“I have,” replied d’Artagnan, pulling out his treasure from his pocket, and placing it on the table. “There are in this bag three hundred pistoles. Let each take seventy-five; that is enough to take us to London and back. Besides, make yourselves easy; we shall not all arrive at London.”
“Why so?”
“Because, in all probability, some one of us will be left on the road.”
“Is this, then, a campaign upon which we are now entering?”
“One of a most dangerous kind, I give you notice.”
“Ah! But if we do risk being killed,” said Porthos, “at least I should like to know what for.”
“You would be all the wiser,” said Athos.
“And yet,” said Aramis, “I am somewhat of Porthos’s opinion.”
“Is the king accustomed to give you such reasons? No. He says to you jauntily, ‘Gentlemen, there is fighting going on in Gascony or in Flanders; go and fight,’ and you go there. Why? You need give yourselves no more uneasiness about this.”
“D’Artagnan is right,” said Athos; “here are our three leaves of absence which came from M. de Tréville, and here are three hundred pistoles which came from I don’t know where. So let us go and get killed where we are told to go. Is life worth the trouble of so many questions? D’Artagnan, I am ready to follow you.”
“And I also,” said Porthos.
“And I also,” said Aramis. “And, indeed, I am not sorry to quit Paris; I had need of distraction.”