made a prodigious bound in his chair. "Ah, ah!" said he, in
evident terror, "that is what you call a restoration!"

"Yes, Planchet; is it not the proper term for it?"

"Oh, no doubt, no doubt! But have you reflected seriously?"

"Upon what?"

"Upon what is going on yonder."

"Where?"

"In England."

"And what is that? Let us see, Planchet."

"In the first place, monsieur, I ask you pardon for meddling in these
things, which have nothing to do with my trade; but since it is an
affair that you propose to me--for you are proposing an affair, are you
not?--"

"A superb one, Planchet."

"But as it is business you propose to me, I have the right to discuss
it."

"Discuss it, Planchet; out of discussion is born light."

"Well, then, since I have monsieur's permission, I will tell him that
there is yonder, in the first place, the parliament."

"Well, next?"

"And then the army."

"Good! Do you see anything else?"

"Why, then the nation."

"Is that all?"

"The nation which consented to the overthrow and death of the late
king, the father of this one, and which will not be willing to belie its
acts."

"Planchet," said D'Artagnan, "you argue like a cheese! The nation--the
nation is tired of these gentlemen who give themselves such barbarous
names, and who sing songs to it. Chanting for chanting, my dear
Planchet; I have remarked that nations prefer singing a merry chant to
the plain chant. Remember the Fronde; what did they sing in those times?
Well, those were good times."

"Not too good, not too good! I was near being hung in those times."

"Well, but you were not."

"No."

"And you laid the foundations of your fortune in the midst of all those
songs?"

"That is true."

"Then you have nothing to say against them."

"Well, I return, then, to the army and parliament."

"I say that I borrow twenty thousand livres of M. Planchet, and that
I put twenty thousand livres of my own to it; and with these forty
thousand livres I raise an army."

Planchet clasped his hands; he saw that D'Artagnan was in earnest, and,
in good truth, he believed his master had lost his senses.

"An army!--ah, monsieur," said he, with his most agreeable smile,
for fear of irritating the madman, and rendering him furious,--"an
army!--how many?"

"Of forty men," said D'Artagnan.

"Forty against forty thousand! that is not enough. I know very well that
you, M. d'Artagnan, alone, are equal to a thousand men; but where