why these wretches of architects, who ought by rights to
have the compasses in their eye, came to make doorways through which
nobody but thin people could pass?"

"Oh, those doors," answered D'Artagnan, "were meant for gallants, and
they have generally slight and slender figures."

"Madame de Valon had no gallant!" answered Porthos, majestically.

"Perfectly true, my friend," resumed D'Artagnan; "but the architects
were imagining the possibility of your marrying again."

"Ah! that is possible," said Porthos. "And now I have received an
explanation how it is that doorways are made too narrow, let us return
to the subject of Mouston's fatness. But see how the two things apply to
each other. I have always noticed that ideas run parallel. And so,
observe this phenomenon, D'Artagnan. I was talking to you of Mouston,
who is fat, and it led us on to Madame de Valon--"

"Who was thin?"

"Hum! Is it not marvelous?"

"My dear friend, a _savant_ of my acquaintance, M. Costar, has made the
same observation as you have, and he calls the process by some Greek
name which I forget."

"What! my remark is not then original?" cried Porthos, astounded. "I
thought I was the discoverer."

"My friend, the fact was known before Aristotle's days--that is to say,
nearly two thousand years ago."

"Well, well, 'tis no less true," said Porthos, delighted at the idea of
having concurred with the sages of antiquity.

"Wonderfully--but suppose we return to Mouston. It seems to me, we have
left him fattening under our very eyes."

"Yes, monsieur," said Mouston.

"Well," said Porthos, "Mouston fattened so well, that he gratified all
my hopes, by reaching my standard; a fact of which I was well able to
convince myself, by seeing the rascal, one day, in a waistcoat of mine,
which he had turned into a coat--a waistcoat, the mere embroidery of
which was worth a hundred pistoles."

"'Twas only to try it on, monsieur," said Mouston.

"From that moment, I determined to put Mouston in communication with my
tailors, and to have him measured instead of myself."

"A capital idea, Porthos; but Mouston is a foot and a half shorter than
you."

"Exactly! They measured him down to the ground, and the end of the skirt
came just below my knee."

"What a wonder you are, Porthos! Such a thing could happen only to you."

"Ah! yes; pay your compliments; there is something to do it upon. It was
exactly at that time--that is to say, nearly two years an