“Grimaud himself, understand; and with the ten parts of Grimaud, which are not worth a ducatoon, I regained the diamond.  Tell me, now, if persistence is not a virtue?”

“My faith!  But this is droll,” cried d’Artagnan, consoled, and holding his sides with laughter.

“You may guess, finding the luck turned, that I again staked the diamond.”

“The devil!” said d’Artagnan, becoming angry again.

“I won back your harness, then your horse, then my harness, then my horse, and then I lost again.  In brief, I regained your harness and then mine.  That’s where we are.  That was a superb throw, so I left off there.”

D’Artagnan breathed as if the whole hostelry had been removed from his breast.

“Then the diamond is safe?” said he, timidly.

“Intact, my dear friend; besides the harness of your Bucephalus and mine.”

“But what is the use of harnesses without horses?”

“I have an idea about them.”

“Athos, you make me shudder.”

“Listen to me.  You have not played for a long time, d’Artagnan.”

“And I have no inclination to play.”

“Swear to nothing.  You have not played for a long time, I said; you ought, then, to have a good hand.”

“Well, what then?”

“Well; the Englishman and his companion are still here.  I remarked that he regretted the horse furniture very much.  You appear to think much of your horse.  In your place I would stake the furniture against the horse.”

“But he will not wish for only one harness.”

“Stake both, pardieu!  I am not selfish, as you are.”

“You would do so?” said d’Artagnan, undecided, so strongly did the confidence of Athos begin to prevail, in spite of himself.

“On my honor, in one single throw.”

“But having lost the horses, I am particularly anxious to preserve the harnesses.”

“Stake your diamond, then.”

“This?  That’s another matter.  Never, never!”

“The devil!” said Athos.  “I would propose to you to stake Planchet, but as that has already been done, the Englishman would not, perhaps, be willing.”

“Decidedly, my dear Athos,” said d’Artagnan, “I should like better not to risk anything.”

“That’s a pity,” said Athos, coolly.  “The Englishman is overflowing with pistoles.  Good Lord, try one throw!  One throw is soon made!”

“And if I lose?”

“You will win.”

“But if I lose?”

“Well, you will surrender the harnesses.”

“Have with you for one throw!” said d’Artagnan.

Athos went in quest of the Englishman, whom he found in the stable, examining the harnesses with a greedy eye.  The opportunity was good.  He proposed the conditions—­the two harnesses, either against one horse or a hundred pistoles.  The Englishman calculated fast; the two harnesses were worth three hundred pistoles.  He consented.