CHAPTER LXXII.

A NEW KIND OF PORT WINE. At the expiration of ten minutes the masters were asleep; not so the hungry and yet more thirsty servants. "Grimaud," said Mousqueton to his companion, who had just come in after his round with d'Artagnan, "art thou thirsty?" "As thirsty as a Scotchman!" was Grimaud's laconic reply. And he sat down and began to cast up the accounts of his party, whose money he managed. "Curse this rolling! I'm beginning to feel queer!" said Blaisois. "If that is the case," said Mousqueton, "take some nouris…