“Tolerably good, Planchet, tolerably good!” said D’Artagnan, with a profound sigh. “You have not been wounded, I hope?” “Phew!” “Ah, I see,” continued Planchet, more and more alarmed, “the expedition has been a trying one?” “Yes,” said D’Artagnan. A shudder ran down Planchet’s back. “I should like to have something to drink,” said the musketeer, raising his head piteously. Planchet ran to the cupboard, and poured out to D’Artagnan some wine in a large glass. D’Artagnan examined the bottle. “What wine is that?” asked he. “Alas! that which you prefer, monsieur,” said Planchet; “that good old Anjou wine, which was one day nearly costing us all so dear.” “Ah!” replied D’Artagnan, with a melancholy smile, “Ah! my poor Planchet, ought I still to drink good wine?” “Come! my dear master,” said Planchet, making a superhuman effort, whilst all his contracted muscles, his pallor, and his trembling, betrayed the most acute anguish. “Come! I have been a soldier and consequently have some courage; do not make me linger, dear Monsieur d’Artagnan; our money is lost, is it not?” Before he answered, D’Artagnan took his time, and that appeared an age to the poor grocer. Nevertheless he did nothing but turn about on his chair. “And if that were the case,” said he, slowly, moving his head up and down, “if that were the case, what would you say, my dear friend?” Planchet, from being pale, turned yellow. It might have been thought he was going to swallow his tongue, so full became his throat, so red were his eyes! “Twenty thousand livres!” murmured he. “Twenty thousand livres, and yet——” D’Artagnan, with his neck elongated, his legs stretched out, and his hands hanging listlessly, looked like a statue of discouragement. Planchet drew up a sigh from the deepest cavities of his breast. “Well,” said he, “I see how it is. Let us be men! It is all over, is it not? The principal thing is, monsieur, that your life is safe.” “Doubtless! doubtless!—life is something—but I am ruined!” “Cordieu! monsieur!” said Planchet, “if it is so, we must not despair for that; you shall become a grocer with me; I shall take you for my partner, we will share the profits, and if there should be no more profits, well, why then we shall share the almonds, raisins and prunes, and we will nibble together the last quarter of Dutch cheese.” D’Artagnan could hold out no longer. “Mordioux!” cried he, with great emotion, “thou art a brave fellow on my honor, Planchet. You have not been playing a part, have you? You have not seen the pack-horse with the bags under the shed yonder?” “What horse? What bags?” said Planchet, whose trembling heart began to suggest that D’Artagnan was mad. “Why, the English bags, Mordioux!” said D’Artagnan, all radiant, quite transfigured. “Ah! good God!” articulated Planchet, drawing back before the dazzling fire of his looks.