“Gentlemen,” said the queen, laughing, “pray take up your abode in the chateau; it is large, and there will be no want of room for you all; but, as we never thought of coming here, I am informed that there are, in all, only three beds in the whole establishment, one for the king, one for me ——­ "

“And one for the cardinal,” muttered the prince.

“Am I —­ am I, then, to sleep on the floor?” asked Gaston d’Orleans, with a forced smile.

“No, my prince,” replied Mazarin, “the third bed is intended for your highness.”

“But your eminence?” replied the prince.

“I,” answered Mazarin, “I shall not sleep at all; I have work to do.”

Gaston desired that he should be shown into the room wherein he was to sleep, without in the least concerning himself as to where his wife and daughter were to repose.

“Well, for my part, I shall go to bed,” said D’Artagnan; “come, Porthos.”

Porthos followed the lieutenant with that profound confidence he ever had in the wisdom of his friend.  They walked from one end of the chateau to the other, Porthos looking with wondering eyes at D’Artagnan, who was counting on his fingers.

“Four hundred, at a pistole each, four hundred pistoles.”

“Yes,” interposed Porthos, “four hundred pistoles; but who is to make four hundred pistoles?”

“A pistole is not enough,” said D’Artagnan, “’tis worth a louis.”

“What is worth a louis?”

“Four hundred, at a louis each, make four hundred louis.”

“Four hundred?” said Porthos.

“Yes, there are two hundred of them, and each of them will need two, which will make four hundred.”

“But four hundred what?”

“Listen!” cried D’Artagnan.

But as there were all kinds of people about, who were in a state of stupefaction at the unexpected arrival of the court, he whispered in his friend’s ear.

“I understand,” answered Porthos, “I understand you perfectly, on my honor; two hundred louis, each of us, would be making a pretty thing of it; but what will people say?”

“Let them say what they will; besides, how will they know that we are doing it?”

“But who will distribute these things?” asked Porthos.

“Isn’t Mousqueton there?”

“But he wears my livery; my livery will be known,” replied Porthos.

“He can turn his coat inside out.”

“You are always in the right, my dear friend,” cried Porthos; “but where the devil do you discover all the notions you put into practice?”

D’Artagnan smiled.  The two friends turned down the first street they came to.  Porthos knocked at the door of a house to the right, whilst D’Artagnan knocked at the door of a house to the left.

“Some straw,” they said.

“Sir, we don’t keep any,” was the reply of the people who opened the doors; “but please ask at the hay dealer’s.”