That will be sugared roast meat,--_mordioux!_ Ah! pardon me, monsieur, that was a little oath which escaped me, because it is a habit with my lord and master.

I sometimes allow myself to usurp that little oath, as it seems in pretty good taste.

I take this liberty only in his absence, please to observe, for you may understand that in his presence--but, in truth, monsieur, this cider is abominable; do you not think so?
And besides, the pot is of such an irregular shape it will not stand on the table." "Suppose we were to make it level ?" "To be sure; but with what ?" "With this knife." "And the teal, with what shall we cut that up?
Do you not, by chance, mean to touch the teal ?" "Certainly." "Well, then--" "Wait." And the poet rummaged in his pocket, and drew out a piece of brass, oblong, quadrangular, about a line in thickness, and an inch and a half in length.

But scarcely had this little piece of brass seen the light, than the poet appeared to have committed an imprudence, and made a movement to put it back again in his pocket.

D'Artagnan perceived this, for he was a man that nothing escaped.