se trembling heart began to
suggest that D'Artagnan was mad.

"Why, the English bags, _Mordioux!_" said D'Artagnan, all radiant, quite
transfigured.

"Ah! good God!" articulated Planchet, drawing back before the dazzling
fire of his looks.

"Imbecile!" cried D'Artagnan, "you think me mad! _Mordioux!_ On the
contrary, never was my head more clear, or my heart more joyous. To the
bags, Planchet, to the bags!"

"But to what bags, good heavens!"

D'Artagnan pushed Planchet towards the window.

"Under that shed yonder, don't you see a horse?"

"Yes."

"Don't you see how his back is laden?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Don't you see your lad talking with the postilion?"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"Well, you know the name of that lad, because he is your own. Call him."

"Abdon! Abdon!" vociferated Planchet, from the window.

"Bring the horse!" shouted D'Artagnan.

"Bring the horse!" screamed Planchet.

"Now give ten livres to the postilion," said D'Artagnan, in the tone he
would have employed in commanding a maneuver; "two lads to bring up the
first two bags, two to bring up the two last,--and move, _Mordioux!_ be
lively!"

Planchet rushed down the stairs, as if the devil had been at his heels.
A moment later the lads ascended the stairs, bending beneath their
burden. D'Artagnan sent them off to their garrets, carefully closed the
door, and addressing Planchet, who, in his turn, looked a little wild,--

"Now, we are by ourselves," said he; and he spread upon the floor a
large cover, and emptied the first bag into it. Planchet did the same
with the second; then D'Artagnan, all in a tremble, let out the precious
bowels of the third with a knife. When Planchet heard the provoking
sound of the silver and gold--when he saw bubbling out of the bags the
shining crowns, which glittered like fish from the sweep-net--when he
felt himself plunging his hands up to the elbows in that still rising
tide of yellow and white coins, a giddiness seized him, and like a man
struck by lightning, he sank heavily down upon the enormous heap, which
his weight caused to roll away in all directions. Planchet, suffocated
with joy, had lost his senses. D'Artagnan threw a glass of white wine in
his face, which incontinently recalled him to life.

"Ah! good heavens! good heavens! good heavens!" said Planchet, wiping
his mustache and beard.

At that time, as they do now, grocers wore the cavalier mustache and the
lansquenet beard, only the money baths,