated when the horses are united.  Accordingly, I am come to request the pleasure of being admitted to your table.  My name is Agnan, at your service, monsieur, the unworthy steward of a rich seigneur, who wishes to purchase some salt-mines in this country, and sends me to examine his future acquisitions.  In truth, monsieur, I should be well pleased if my countenance were as agreeable to you as yours is to me; for, upon my honor, I am quite at your service.”

The stranger, whom D’Artagnan saw for the first time, — for before he had only caught a glimpse of him, — the stranger had black and brilliant eyes, a yellow complexion, a brow a little wrinkled by the weight of fifty years, bonhomie in his features collectively, but some cunning in his look.

“One would say,” thought D’Artagnan, “that this merry fellow has never exercised more than the upper part of his head, his eyes, and his brain.  He must be a man of science:  his mouth, nose, and chin signify absolutely nothing.”

“Monsieur,” replied the latter, with whose mind and person we have been making so free, “you do me much honor; not that I am ever ennuye, for I have,” added he, smiling, “a company which amuses me always:  but, never mind that, I am happy to receive you.”  But when saying this, the man with the worn boots cast an uneasy look at his table, from which the oysters had disappeared, and upon which there was nothing left but a morsel of salt bacon.

“Monsieur,” D’Artagnan hastened to say, “the host is bringing me up a pretty piece of roasted poultry and a superb tourteau.”  D’Artagnan had read in the look of his companion, however rapidly it disappeared, the fear of an attack by a parasite:  he divined justly.  At this opening, the features of the man of modest exterior relaxed; and, as if he had watched the moment for his entrance, as D’Artagnan spoke, the host appeared, bearing the announced dishes.  The tourteau and the teal were added to the morsel of broiled bacon; D’Artagnan and his guest bowed, sat down opposite to each other, and, like two brothers, shared the bacon and the other dishes.

“Monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, “you must confess that association is a wonderful thing.”

“How so?” replied the stranger, with his mouth full.

“Well, I will tell you,” replied D’Artagnan.