D’Artagnan could no longer endure this conversation, which would have driven him crazy. He let his head fall on his hands and pretended to go to sleep.

“Young men no longer know how to drink,” said Athos, looking at him pityingly, “and yet this is one of the best of them, too!”

Their only anxiety now was to depart. D’Artagnan and Athos soon arrived at Crévecœur. From a distance they perceived Aramis, seated in a melancholy manner at his window, looking out, like Sister Anne, at the dust in the horizon.

“Hello, ha, Aramis!” cried the two friends.

“Ah, it is you, D’Artagnan, and you, Athos,” said the young man. “And so, my friends, we are returning, then, to Paris? Bravo! I am charged his bill, and then set forward to join Porthos.

They made a halt for an hour to refresh their horses. Aramis discharged his bill, and then set forward to poin Porthos.

They found him up, not so pale as when D’Artagnan left him, and seated at a table, on which, though he was alone, was spread dinner enough for four persons. This dinner consisted of meats nicely dressed, choice wines, and superb fruit.

“Ah, by Jove!” said he, rising, “you come in the nick of time. Gentlemen, I was just at the soup, and you will dine with me.”

The four friends, having set their minds at ease with regard to the future, did honour to the repast, the remains of which were abandoned to MM. Mousqueton, Bazin, Planchet, and Grimaud.

On arriving in Paris, D’Artagnan found a letter from M. de Tréville, informing him that, at his request, the king had just promised him his immediate admission into the musketeers.

As this was the height of D’Artagnan’s worldly ambition—apart, of course, from his desire of finding Madame Bonacieux—he ran, full of joy, to seek his comrades, whom he had left only half an hour before. He found them very sad and deeply preoccupied. They were assembed in council at the residence of Athos, which always indicated an event of some seriousness.

M. de Tréville had just informed them that since it was his Majesty’s fixed intention to open the campaign on the first of May, they must immediately get ready all their equipments.

The four philosophers looked at one another in a state of bewilderment. M. de Tréville never joked in matters relating to discipline.

“And what do you reckon your equipments will cost?” said D’Artagnan.

“Oh, we can scarcely venture to say. We have just made our calculations with Spartan niggardliness, and we each require fifteen hundred livres.”

“Four times fifteen make sixty—ah! six thousand livres,” said Athos.

“For my part, I think,” said D’Artagnan, “with a thousand livres each—it is true I do not speak as a Spartan, but as a procureur—”

The word procureur roused Porthos.

“Stop!” said he; “I have an idea.”