“Grimaud himself, understand; and with the ten parts of Grimaud, which are not worth a ducatoon, I regained the diamond. Tell me, now, if persistence is not a virtue?”
“My faith! But this is droll,” cried d’Artagnan, consoled, and holding his sides with laughter.
“You may guess, finding the luck turned, that I again staked the diamond.”
“The devil!” said d’Artagnan, becoming angry again.
“I won back your harness, then your horse, then my harness, then my horse, and then I lost again. In brief, I regained your harness and then mine. That’s where we are. That was a superb throw, so I left off there.”
D’Artagnan breathed as if the whole hostelry had been removed from his breast.
“Then the diamond is safe?” said he, timidly.
“Intact, my dear friend; besides the harness of your Bucephalus and mine.”
“But what is the use of harnesses without horses?”
“I have an idea about them.”
“Athos, you make me shudder.”
“Listen to me. You have not played for a long time, d’Artagnan.”
“And I have no inclination to play.”
“Swear to nothing. You have not played for a long time, I said; you ought, then, to have a good hand.”