him to prison, and keep him under key as long as possible; that will give me time to pay him.”
The officers were full of thanks, and took away their prey. As they were going down d’Artagnan laid his hand on the shoulder of their leader.
“May I not drink to your health, and you to mine?” said d’Artagnan, filling two glasses with the Beaugency wine which he had obtained from the liberality of M. Bonacieux.
“That will do me great honor,” said the leader of the posse, “and I accept thankfully.”
“Then to yours, Monsieur—what is your name?”
“Boisrenard.”
“Monsieur Boisrenard.”
“To yours, my gentlemen! What is your name, in your turn, if you please?”
“D’Artagnan.”
“To yours, Monsieur.”
“And above all others,” cried d’Artagnan, as if carried away by his enthusiasm, “to that of the king and the cardinal.”
The leader of the posse would perhaps have doubted the sincerity of d’Artagnan if the wine had been bad; but the wine was good, and he was convinced.
“What diabolical villainy you have performed here,” said Porthos, when the officer had rejoined his companions and the four friends found