Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the twenty-ninth chapter of The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas.

Come with us as we release one bite a day of one of your favorite classic novels, plays & short stories. Bree reads these classics like she reads to her daughter, one chapter a day. If you love books or audiobooks and want something to listen to as you're getting ready, driving to work, or as you're getting ready for bed, check out Bite at a Time Books!

Follow, rate, and review Bite at a Time Books where we read you your favorite classics, one bite at a time. Available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Get exclusive Behind the Scenes content on our Patreon

We are now part of the Bite at a Time Books Productions network!

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story Tuesdays wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on all the socials: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook - TikTok

Follow Bree at: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook

Welcome to Bite At A Time Books, where we read you your favorite classics one Byte at a Time.

My name is Brie Carlyle and I love to read and wanted to share my passion with listeners like you.

If you enjoy our show, be sure to follow us so you get all all the new episodes.

If you want to see exclusive behind the scenes of our show, join our Patreon.

We would also love for you to drop us a rating on your favorite podcast platform and share our show with your friends.

You can catch us on all the social medias at Byte At A Time Books.

We are now part of the Bite At A Time Books Productions Network.

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelists to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite At A Time Books Behind the Story.

Wherever you listen to podcasts today, we'll be continuing the Three Musketeers by Alexandra Dumas, 29 hunting for the Equipments The most preoccupied of the four friends was certainly D'Artagnan, although he and his quality of Guardsmen would be much more easily equipped than Monsieur's the Musketeers, who were all of high rank.

But our Gascon cadet was, as may have been observed, of a Provident an almost averageous character, and with that explain the contradiction so vain as almost rivaled Porthos.

To this preoccupation of his vanity, D'Artagnan at this moment joined in uneasiness, much less selfish.

Notwithstanding all his inquiries respecting Madame Bonaciu, he could obtain no intelligence of her.

Montreal de Traville had spoken of her to the Queen.

The Queen was ignorant where the Mercer's young wife was, but had promised to have her sought for, but this promise was very vague and did not at all reassure D'Artagnan.

Athos did not leave his Chamber.

He made up his mind not to take a single step to equip himself.

We still have 15 days before us, said he to his friends.

Well, if at the end of a fortnight I have found nothing, or rather, if nothing has come to find me, as I too could a Catholic to kill myself with a bullet pistol.

I will seek a good quarrel with four of his Eminence's guards, or with eight Englishmen, and I will fight until one of them has killed me, which, considering the number, cannot fail to happen.

It will then be said of me that I died for the King, so that I shall have performed my duty without the expense of an outfit.

Porthos continued to walk about with his hands behind him, tossing his head and repeating, I shall follow up on my idea.

Aramis, anxious and negligently dressed, said nothing.

It may be seen by these disastrous details that desolation reigned in the community.

The lackeys on their part, like the coursers of hippolygus, shared the sadness of their Masters mascot and collected a store of crusts baesen who had always been inclined to devotion, never quit.

The churches planchett watched the flight of flies, and grammar, whom the general distress could not induce to break.

The silence imposed by his master, heaved size enough to soften the stones.

The three friends, for, as we have said, Athos had sworn not to stir afoot to equip himself, went out early in the morning and returned late at night.

They wandered about the streets, looking at the pavement as if to see whether the passengers had not left a purse behind them.

They might have been supposed to be following tracks, so observant were they whenever they went.

When they met, they looked desolately at one another as much as to say, have you found anything?

However, as Porthos had first found an idea and had thought of it earnestly afterwards, he was the first to act.

He was a man of execution.

This worthy Porthos D'Artagnan perceived him one day walking toward the Church of St.

Louis, and followed him instinctively.

He entered after having twisted his mustache and elongated his Imperial, which always announced on his part the most triumphant resolutions.

As D'Artagnan took some precautions to conceal himself, Porthos believed he had not been seen.

D'artagnan entered behind him.

Porthos went and leaned against the side of a pillar.

D'artagnan, still unperceived, supported himself against the other side.

There happened to be a sermon which made the Church very full of people.

Porthos took advantage of the circumstance to Ogle the women, thanks to the cares of Mouse Katan.

The exterior was far from announcing the distress of the interior.

His hat was a little Napolis, his feather was a little faded, his gold lace was a little tarnished, his laces were a trifle frayed.

But in the obscurity of the Church these things were not seen, and Porthos was still the handsome Porthos, D'Artagnan observed.

On the bench nearest to the pillar against which Porthos leaned, a sort of ripe beauty, rather yellow and rather dry, but erect and haughty under her black hood.

The eyes of Porthos were furtively cast upon this lady, and then rode about at large over the nave.

On her side.

The lady, who from time to time blushed, darted with the rapidity of lightning a glance toward the inconstant Porthos, and then immediately the eyes of Porthos wandered anxiously.

It was plain that this mode of proceeding piqued the lady in the black hood, for she bit her lips till they bled, scratched the end of her nose, and could not sit still in her seats.

Porthos, seeing this retwisted his moustache, elongated his Imperial a second time and began to make signals to a beautiful lady who was near the choir, and who not only was a beautiful lady, but still further, no doubt a great lady, for she had behind her a Negro boy who had brought the cushion on which she knelt, and a female servant who held the emblazoned bag in which was placed the book from which she read the mass.

The lady with the black Hood followed through all their wanderings the looks of Porthos, and perceived that they rested upon the lady with the velvet Cushion, the little Negro, and the maid servant.

During this time Porthos played close.

It was almost imperceptible motions of his eyes, fingers placed upon the lips, little assassinating smiles, which really did assassinate the disdained beauty.

Then she cried Ahem, under cover of the Maya culpa, striking her breast so vigorously that everyone, even the lady with the red Cushion, turned round toward her.

Porthos paid no attention.

Nevertheless, he understood it all, but was deaf.

The lady with the red Cushion produced a great effect, for she was very handsome upon the lady with the black hood, who thought in her arrival really to be dreaded, a great effect upon Porthos, who thought her much prettier than the lady with the black Hood.

A great effect upon D'Artagnan, who recognized in her the lady of Myung, of Goliath, and of Dover, whom his persecutor, the man with the scar, had saluted by the name of my lady.

D'artagnan, without losing sight of the lady of the red Cushion, continued to watch the proceedings of Porthos, which amused him greatly.

He guessed that the lady of the black Hood was the procurators wife of the Rue akars, which was the more probable from the Church of St.

Louis, being not far from that locality.

He guessed likewise by induction, that Porthos was taking his revenge for the defeat of Chantilly, when the procurator's wife had proved so refractory with respect to her purse.

Amid all this, D'Artagnan remarked also that not one countenance responded to the Galleon trees of Porthos.

There were only chimeras and illusions, but for real love, for true jealousy, is there any reality except illusions and chimeras?

The sermon over the procurators wife advanced toward the Holy font.

Porthos went before her, and instead of a finger dipped his whole hand in the procreator's wife smiled, thinking that it was for her.

Porthos had put himself to this trouble, but she was cruelly and promptly undeceived.

When she was only about three steps from him, he turned his head round, fixing his eyes steadfastly upon the lady with the red cushion who had risen and was approaching, followed by her black boy and her woman.

When the lady of the red Cushion came close to Porthos, Porthos drew his dripping hand from the font, the fair worshipper touched the great hand of Porthos with her delicate fingers, smiled, made the sign of the cross, and left the Church.

This was too much for the procurator's wife.

She doubted not.

There was an intrigue between this lady and Porthos.

If she had been a great lady, she would have fainted.

But as she was only a procurator's wife, she contended herself, saying to the Musketeer with concentrated Fury, Eh, Monsieur Porthos, you don't offer me any Holy water, Porthos?

The sound of that voice started like a man awakened from asleep of 100 years.

Madame, cried he, is that you?

How is your husband, our dear Monsieur Coconut?

Is he still as stingy as ever?

Where can my eyes have been not to have seen you during the 2 hours of the sermon?

I was within two paces of you, Monsieur, replied the procurator's wife.

But you did not perceive me because you had no eyes but for the pretty lady to whom you just now gave the Holy water.

Porthos pretended to be confused.

Ah, said he, you have remarked I must have been blind not to have seen.

Yes, said Porthos.

This is a Duchess of my acquaintance, whom I have great trouble to meet on account of the jealousy of her husband, and who sent me word that she should come today to this poor Church, buried in this vile quarter solely for the sake of seeing me.

Monsieur Porthos, said the procurator's wife, will you have the kindness to offer me your arm for 5 minutes?

I have something to say to you.

Certainly, Madam, said Porthos, winking to himself, as a gambler does who laughs at the Duke he is about to pluck.

At that moment D'Artagnan passed in pursuit of my lady.

He cast a passing glance at Porthos and beheld his triumphant look.

Eh, eh, said he, reasoning to himself, according to the strangely easy morality of that gallant period, there is one who will be equipped in good time.

Porthos, yielding to the pressure of the arm of the procurator's wife as a bark yields to the rudder, arrived at the Cloister St.

Magalie, a little frequented passage enclosed with a turnstile at each end.

In the daytime nobody was seen there but mendicants devouring their crusts and children at play.

Monsieur Porthos, cried the procreator's wife, when she was assured that no one who was a stranger to the population of the locality could either see or hear her.

Monsieur Porthos, you are a great conqueror, as it appears.

I'm Adam, said Porthos, drawing himself up proudly.

How so?

The signs just now in the Holy water.

But that must be a Princess.

At least that lady with her Negro boy and her maid.

My God, Madam, you are deceived, said Porthos.

She is simply a Duchess, not running footman who waited at the door, and that carriage with a Coachman and grand livery who sat waiting on his seat.

Porthos had seen neither the footman nor the carriage, but with the eye of a jealous woman.

Madame Coconut had seen everything.

Porthos regretted that he had not at once made the lady of the red cushion a Princess.

You are quite the pet of the ladies, Monsieur, Porthos resumed to the procurators wife with a sigh.

Well, responded Porthos, you may imagine with the physique with which nature has endowed me, I am not in want of good luck.

Good Lord, how quickly men forget, cried the procurator's wife, raising her eyes toward heaven less quickly than the women.

It seems to me, replied Porthos, for I'm, Adam, I may say I was your victim.

When wounded, dying, I was abandoned by the surgeons.

I the offspring of a Noble family who placed reliance upon your friendship.

I was near dying of my wounds at first, and of hunger afterward in a beggarly Inn at Chantilly, without you ever deeming once to reply to the burning letters I addressed to you.

But, Monsieur Porthos, murmured the procurator's wife, who began to feel that to judge by the conduct of the great ladies of the time, she was wrong.

I who sacrificed for you.

The baronde.

I know it well.

The contest, Monsieur Porthos, be generous.

You are right, Madame, and I will not finish.

But it was my husband who would not hear of lending Madame Coconut, said Porthos.

Remember the first letter you wrote me, and which I preserve engraved in my memory?

The procurators wife uttered a groan.

Besides, said she, the sum you required me to borrow was rather large, Madame Coconut, I gave you the preference I had but to write to the Duchess, but I won't repeat her name, for I am incapable of compromising a woman.

But this I know that I had but to write to her, and she would have sent me 1500.

The procreator's wife shed a tear.

Monsieur Porthos, said she, I can assure you that you have severely punished me, and if in the time to come you should find yourself in a similar situation, you have but to apply to me.

Fee, Madam fee, said Porthos, as if disgusted.

Let us not talk about money, if you please.

It is humiliating.

Then you no longer love me, said the procurator's wife, slowly and sadly.

Porthos maintained a majestic silence.

And that is the only reply you make.

Alas, I understand.

Think of the offense you have committed toward me, Madam.

It remains here, said Porthos, placing his hand on his heart and pressing it strongly.

I will repair it.

Indeed I will, my dear Porthos.

Besides, what did I ask of you?

Resumed Porthos with a movement of the shoulders, full of good fellowship alone, nothing more.

After all, I am not an unreasonable man.

I know you are not rich, Madame Coconut, and that your husband is obliged to bleed his poor clients to squeeze a few paltry grounds from them.

Oh, if you were a Duchess, a marquaness, or a Countess, it would be quite a different thing.

It would be unpardonable.

The procurator's wife was piqued.

Pleased to know, Monsieur Porthos, said she, that my strong box, the strong box of a procurators wife, though it may be, is better filled than those of your affected minxes.

That doubles the offense, said Porthos, disengaging his arm from that of the procurator's wife.

For if you are rich, Madame Coconut, then there is no excuse for your refusal.

When I said rich, replied the procurator's wife, who saw that she had gone too far, you must not take the word literally.

I am not precisely rich, though I am pretty well off hold, Madame, said Porthos.

Let us say no more upon the subject.

I beg of you, you have misunderstood me.

All sympathy is extinct between us in great that you are.

Oh, I advise you to complain, said Porthos.

Be gone then to your beautiful Duchess.

I will detain you no longer.

And she is not to be despised, in my opinion.

Now, Monsieur Porthos, once more.

And this is the last.

Do you love me still?

Ah, Madame, said Porthos in the most melancholy tone he could assume when we are about to enter upon a campaign.

A campaign in which my presentiments tell me I shall be killed.

Oh, don't talk of such things, cried the procurator's wife, bursting into tears.

Something whispers me so, continued Porthos, becoming more and more melancholy.

Rather say that you have a new love.

Not so.

I speak frankly to you.

No object affects me, and I even feel here at the bottom of my heart, something which speaks for you.

But in 15 days, as you know, or as you do not know, this fatal campaign is to open.

I shall be fearfully preoccupied with my outfit.

Then I must make a journey to see my family in the lower part of Brittany to obtain the sum necessary for my departure.

Porthos observed a last struggle between love and avarice, and as continued he, the Duchess whom you saw at the Church has estates near those of my family.

We mean to make the journey together.

Journeys, you know, appear much shorter when we travel to in company.

How do you know friends in Paris, then, Monsieur Porthos?

Said the procurator's wife.

I thought I had, said Porthos, resuming his melancholy air.

But I have been taught my mistake.

You have some, cried the pro curator's wife, in a transport that surprised even herself.

Come to our house tomorrow.

You are the son of my aunt, Consequently my cousin.

You come from Noyan in Picardy.

You have several lawsuits and no attorney.

Can you recollect all that?

Perfectly, Madam?

Come at dinnertime.

Very well.

And be upon your guard before my husband, who is rather shrewd, notwithstanding his 76 years.

76 years?

Paste.

That's a fine age, replied Porthos.

A great age.

You mean, Monsieur Porthos?

Yes.

The poor man may be expected to leave me a widow any hour, continued she, throwing a significant glance at Porthos.

Fortunately, by our marriage contract, the survivor takes everything.

All?

Yes, all.

You are a woman of precaution, I see, my dear Madame Coconut, said Porthos, squeezing the hand of the procurator's wife tenderly.

We are then reconciled, my dear Porthos, she said simpering for life, replied Porthos in the same manner.

Till we meet again then, dear trader.

Till we meet again, my forgetful charmer.

Tomorrow, my angel, tomorrow, flame of my life.

Thank you for joining bite at a Time books today while we read a Bite of one of your favorite classics.

If you enjoy our show, be sure to follow us so you get all the new episodes.

If you want to see exclusive behind the scenes of our show, join our Patreon we would also love for you to drop us a rating on your favorite podcast platform and share a show with your friends.

You can catch us on all the social medias at Bite At A Time Books.

Also be sure to check us on our website, www.

Dot Byte At A Time books.com.

We are now part of the Bite At A Timebooks Productions network.

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite At A Time books behind the story Tuesdays.

Wherever you listen to podcasts again.

My name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow.