and under the pretense of much heat throw off the Scotch plaid which covered him.
Athos and Aramis started with delight to find that the king was lying with his clothes on.
The game began. The luck had turned, and Groslow, having won some hundred pistoles, was in the merriest possible humor.
Porthos, who had lost the fifty pistoles he had won the night before and thirty more besides, was very cross and questioned D’Artagnan with a nudge of the knee as to whether it would not soon be time to change the game. Athos and Aramis looked at him inquiringly. But D’Artagnan remained impassible.
It struck ten. They heard the guard going its rounds.
“How many rounds do they