a superb Andalusian horse, black as jet, nostrils of fire, legs clean and elegant, rising six years. He examined him, and found him sound and without blemish. They asked a thousand livres for him.
He might perhaps have been bought for less; but while d’Artagnan was discussing the price with the dealer, Athos was counting out the money on the table.
Grimaud had a stout, short Picard cob, which cost three hundred livres.
But when the saddle and arms for Grimaud were purchased, Athos had not a sou left of his hundred and fifty pistoles. D’Artagnan offered his friend a part of his share which he should return when convenient.
But Athos only replied to this proposal by shrugging his shoulders.
“How much did the Jew say he would give for the sapphire if he purchased it?” said Athos.
“Five hundred pistoles.”
“That is to say, two hundred more—a hundred pistoles for you and a hundred pistoles for me. Well, now, that would be a real fortune to us, my friend; let us go back to the Jew’s again.”
“What! will you—”
“This ring would certainly only recall very bitter remembrances; then we shall never be masters of three hundred pistoles to redeem it, so that we really should lose two hundred pistoles by the bargain. Go and tell him the ring is his, d’Artagnan, and bring back the two hundred pistoles with you.”
“Reflect, Athos!”