have to ask me for my receipt for one hundred and fifty thousand
livres," said the bishop.

"And to pay over the first third of the sum," added the poor governor,
with a sigh, taking three steps toward his iron strong-box.

"Here is the receipt," said Aramis.

"And here is the money," returned Baisemeaux, with a threefold sigh.

"The order instructed me only to give a receipt; it said nothing about
receiving the money," rejoined Aramis. "Adieu, Monsieur le Gouverneur!"

And he departed, leaving Baisemeaux almost more than stifled with joy
and surprise at this regal present so liberally bestowed by the
confessor extraordinary to the Bastille.

CHAPTER LXXVI.

HOW MOUSTON HAD BECOME FATTER WITHOUT GIVING PORTHOS NOTICE THEREOF, AND
OF THE TROUBLES WHICH CONSEQUENTLY BEFELL THAT WORTHY GENTLEMAN.

Since the departure of Athos for Blois, Porthos and D'Artagnan were
seldom together. One was occupied with harassing duties for the king;
the other had been making many purchases of furniture, which he intended
to forward to his estate, and by aid of which he hoped to establish in
his various residences something of that court luxury which he had
witnessed in all its dazzling brightness in his majesty's society.
D'Artagnan, ever faithful, one morning during an interval of service
thought about Porthos, and being uneasy at not having heard anything of
him for a fortnight, directed his steps toward his hotel and pounced
upon him just as he was getting up. The worthy baron had a pensive--nay,
more than pensive--a melancholy air. He was sitting on his bed, only
half-dressed, and with legs dangling over the edge, contemplating a host
of garments, which with their fringes, lace, embroidery, and slashes of
ill-assorted hues, were strewed all over the floor. Porthos, sad and
reflective as La Fontaine's hare, did not observe D'Artagnan's entrance,
which was moreover screened at this moment by M. Mouston, whose personal
corpulency, quite enough at any time to hide one man from another, was
effectually doubled by a scarlet coat which the intendant was holding up
for his master's inspection, by the sleeves, that he might the better
see it all over. D'Artagnan stopped at the threshold and looked at the
pensive Porthos; and then, as the sight of the innumerable garments
strewing the floor caused mighty sighs to heave from the bosom of that
excellent gentleman, D'Artagnan thought it time to put an end to these
dismal reflection