hos was sleeping. At the door of Fouquet's cabinet he was folded in
the arms of Pelisson, who had just heard of his arrival, and had left
his office to see him. Aramis received, with that friendly dignity which
he knew so well how to assume, these caresses, respectful as earnest;
but all at once stopping on the landing-place, "What is that I hear up
yonder?"

There was, in fact, a hoarse, growling kind of noise, like the roar of
a hungry tiger, or an impatient lion. "Oh, that is nothing," said
Pelisson, smiling.

"Well; but--"

"It is M. du Vallon snoring."

"Ah! true," said Aramis: "I had forgotten. No one but he is capable
of making such a noise. Allow me, Pelisson, to inquire if he wants
anything."

"And you will permit me to accompany you?"

"Oh, certainly;" and both entered the chamber. Porthos was stretched
upon the bed; his face was violet rather than red; his eyes were
swelled; his mouth was wide open. The roaring which escaped from the
deep cavities of his chest made the glass of the windows vibrate. To
those developed and clearly defined muscles starting from his face, to
his hair matted with sweat, to the energetic heaving of his chin and
shoulders, it was impossible to refuse a certain degree of admiration.
Strength carried to this point is semi-divine. The Herculean legs and
feet of Porthos had, by swelling, burst his stockings; all the strength
of his huge body was converted into the rigidity of stone. Porthos moved
no more than does the giant of granite which reclines upon the plains of
Agrigentum. According to Pelisson's orders, his boots had been cut off,
for no human power could have pulled them off. Four lackeys had tried
in vain, pulling at them as they would have pulled capstans; and yet all
this did not awaken him. They had hacked off his boots in fragments, and
his legs had fallen back upon the bed. They then cut off the rest of
his clothes, carried him to a bath, in which they let him soak a
considerable time. They then put on him clean linen, and placed him in
a well-warmed bed--the whole with efforts and pains which might have
roused a dead man, but which did not make Porthos open an eye, or
interrupt for a second the formidable diapason of his snoring. Aramis
wished on his part, with his nervous nature, armed with extraordinary
courage, to outbrave fatigue, and employ himself with Gourville and
Pelisson, but he fainted in the chair in which he had persisted sitting.
He was carried into