gilded, but it is new, and does
not seem to fit me."

Athos smiled. "So be it," said he. "But a propos of this cloak, dear
D'Artagnan, will you allow me to offer you a little advice?"

"Yes, willingly."

"You will not be angry?"

"Proceed."

"When wealth comes to a man late in life or all at once, that man, in
order not to change, must most likely become a miser--that is to say,
not spend much more money than he had done before; or else become a
prodigal, and contract so many debts as to become poor again."

"Oh! but what you say looks very much like a sophism, my dear
philosophic friend."

"I do not think so. Will you become a miser?"

"No, pardieu! I was one already, having nothing. Let us change."

"Then be prodigal."

"Still less, Mordioux! Debts terrify me. Creditors appear to me, by
anticipation like those devils who turn the damned upon the gridirons,
and as patience is not my dominant virtue, I am always tempted to thrash
those devils."

"You are the wisest man I know, and stand in no need of advice from any
one. Great fools must they be who think they have anything to teach you.
But are we not at the Rue Saint Honore?"

"Yes, dear Athos."

"Look yonder, on the left, that small, long white house is the hotel
where I lodge. You may observe that it has but two stories; I occupy
the first; the other is let to an officer whose duties oblige him to be
absent eight or nine months in the year,--so I am in that house as in my
own home, without the expense."

"Oh! how well you manage, Athos! What order and what liberality! They
are what I wish to unite! But, of what use trying! that comes from
birth, and cannot be acquired."

"You are a flatterer! Well! adieu, dear friend. A propos, remember me to
Master Planchet; he was always a bright fellow."

"And a man of heart, too, Athos. Adieu."

And they separated. During all this conversation, D'Artagnan had not for
a moment lost sight of a certain pack-horse, in whose panniers,
under some hay, were spread the sacoches (messenger's bags) with the
portmanteau. Nine o'clock was striking at Saint-Merri. Planchet's helps
were shutting up his shop. D'Artagnan stopped the postilion who rode the
pack-horse, at the corner of the Rue des Lombards, under a penthouse,
and calling one of Planchet's boys, he desired him not only to take care
of the two horses, but to watch the postilion; after which he entered
the shop of the grocer, who had just finished supper, and