Porthos; there was a time when Mouston began to
grow fat. Is that what you wished to say?"

"Yes, my friend; and I greatly rejoice over the period."

"Indeed, I believe you do," exclaimed D'Artagnan.

"You understand," continued Porthos, "what a world of trouble it spared
for me."

"No, I don't--by any means."

"Look here, my friend. In the first place, as you have said, to be
measured is a loss of time, even though it occur only once a fortnight.
And then, one may be travelling; and then you wish to have seven suits
always with you. In short, I have a horror of letting any one take my
measure. Confound it! either one is a nobleman or not. To be scrutinized
and scanned by a fellow who completely analyzes you, by inch and
line--'tis degrading! Here, they find you too hollow; there, too
prominent. They recognize your strong and weak points. See, now, when we
leave the measurer's hands, we are like those strongholds whose angles
and different thicknesses have been ascertained by a spy."

"In truth, my dear Porthos, you possess ideas entirely original."

"Ah! you see when a man is an engineer--"

"And has fortified Belle-Isle--'tis natural, my friend."

"Well, I had an idea, which would doubtless have proved a good one, but
for Mouston's carelessness."

D'Artagnan glanced at Mouston, who replied by a slight movement of his
body, as if to say, "You will see whether I am at all to blame in all
this."

"I congratulated myself, then," resumed Porthos, "at seeing Mouston get
fat; and I did all I could, by means of substantial feeding, to make him
stout--always in the hope that he would come to equal myself in girth,
and could then be measured in my stead."

"Ah!" cried D'Artagnan. "I see--that spared you both time and
humiliation."

"Consider my joy when, after a year and a half's judicious feeding--for
I used to feed him up myself--the fellow--"

"Oh! I lent a good hand myself, monsieur," said Mouston, humbly.

"That's true. Consider my joy when, one morning, I perceived Mouston was
obliged to squeeze in, as I once did myself, to get through the little
secret door that those fools of architects had made in the chamber of
the late Madame du Vallon, in the chateau of Pierrefonds. And, by the
way, about that door, my friend, I should like to ask you, who know
everything, why these wretches of architects, who ought to have the
compasses run into them, just to remind them, came to make doorways
through which nobod