“How is that?” cried Porthos and Aramis in a breath.

As to Athos, faithful to his system of reticence, he contented himself with interrogating d’Artagnan by a look.

“Planchet,” said d’Artagnan to his domestic, who just then insinuated his head through the half-open door in order to catch some fragments of the conversation, “go down to my landlord, M. Bonacieux, and ask him to send me half a dozen bottles of Beaugency wine; I prefer that.”

“Ah, ah! You have credit with your landlord, then?” asked Porthos.

“Yes,” replied d’Artagnan, “from this very day; and mind, if the wine is bad, we will send him to find better.”

“We must use, and not abuse,” said Aramis, sententiously.