"'Tis wonderful!" cried D'Artagnan, astounded. "Go on, my friend; I am listening to you with admiration."
"This Coquelin sketched my arm on the glass"
"I beg your pardon—Poquelin."
"What did I say, then?"
"You said Coquelin."
"Ah! true. This Poquelin, then, sketched my arm on the glass; but he took his time over it; he kept looking at me a good deal. The fact is, that I was very handsome.
"'Does it weary you?' he asked.
"'A little,' I replied, bending a little in my hands, 'but I could yet hold out an hour.'
"'No, no, I will not allow it; the willing fellows will make it a duty to support your arms, as of old, men supported those of the prophet.'
"'Very good,' I answered.
"'That will not be humiliating to you?'"
"'My friend,' said I, 'there is, I think, a great difference between being supported and being measured.'"
"The distinction is full of sense," interrupted D'Artagnan.
"Then," continued Porthos, "he made a sign; two lads approached; one supported my left arm, while the other, with infinite address, supported my right."
"'Another, my man,' cried he. A third approached. 'Support monsieur by the waist,' said he. The garçon complied."
"So that you were at rest?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Perfectly; and Pocquenard drew me on the glass."
"Poquelin, my friend."
"Poquelin—you are right. Stay; decidedly I prefer calling him Volière."
"Yes; and then it was over, wasn't it?"
"During that time Volière drew me on the mirror."
"'Twas delicate in him."
"I much like the plan; it is respectful, and keeps every one in his place."
"And there it ended?"
"Without a soul having touched me, my friend."
"Except the three garçons who supported you."
"Doubtless; but I have, I think, already explained to you the difference there is between supporting and measuring."
"'Tis true," answered D'Artagnan, who said afterward, to himself, "I' faith, I greatly deceive myself, or I have been the means of a good windfall to that rascal Molière,
