D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 26: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CHAPTER II. THE PETREL CHANGES HANDS. The fearless wayfarer plunged into the passage of the obscure den, fit for serpents, hermits, bandits and those ogres whom the common people believed to occupy sub- terranean refuges. On reaching the middle of the cavity, he saw that it was roomier than suspected from the exterior. Indeed, it was a hall of which the stretched canvas, an old main- sail, was the velarium, cutting it into two stories. It was so blackened with smoke that he had not reckoned the extent. At one corner a ship’s wooden companionway was used to ascend to this upper floor. In another corner, the two tops of a clumsy ladder come up through a hole, suggesting the wine vaults, since a vinous aroma permeated the stagnant air. Odd bales and casks encumbered the sides, being used as seats and lounges when the company was numerous —evidently a rarity! but there was nothing for the timorous to take alarm at. The host and he stood before the only other tenant. This was a very strong and stout negress, to whom Pedro, sturdy as he was, looked boyish and slight. She was of Nubian blackness, not the warm brown of other negroes, but unshiny jet. She had a ladle with which a pond could be baled out or a bull be stunned. With this, as if proud of her mess, she began to stir the kettle swiftly to set the newcomer’s mouth watering. “Tt is the ‘slow-boiling fish stew’ of Marseilles,” ex-, plained the host. “It is fish, fish and fish to us here every day! I wish I could take a week off and go into the country, where there would be nothing but meat and fowl, for a change!” “Well, I came from there, and I shall enjoy this very much.” Convinced by this that he had an easily-contented pa- tron, the man waved his hand in encouragement to his COMMiCcoookKkS.c@ im