“My God, yes, _gave_, that is the word,” said Porthos; “for the animal was worth at least a hundred and fifty louis, and the stingy fellow would only give me eighty.” “Without the saddle?” said Aramis. “Yes, without the saddle.” “You will observe, gentlemen,” said Athos, “that Porthos has made the best bargain of any of us.” And then commenced a roar of laughter in which they all joined, to the astonishment of poor Porthos; but when he was informed of the cause of their hilarity, he shared it vociferously according to his custom. “There is one comfort, we are all in cash,” said D’Artagnan. “Well, for my part,” said Athos, “I found Aramis’s Spanish wine so good that I sent on a hamper of sixty bottles of it in the wagon with the lackeys. That has weakened my purse.” “And I,” said Aramis, “imagined that I had given almost my last sou to the church of Montdidier and the Jesuits of Amiens, with whom I had made engagements which I ought to have kept. I have ordered Masses for myself, and for you, gentlemen, which will be said, gentlemen, for which I have not the least doubt you will be marvelously benefited.” “And I,” said Porthos, “do you think my strain cost me nothing?—without reckoning Mousqueton’s wound, for which I had to have the surgeon twice a day, and who charged me double on account of that foolish Mousqueton having allowed himself a ball in a part which people generally only show to an apothecary; so I advised him to try never to get wounded there any more.” “Ay, ay!” said Athos, exchanging a smile with D’Artagnan and Aramis, “it is very clear you acted nobly with regard to the poor lad; that is like a good master.” “In short,” said Porthos, “when all my expenses are paid, I shall have, at most, thirty crowns left.” “And I about ten pistoles,” said Aramis. “Well, then it appears that we are the Crœsuses of the society. How much have you left of your hundred pistoles, D’Artagnan?” “Of my hundred pistoles? Why, in the first place I gave you fifty.” “You think so?” “_Pardieu!_” “Ah, that is true. I recollect.” “Then I paid the host six.” “What a brute of a host! Why did you give him six pistoles?” “You told me to give them to him.” “It is true; I am too good-natured. In brief, how much remains?” “Twenty-five pistoles,” said D’Artagnan. “And I,” said Athos, taking some small change from his pocket, “I—” “You? Nothing!” “My faith! So little that it is not worth reckoning with the general stock.” “Now, then, let us calculate how much we posses in all.” “Porthos?” “Thirty crowns.” “Aramis?” “Ten pistoles.” “And you, D’Artagnan?” “Twenty-five.” “That makes in all?” said Athos. “Four hundred and seventy-five livres,” said D’Artagnan, who reckoned like Archimedes. “On our arrival in Paris, we shall still have four hundred, besides the harnesses,” said Porthos. “But our troop horses?” said Aramis.