The other, a little fellow, a traveler of meagre appearance, wearing a dusty surtout, dirty linen, and boots more worn by the pavement than the stirrup, had come from Nantes with a cart drawn by a horse so like Furet in color, that D'Artagnan might have gone a hundred miles without finding a better match.

This cart contained divers large packets wrapped in pieces of old stuff.
"That traveler yonder," said D'Artagnan to himself, "is the man for my money.

He will do, he suits me; I ought to do for him and suit him; M.
Agnan, with the gray doublet and the rusty _calotte_, is not unworthy of supping with the gentleman of the old boots and still older horse." This said, D'Artagnan called the host, and desired him to send his teal, _tourteau_, and cider up to the chamber of the gentleman of modest exterior.

He himself climbed, a plate in his hand, the wooden staircase which led to the chamber, and began to knock at the door.
"Come in!" said the unknown.

D'Artagnan entered, with a simper on his lips, his plate under his arm, his hat in one hand, his candle in the other.
"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.