“Ah! ah!” said the auxiliaries, “is there still more?”

“A mere trifle.  ’Monsieur d’Artagnan, I send to the king of France the treaty in question, with a request that he will cast into the Bastile provisionally, and then send to me, all who have taken part in this expedition; and that is a prayer with which the king will certainly comply.’”

A cry of terror broke from all corners of the table.

“There! there! there!” said D’Artagnan, “this brave M. Monk has forgotten one thing, and that is he does not know the name of any one of you; I alone know you, and it is not I, you well may believe, who will betray you.  Why should I?  As for you — I cannot suppose you will be silly enough to denounce yourselves, for then the king, to spare himself the expense of feeding and lodging you, will send you off to Scotland, where the seven hundred and forty-one gibbets are to be found.  That is all, messieurs; I have not another word to add to what I have had the honor to tell you.  I am sure you have understood me perfectly well, have you not, M. Menneville?”

“Perfectly,” replied the latter.

“Now the crowns!” said D’Artagnan.  “Shut the doors,” he cried, and opened the bag upon the table, from which rolled several fine gold crowns.  Every one made a movement towards the floor.

“Gently!” cried D’Artagnan.  “Let no one stoop, and then I shall not be out in my reckoning.”  He found it all right, gave fifty of those splendid crowns to each man, and received as many benedictions as he bestowed pieces.  “Now,” said he, “if it were possible for you to reform a little, if you could become good and honest citizens — "

“That is rather difficult,” said one of the troop.

“What then, captain?” said another.

“Because I might be able to find you again, and, who knows what other good fortune?” He made a sign to Menneville, who listened to all he said with a composed air.  “Menneville,” said he, “come with me.  Adieu, my brave fellows!  I need not warn you to be discreet.”

Menneville followed him, whilst the salutations of the auxiliaries were mingled with the sweet sound of the money clinking in their pockets.

“Menneville,” said D’Artagnan, when they were once in the street, “you were not my dupe; beware of being so.  You did not appear to have any fear of the gibbets of Monk, or the Bastile of his majesty, King Louis XIV., but you will do me the favor of being afraid of me.  Then listen; at the smallest word that shall escape you, I will kill you as I would a fowl.  I have absolution from our holy father, the pope, in my pocket.”

“I assure you I know absolutely nothing, my dear M. d’Artagnan, and that your words have all been to me so many articles of faith.”

“I was quite sure you were an intelligent fellow,” said the musketeer; “I have tried you for a length of time.  These fifty crowns which I give you above the rest will prove the esteem I have for you.  Take them.”