(We forgot to mention that at the door they wanted to put off Porthos like the rest, but D'Artagnan, showing himself, pronounced merely these words, "The king's order," and was let in with his friend.) The poor fellows had enough to do, and did their best, to reply to the demands of the customers in the absence of their master, leaving off drawing a stitch to knit a sentence; and when wounded pride, or disappointed expectation, brought down upon them too cutting a rebuke, he who was attacked made a dive and disappeared under the counter.
The line of discontented lords formed a truly remarkable picture.

Our captain of musketeers, a man of sure and rapid observation, took it all in at a glance; and having run over the groups, his eye rested on a man in front of him.

This man, seated upon a stool, scarcely showed his head above the counter that sheltered him.

He was about forty years of age, with a melancholy aspect, pale face, and soft luminous eyes.

He was looking at D'Artagnan and the rest, with his chin resting upon his hand, like a calm and inquiring amateur.