"What's the matter with your legs?"

"Oh, they will no longer bear me!"

"Ah, the ungrateful things! And yet you feed them well,
Mousqueton, apparently."

"Alas, yes! They can reproach me with nothing in that
respect," said Mousqueton, with a sigh; "I have always done
what I could for my poor body; I am not selfish." And
Mousqueton sighed afresh.

"I wonder whether Mousqueton wants to be a baron, too, as he
sighs after that fashion?" thought D'Artagnan.

"Mon Dieu, monsieur!" said Mousqueton, as if rousing himself
from a painful reverie; "how happy monseigneur will be that
you have thought of him!"

"Kind Porthos!" cried D'Artagnan, "I am anxious to embrace
him."

"Oh!" said Mousqueton, much affected, "I shall certainly
write to him."

"What!" cried D'Artagnan, "you will write to him?"

"This very day; I shall not delay it an hour."