To the bags, Planchet, to the bags!" "But to what bags, good heavens!" D'Artagnan pushed Planchet towards the window.
"Under that shed yonder, don't you see a horse ?" "Yes." "Don't you see how his back is laden ?" "Yes, yes!" "Don't you see your lad talking with the postilion ?" "Yes, yes, yes!" "Well, you know the name of that lad, because he is your own.

Call him." "Abdon! Abdon!" vociferated Planchet, from the window.
"Bring the horse!" shouted D'Artagnan.
"Bring the horse!" screamed Planchet.
"Now give ten livres to the postilion," said D'Artagnan, in the tone he would have employed in commanding a maneuver; "two lads to bring up the first two bags, two to bring up the two last,--and move, _Mordioux!_ be lively!" Planchet rushed down the stairs, as if the devil had been at his heels.
A moment later the lads ascended the stairs, bending beneath their burden.

D'Artagnan sent them off to their garrets, carefully closed the door, and addressing Planchet, who, in his turn, looked a little wild,-- "Now, we are by ourselves," said he; and he spread upon the floor a large cover, and emptied the first bag into it.

Planchet did the same with the second; then D'Artagnan, 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.