of the window.

"'Tis nothing, nothing,' said he. 'Keep your position.'

"I raised my left arm in the air, the forearm gracefully bent, the
ruffle drooping, and my wrist curved, while my right arm, half extended,
securely covered my waist with the elbow, and my breast with the wrist."

"Yes," said D'Artagnan, "'tis the true guard--the academic guard."

"You have said the very word, dear friend. In the meanwhile Voliere--"

"Moliere."

"Hold! I should certainly, after all, prefer to call him--what did you
say his other name was?"

"Poquelin."

"I prefer to call him Poquelin."

"And how will you remember this name better than the other?"

"You understand, he calls himself Poquelin, does he not?"

"Yes."

"I shall recall to mind Madame Coquenard."

"Good."

"I shall change _Coc_ into _Poc_, _nard_ into _lin_; and instead of
Coquenard I shall have Poquelin."

"'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 arm.

"'Another, my man,' cried he. A third approached. 'Support monsieur by
the waist,' said he. The _garcon_ 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 Voliere."

"Yes, and then it was over, wasn't it?"

"During that time Voliere drew me on the mirror."

"'Twas delicate in him."

"I much like the plan: it is respectful, and keeps every on