“Well, there’s nothing bad in that, it seems to me,” said Porthos.

“Oh, mon Dieu! no, nothing at all.  It was the way in which he spoke.  It is incredible how these biscuit soak up wine!  They are veritable sponges!  Gimblou, another bottle.”

The bottle was brought with a promptness which showed the degree of consideration D’Artagnan enjoyed in the establishment.  He continued: 

“So I was going away, but he called me back.

“`You have had three horses foundered or killed?’ he asked me.

“`Yes, my lord.’

“`How much were they worth?’”

“Why,” said Porthos, “that was very good of him, it seems to me.”

“`A thousand pistoles,’ I said.”

“A thousand pistoles!” Porthos exclaimed.  “Oh! oh! that is a large sum.  If he knew anything about horses he would dispute the price.”

“Faith! he was very much inclined to do so, the contemptible fellow.  He made a great start and looked at me.  I also looked at him; then he understood, and putting his hand into a drawer, he took from it a quantity of notes on a bank in Lyons.”

“For a thousand pistoles?”

“For a thousand pistoles —­ just that amount, the beggar; not one too many.”

“And you have them?”

“They are here.”

“Upon my word, I think he acted very generously.”

“Generously! to men who had risked their lives for him, and besides had done him a great service?”

“A great service —­ what was that?”

“Why, it seems that I crushed for him a parliament councillor.”

“What! that little man in black that you upset at the corner of Saint Jean Cemetery?”

“That’s the man, my dear fellow; he was an annoyance to the cardinal.  Unfortunately, I didn’t crush him flat.  It seems that he came to himself and that he will continue to be an annoyance.”

“See that, now!” said Porthos; “and I turned my horse aside from going plump on to him!  That will be for another time.”

“He owed me for the councillor, the pettifogger!”

“But,” said Porthos, “if he was not crushed completely ——­”

“Ah!  Monsieur de Richelieu would have said, `Five hundred crowns for the councillor.’  Well, let’s say no more about it.  How much were your animals worth, Porthos?”

“Ah, if poor Mousqueton were here he could tell you to a fraction.”

“No matter; you can tell within ten crowns.”

“Why, Vulcan and Bayard cost me each about two hundred pistoles, and putting Phoebus at a hundred and fifty, we should be pretty near the amount.”

“There will remain, then, four hundred and fifty pistoles,” said D’Artagnan, contentedly.

“Yes,” said Porthos, “but there are the equipments.”

“That is very true.  Well, how much for the equipments?”

“If we say one hundred pistoles for the three ——­ "

“Good for the hundred pistoles; there remains, then, three hundred and fifty.”