“Imbecile!” cried D’Artagnan, “you think me mad! Mordioux! On the contrary, never was my head more clear, or my heart more joyous. To the bags, Planchet, to the bags!” “But to what bags, good heavens!” D’Artagnan pushed Planchet towards the window. “Under the shed yonder, don’t you see a horse?” “Yes.” “Don’t you see how his back is laden?” “Yes, yes!” “Don’t you see your lad talking with the postilion?” “Yes, yes, yes!” “Well, you know the name of that lad, because he is your own. Call him.” “Abdon! Abdon!” vociferated Planchet, from the window. “Bring the horse!” shouted D’Artagnan. “Bring the horse!” screamed Planchet. “Now give ten crowns to the postilion,” said D’Artagnan, in the tone he would have employed in commanding a maneuver; “two lads to bring up the two first bags, two to bring up the two last,—and move, Mordioux! be lively!” Planchet rushed down the stairs, as if the devil had been at his heels. A moment later the lads ascended the staircase, bending beneath their burden. D’Artagnan sent them off to their garrets, carefully closed the door, and addressing Planchet, who, in his turn, looked a little wild,— “Now, we are by ourselves,” said he, and he spread upon the floor a large cover, and emptied the first bag into it. Planchet did the same with the second; then D’Artagnan, all in a tremble, let out the precious bowels of the third with a knife. When Planchet heard the provoking sound of the silver and gold—when he saw bubbling out of the bags the shining crowns, which glittered like fish from the sweep-net—when he felt himself plunging his hands up to the elbow in that still rising tide of yellow and white coins, a giddiness seized him, and like a man struck by lightning, he sank heavily down upon the enormous heap, which his weight caused to roll away in all directions. Planchet, suffocated with joy, had lost his senses. D’Artagnan threw a glass of white wine in his face, which incontinently recalled him to life. “Ah! good heavens! good heavens! good heavens!” said Planchet, wiping his mustache and beard. At that time, as they do now, grocers wore the cavalier mustache and the lansquenet beard, only the money baths, already rare in those days, have become almost unknown now. “Mordieux!” said D’Artagnan, “there are a hundred thousand crowns for you, partner. Draw your share, if you please, and I will draw mine.” “Oh! the lovely sum! Monsieur d’Artagnan, the lovely sum!” “I confess that half an hour ago I regretted that I had to give you so much, but I now no longer regret it; thou art a brave grocer, Planchet. There, let us close our accounts, for, as they say, short reckonings make long friends.” “Oh! rather, in the first place, tell me the whole history,” said Planchet; “that must be better than the money.”