throne-counter kept in pay a body of troops destined to make war against perfidious Albion, that enemy of all true French hearts. Planchet paid down in double louis, twenty thousand livres to D’Artagnan, on the part of himself (Planchet), and twenty thousand livres, still in double louis, in account with D’Artagnan. D’Artagnan placed each of the twenty thousand francs in a bag, and weighing a bag in each hand,—“This money is very embarrassing, my dear Planchet,” said he. “Do you know this weighs thirty pounds?” “Bah! your horse will carry that like a feather.” D’Artagnan shook his head. “Don’t tell me such things, Planchet: a horse overloaded with thirty pounds, in addition to the rider and his portmanteau, cannot cross a river so easily—cannot leap over a wall or ditch so lightly; and the horse failing, the horseman fails. It is true that you, Planchet, who have served in the infantry, may not be aware of all that.” “Then what is to be done, monsieur?” said Planchet, greatly embarrassed. “Listen to me,” said D’Artagnan. “I will pay my army on its return home. Keep my half of twenty thousand livres, which you can use during that time.” “And my half?” said Planchet. “I shall take that with me.” “Your confidence does me honor,” said Planchet: “but supposing you should not return?” “That is possible, though not very probable. Then, Planchet, in case I should not return—give me a pen! I will make my will.” D’Artagnan took a pen and some paper, and wrote upon a plain sheet,—“I, D’Artagnan, possess twenty thousand livres, laid up cent by cent during thirty years that I have been in the service of his majesty the king of France. I leave five thousand to Athos, five thousand to Porthos and five thousand to Aramis, that they may give the said sums in my name and their own to my young friend Raoul, Vicomte de Bragelonne. I give the remaining five thousand to Planchet, that he may distribute the fifteen thousand with less regret among my friends. With which purpose I sign these presents.—D’Artagnan. Planchet appeared very curious to know what D’Artagnan had written. “Here,” said the musketeer, “read it” On reading the last lines the tears came into Planchet’s eyes. “You think, then, that I would not have given the money without that? Then I will have none of your five thousand francs.” D’Artagnan smiled. “Accept it, accept it, Planchet; and in that way you will only lose fifteen thousand francs instead of twenty thousand, and you will not be tempted to disregard the signature of your master and friend, by losing nothing at all.”