“Eh! good heavens, are you ill?” cried D’Artagnan.

“I am as firm as the Pont-Neuf! It isn’t that.”

“But what is it, then?”

“‘Tis that I have no clothes!”

D’Artagnan stood petrified.

“No clothes! Porthos, no clothes!” he cried, “when I see at least fifty suits on the floor.”

“Fifty, truly; but not one which fits me!”

“What? not one that fits you? But are you not measured, then, when you give an order?”

“To be sure he is,” answered Mouston; “but unfortunately I have gotten stouter!”