, "you will make a dress for the
baron. 'Tis I who ask you."

"To you I will not say nay, captain."

"But that is not all; you will make it for him at once."

"'Tis impossible before eight days."

"That then is as much as to refuse, because the dress is wanted for the
fete at Vaux."

"I repeat that it is impossible," returned the obstinate old man.

"By no means, dear Monsieur Percerin, above all if _I_ ask you," said a
mild voice at the door, a silvery voice which made D'Artagnan prick up
his ears. It was the voice of Aramis.

"Monsieur d'Herblay!" cried the tailor.

"Aramis," murmured D'Artagnan.

"Ah! our bishop," said Porthos.

"Good-morning, D'Artagnan; good morning, Porthos; good morning, my dear
friends," said Aramis. "Come, come, M. Percerin, make the baron's dress;
and I will answer for it you will gratify M. Fouquet." And he
accompanied the words with a sign, which seemed to say, "Agree, and
dismiss them."

It appeared that Aramis had over Master Percerin an influence superior
even to D'Artagnan's, for the tailor bowed in assent, and turning round
upon Porthos, "Go and get measured on the other side," said he rudely.

Porthos colored in a formidable manner. D'Artagnan saw the storm coming,
and addressing Moliere said to him in an undertone, "You see before you,
my dear monsieur, a man who considers himself disgraced if you measure
the flesh and bones that Heaven has given him; study this type for me,
Master Aristophanes, and profit by it."

Moliere had no need of encouragement, and his gaze dwelt upon the Baron
Porthos. "Monsieur," he said, "if you will come with me, I will make
them take your measure without the measurer touching you."

"Oh!" said Porthos, "how do you make that out, my friend?"

"I say that they shall apply neither line nor rule to the seams of your
dress. It is a new method we have invented for measuring people of
quality, who are too sensitive to allow low-born fellows to touch them.
We know some susceptible persons who will not put up with being
measured, a process which, as I think, wounds the natural dignity of
man; and if perchance monsieur should be one of these--"

"Corboeuf! I believe I am too!"

"Well, that is a capital coincidence, and you will have the benefit of
our invention."

"But how in the world can it be done?" asked Porthos, delighted.

"Monsieur," said Moliere, bowing, "if you will deign to follow me, you
will see."

Aramis observed this scene wi