CHAPTER I.
SHOWING THE QUALITY OF THE CUSTOMERS OF THE INNKEEPER OF PROVINS.
Twenty years after, the gigantic innkeeper of Provins stood looking at a cloud of dust on the highway.
This cloud of dust betokened the approach of a traveller.

Travellers had been rare that season on the highway between Paris and Provins.
The heart of the innkeeper rejoiced.

Turning to Dame Perigord, his wife, he said, stroking his white apron:-- "St.Denis! make haste and spread the cloth.

Add a bottle of Charlevoix to the table.

This traveller, who rides so fast, by his 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.