all in a tremble, let out the precious bowels of the third with a knife. When Planchet heard the provoking sound of the silver and gold — when he saw bubbling out of the bags the shining crowns, which glittered like fish from the sweep-net — when he felt himself plunging his hands up to the elbows in that still rising tide of yellow and white coins, a giddiness seized him, and like a man struck by lightning, he sank heavily down upon the enormous heap, which his weight caused to roll away in all directions. Planchet, suffocated with joy, had lost his senses. D’Artagnan threw a glass of white wine in his face, which incontinently recalled him to life.

“Ah! good heavens! good heavens! good heavens!” said Planchet, wiping his mustache and beard.