The procurator’s wife hung upon the arm of Porthos, and in the violence of her grief she cried out, “Monsieur Porthos, I am ignorant of all such matters! How should I know what a horse is? How should I know what horse furniture is?”

“You should have left it to me, then, Madame, who know what they are; but you wished to be frugal, and consequently to lend at usury.”

“It was wrong, M. Porthos; but I will repair that wrong, upon my word of honor.”

“How so?” asked the musketeer.

“Listen. This evening M. Coquenard is going to the house of the Duc de Chaulnes, who has sent for him. It is for a consultation, which will last three hours at least. Come! We shall be alone, and can make up our accounts.”