all admired his embroidered baldric, and d’Artagnan more than anyone.

“What would you have?” said the Musketeer. “This fashion is coming in. It is a folly, I admit, but still it is the fashion. Besides, one must lay out one’s inheritance somehow.”

“Ah, Porthos!” cried one of his companions, “don’t try to make us believe you obtained that baldric by paternal generosity. It was given to you by that veiled lady I met you with the other Sunday, near the gate St. Honor.”

“No, upon honor and by the faith of a gentleman, I bought it with the contents of my own purse,” answered he whom they designated by the name Porthos.

“Yes; about in the same manner,”