a refined musketeer was quietly sitting in the garrison, alongside him one of his peers was talking loudly as he read. He may have had not more than 22 years of age, his face was naive and sugary, big doe-like eyes and rosy cheeks, velvety like an autumn peach. His hands were smooth and perfect like those of the ladies that never stepped outside their manors. And yet there he was, listening to his peer as he loudly spoke next to him, a little smile on his face