The procurator’s wife uttered a groan.
“Besides,” said she, “the sum you required me to borrow was rather large.”
“Madame Coquenard, I gave you the preference. I had but to write to the Duchesse—but I won’t repeat her name, for I am incapable of compromising a woman; but this I know, that I had but to write to her and she would have sent me fifteen hundred.”
The procurator’s wife shed a tear.
“Monsieur Porthos,” said she, “I can assure you that you have severely punished me; and if in the time to come you should find yourself in a similar situation, you have but to apply to me.”
“Fie, Madame, fie!” said Porthos, as if disgusted. “Let us not talk about money, if you please; it is humiliating.”
“Then you no longer love me!” said the procurator’s wife, slowly and sadly.
Porthos maintained a majestic silence.
“And that is the only reply you make? Alas, I understand.”
“Think of the offense you have committed toward me, Madame! It remains here !” said Porthos, placing his hand on his heart, and pressing it strongly.
“I will repair it, indeed I will, my dear Porthos.”
“Besides, what did I ask of you?” resumed Porthos, with a movement of the shoulders full of good fellowship. “A loan, nothing more! After all, I am not an unreasonable man. I know you are not rich, Madame