"How so?"

"Yes, monsieur, we were obliged to renounce the cestus. He
cracked heads; he broke jaws -- beat in ribs. It was
charming sport; but nobody was willing to play with him."

"Then his wrist ---- "

"Oh, monsieur, firmer than ever. Monseigneur gets a trifle
weaker in his legs, -- he confesses that himself; but his
strength has all taken refuge in his arms, so that ---- "

"So that he can knock down bullocks, as he used formerly."

"Monsieur, better than that -- he beats in walls. Lately,
after having supped with one of our farmers -- you know how
popular and kind monseigneur is -- after supper as a joke,
he struck the wall a blow. The wall crumbled away beneath
his hand, the roof fell in, and three men and an old woman
were stifled."

"Good God, Mousqueton! And your master?"

"Oh, monseigneur, a little skin was rubbed off his head. We
bathed the wounds with some water which the monks gave us.
But there was nothing the matter with his hand."

"Nothing?"