“I will give you,” said he, “a piece of mechanism entirely new. At the first serious attempt upon your lock, an invisible plate will open of itself and vomit forth a pretty copper bullet of the weight of a mark—which will knock down the intruder, and not without a loud report. What do you think of it?” “I think it very ingenious,” cried D’Artagnan, “the little copper bullet pleases me mightily. So now, sir mechanic, the terms?” “A fortnight for the execution, and fifteen hundred crowns payable on delivery,” replied the artisan. D’Artagnan’s brow darkened. A fortnight was delay enough to allow the thieves of London time to remove all occasion for the strong box. As to the fifteen hundred crowns—that would be paying too dear for what a little vigilance would procure him for nothing. “I will think of it,” said he, “thank you, sir.” And he returned home at full speed; nobody had yet touched his treasure. That same day Athos paid a visit to his friend and found him so thoughtful that he could not help expressing his surprise. “How is this?” said he, “you are rich and not gay—you, who were so anxious for wealth!” “My friend, the pleasures to which we are not accustomed oppress us more than the griefs with which we are familiar. Give me your opinion, if you please. I can ask you, who have always had money: when we have money, what do we do with it?” “That depends.” “What have you done with yours, seeing that it has not made you a miser or a prodigal? For avarice dries up the heart, and prodigality drowns it—is not that so?” “Fabricius could not have spoken more justly. But in truth, my money has never been a burden to me.” “How so? Do you place it out at interest?” “No; you know I have a tolerably handsome house; and that house composes the better part of my property.” “I know it does.” “So that you can be as rich as I am, and, indeed more rich, whenever you like, by the same means.” “But your rents,—do you lay them by?” “What do you think of a chest concealed in a wall?” “I never made use of such a thing.” “Then you must have some confidant, some safe man of business who pays you interest at a fair rate.” “Not at all.” “Good heavens! what do you do with it, then?” “I spend all I have, and I only have what I spend, my dear D’Artagnan.” “Ah that may be. But you are something of a prince, fifteen or sixteen thousand livres melt away between your fingers; and then you have expenses and appearances——” “Well, I don’t see why you should be less of a noble than I am, my friend; your money would be quite sufficient.” “Three hundred thousand crowns! Two-thirds too much!” “I beg your pardon—did you not tell me?—I thought I heard you say—I fancied you had a partner——”