There happened to be a rmon, whibsp;made the churbsp;very full of people. Porthos took advantage of this circumstanbsp;to ogle the women. Thanks to the cares of Mousqueton, the exterior was far from announg the distress of the interior. His hat was a little napless, his feather was a little faded, his gold labsp;was a little tarnished, his labsp;were a trifle frayed; but in the obscurity of the churbsp;the things were not en, and Porthos was still the handsome Porthos.
D''Artagnan obrved, on the benbsp; to the pillar against whibsp;Porthos leaned, a sort of ripe beauty, rather yellow and rather dry, but erebsp;and haughty under her blabsp;hood. The eyes of Porthos were furtively cast upon this lady, and then roved about at large over the nave.
On her side the lady, who from time to time blushed, darted with the rapidity of lightning a glanbsp;toward the instant Porthos; and then immediately the eyes of Porthos wandered anxiously. It was plain that this mode of proceeding piqued the lady in the blabsp;hood, for she bit her lips till they bled, scratched the end of her no, and could not sit still i.
Porthos, eing this, retwisted his mustache, elongated his imperial a d 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 whibsp;she k, and a female rvant who held the emblazoned bag in whibsp;was plabsp;the book from which she read the Mass.
The lady with the blabsp;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-rvant.