“The king displeased me. Mazarin had disgusted me for a long time, as you know; so I threw my cassock to the nettles.”
“But Mazarin is dead.”
“I know that well enough, parbleu! Only, at the period of his death, my resignation had been given in and accepted two months. Then, feeling myself free, I set off for Pierrefonds, to see my friend Porthos. I had heard talk of the happy division you had made of your time, and I wished, for a fortnight, to divide mine after your fashion.”
“My friend, you know that it is not for a fortnight my house is open to you; it is for a year—for ten years—for life.”
“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.”