“I know it well.”

“The Comtesse de⁠—”

“Monsieur Porthos, be generous!”

“You are right, Madame, and I will not finish.”

“But it was my husband who would not hear of lending.”

“Madame Coquenard,” said Porthos, “remember the first letter you wrote me, and which I preserve engraved in my memory.”

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.”