“But at any rate, you know where he is, Monsieur d’Artagnan?” asked Raoul, somewhat comforted. “Ah! that’s the thing!” replied the Gascon. “Undoubtedly I know it, but it is a mystery.” “Not to me, I hope?” “No, not to you, so I am going to tell you where he is.” Porthos devoured D’Artagnan with wondering eyes. “Where the devil shall I say that he is, so that he cannot try to rejoin him?” thought D’Artagnan. “Well, where is he, sir?” asked Raoul, in a soft and coaxing voice. “He is at Constantinople.” “Among the Turks!” exclaimed Raoul, alarmed. “Good heavens! how can you tell me that?” “Does that alarm you?” cried D’Artagnan. “Pooh! what are the Turks to such men as the Comte de la Fère and the Abbé d’Herblay?” “Ah, his friend is with him?” said Raoul. “That comforts me a little.” “Has he wit or not—this demon D’Artagnan?” said Porthos, astonished at his friend’s deception. “Now, sir,” said D’Artagnan, wishing to change the conversation, “here are fifty pistoles that the count has sent you by the same courier. I suppose you have no more money and that they will be welcome.” “I have still twenty pistoles, sir.” “Well, take them; that makes seventy.” “And if you wish for more,” said Porthos, putting his hand to his pocket—— “Thank you, sir,” replied Raoul, blushing; “thank you a thousand times.” At this moment Olivain appeared. “Apropos,” said D’Artagnan, loud enough for the servant to hear him, “are you satisfied with Olivain?” “Yes, in some respects, tolerably well.” Olivain pretended to have heard nothing and entered the tent. “What fault do you find with the fellow?” “He is a glutton.” “Oh, sir!” cried Olivain, reappearing at this accusation. “And a little bit of a thief.” “Oh, sir! oh!” “And, more especially, a notorious coward.” “Oh, oh! sir! you really vilify me!” cried Olivain. “The deuce!” cried D’Artagnan. “Pray learn, Monsieur Olivain, that people like us are not to be served by cowards. Rob your master, eat his sweetmeats, and drink his wine; but, by Jove! don’t be a coward, or I shall cut off your ears. Look at Monsieur Mouston, see the honorable wounds he has received, observe how his habitual valor has given dignity to his countenance.” Mousqueton was in the third heaven and would have embraced D’Artagnan had he dared; meanwhile he resolved to sacrifice his life for him on the next occasion that presented itself. “Send away that fellow, Raoul,” said the Gascon; “for if he’s a coward he will disgrace thee some day.” “Monsieur says I am coward,” cried Olivain, “because he wanted the other day to fight a cornet in Grammont’s regiment and I refused to accompany him.” “Monsieur Olivain, a lackey ought never to disobey,” said D’Artagnan, sternly; then taking him aside, he whispered to him: “Thou hast done right; thy master was in the wrong; here’s a crown for thee, but should he ever be insulted and thou dost not let thyself be cut in quarters for him, I will cut out thy tongue. Remember that.”