“Thank you, Porthos.”

“Ah! but perhaps you want money — do you?” said Porthos, making something like fifty louis chink in his pocket.  “In that case, you know — "

“No, thank you; I am not in want of anything.  I placed my savings with Planchet, who pays me the interest of them.”

“Your savings?”

“Yes, to be sure,” said D’Artagnan:  “why should I not put by my savings, as well as another, Porthos?”

“Oh, there is no reason why; on the contrary, I always suspected you — that is to say, Aramis always suspected you to have savings.  For my own part, d’ye see, I take no concern about the management of my household; but I presume the savings of a musketeer must be small.”

“No doubt, relative to yourself, Porthos, who are a millionaire; but you shall judge.  I had laid by twenty-five thousand livres.”

“That’s pretty well,” said Porthos, with an affable air.

“And,” continued D’Artagnan, “on the twenty-eighth of last month I added to it two hundred thousand livres more.”

Porthos opened his large eyes, which eloquently demanded of the musketeer, “Where the devil did you steal such a sum as that, my dear friend?” “Two hundred thousand livres!” cried he, at length.

“Yes; which, with the twenty-five I had, and twenty thousand I have about me, complete the sum of two hundred and forty-five thousand livres.”

“But tell me, whence comes this fortune?”

“I will tell you all about it presently, dear friend; but as you have, in the first place, many things to tell me yourself, let us have my recital in its proper order.”

“Bravo!” said Porthos; “then we are both rich.  But what can I have to relate to you?”

“You have to relate to me how Aramis came to be named — "

“Ah! bishop of Vannes.”

“That’s it,” said D’Artagnan, “bishop of Vannes.  Dear Aramis! do you know how he succeeded so well?”

“Yes, yes; without reckoning that he does not mean to stop there.”

“What! do you mean he will not be contented with violet stockings, and that he wants a red hat?”

“Hush! that is promised him.”

“Bah! by the king?”

“By somebody more powerful than the king.”

“Ah! the devil!  Porthos:  what incredible things you tell me, my friend!”

“Why incredible?  Is there not always somebody in France more powerful than the king?”

“Oh, yes; in the time of King Louis XIII. it was Cardinal Richelieu; in the time of the regency it was Cardinal Mazarin.  In the time of Louis XIV. it is M — "

“Go on.”

“It is M. Fouquet.”

“Jove! you have hit it the first time.”

“So, then, I suppose it is M. Fouquet who has promised Aramis the red hat.”

Porthos assumed an air of reserve.  “Dear friend,” said he, “God preserve me from meddling with the affairs of others, above all from revealing secrets it may be to their interest to keep.  When you see Aramis, he will tell you all he thinks he ought to tell you.”