knees to the bone; a horse eats out of a
manger in which a glandered horse has eaten. There is a horse, while on
the contrary, the hundred pistoles feed their master."

"But how shall we get back?"

"Upon our lackey's horses, PARDIEU. Anybody may see by our bearing that
we are people of condition."

"Pretty figures we shall cut on ponies while Aramis and Porthos caracole
on their steeds."

"Aramis! Porthos!" cried Athos, and laughed aloud.

"What is it?" asked d'Artagnan, who did not at all comprehend the
hilarity of his friend.

"Nothing, nothing! Go on!"

"Your advice, then?"

"To take the hundred pistoles, d'Artagnan. With the hundred pistoles we
can live well to the end of the month. We have undergone a great deal of
fatigue, remember, and a little rest will do no harm."

"I rest? Oh, no, Athos. Once in Paris, I shall prosecute my search for
that unfortunate woman!"

"Well, you may be assured that your horse will not be half so
serviceable to you for that purpose as good golden louis. Take the
hundred pistoles, my friend; take the hundred pistoles!"

D'Artagnan only required one reason to be satisfied. This last reason
appeared convincing. Besides, he feared that by resisting longer he
should appear selfish in the eyes of Athos. He acquiesced, therefore,
and chose the hundred pistoles, which the Englishman paid down on the
spot.

They then determined to depart. Peace with the landlord, in addition to
Athos's old horse, cost six pistoles. D'Artagnan and Athos took the nags
of Planchet and Grimaud, and the two lackeys started on foot, carrying
the saddles on their heads.

However ill our two friends were mounted, they were soon far in advance
of their servants, and arrived at Creveccoeur. From a distance they
perceived Aramis, seated in a melancholy manner at his window, looking
out, like Sister Anne, at the dust in the horizon.

"HOLA, Aramis! What the devil are you doing there?" cried the two
friends.

"Ah, is that you, d'Artagnan, and you, Athos?" said the young man. "I
was reflecting upon the rapidity with which the blessings of this world
leave us. My English horse, which has just disappeared amid a cloud
of dust, has furnished me with a living image of the fragility of the
things of the earth. Life itself may be resolved into three words: ERAT,
EST, FUIT."

"Which means--" said d'Artagnan, who began to suspect the truth.

"Which means that I have just been duped-sixty louis for a horse wh