“I cannot tell you, Monsieur.”
“What! You cannot tell me? Surely you ought to be able to tell me better than any other person.”
“Yes; but in our situation we must not say all we know—particularly as we have been warned that our ears should answer for our tongues.”
“Well, can I see Porthos?”
“Certainly, Monsieur. Take the stairs on your right; go up the first flight and knock at Number One. Only warn him that it is you.”
“Why should I do that?”
“Because, Monsieur, some mischief might happen to you.”
“Of what kind, in the name of wonder?”
“Monsieur Porthos may imagine you belong to the house, and in a fit of passion might run his sword through you or blow out your brains.”
“What have you done to him, then?”
“We have asked him for money.”
“The devil! Ah, I can understand that. It is a demand that Porthos takes very ill when he is not in funds; but I know he must be so at present.”
“We thought so, too, Monsieur. As our house is carried on very regularly, and we make out our bills every week, at the end of eight days we presented our account; but it appeared we had chosen an unlucky moment, for at the first word on the subject, he sent us to all the devils. It is true he had been playing the day before.”
“Playing the day before! And with whom?”