D’Artagnan put the purse into his pocket.

“And now, my young friend, for you will permit me, I hope, to give you that name,” said Lord de Winter, “on this very evening, if agreeable to you, I will present you to my sister, Milady Clarik, for I am desirous that she should take you into her good graces; and as she is not in bad odor at court, she may perhaps on some future day speak a word that will not prove useless to you.”

D’Artagnan blushed with pleasure, and bowed a sign of assent.

At this time Athos came up to d’Artagnan.

“What do you mean to do with that purse?” whispered he.

“Why, I meant to pass it over to you, my dear Athos.”

“Me! why to me?”

“Why, you killed him!  They are the spoils of victory.”

“I, the heir of an enemy!” said Athos; “for whom, then, do you take me?”

“It is the custom in war,” said d’Artagnan, “why should it not be the custom in a duel?”

“Even on the field of battle, I have never done that.”

Porthos shrugged his shoulders; Aramis by a movement of his lips endorsed Athos.

“Then,” said d’Artagnan, “let us give the money to the lackeys, as Lord de Winter desired us to do.”

“Yes,” said Athos; “let us give the money to the lackeys—­not to our lackeys, but to the lackeys of the Englishmen.”

Athos took the purse, and threw it into the hand of the coachman.  “For you and your comrades.”

This greatness of spirit in a man who was quite destitute struck even Porthos; and this French generosity, repeated by Lord de Winter and his friend, was highly applauded, except by mm.  Grimaud, Bazin, Mousqueton and Planchet.

Lord de Winter, on quitting d’Artagnan, gave him his sister’s address.  She lived in the Place Royale—­then the fashionable quarter—­at Number 6, and he undertook to call and take d’Artagnan with him in order to introduce him. d’Artagnan appointed eight o’clock at Athos’s residence.

This introduction to Milady Clarik occupied the head of our Gascon greatly.  He remembered in what a strange manner this woman had hitherto been mixed up in his destiny.  According to his conviction, she was some creature of the cardinal, and yet he felt himself invincibly drawn toward her by one of those sentiments for which we cannot account.  His only fear was that Milady would recognize in him the man of Meung and of Dover.  Then she knew that he was one of the friends of M. de Treville, and consequently, that he belonged body and soul to the king; which would make him lose a part of his advantage, since when known to Milady as he knew her, he played only an equal game with her.  As to the commencement of an intrigue between her and M. de Wardes, our presumptuous hero gave but little heed to that, although the marquis was young, handsome, rich, and high in the cardinal’s favor.  It is not for nothing we are but twenty years old, above all if we were born at Tarbes.