“But your rents,—do you lay them by?”
“No.”
“What do you think of a chest concealed in a wall?”
“I never made use of such a thing.”
“Then you must have some confidant, some safe man of business who pays you interest at a fair rate.”
“Not at all.”
“Good heavens! what do you do with it, then?”
“I spend all I have, and I only have what I spend, my dear D’Artagnan.”
“Ah! that may be. But you are something of a prince; fifteen or sixteen thousand livres melt away between your fingers; and then you have expenses and appearances—”
“Well, I don’t see why you should be less of a noble than I am, my friend; your money would be quite sufficient.”