“Does that alarm you?” cried D’Artagnan. “Pooh! what are the Turks to such men as the Comte de la Fere 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.”