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."

"Is he not here, then?"

"No, monsieur."

"But is he near at hand? - is he far off?"

"Oh, can I tell, monsieur, can I tell?"

"_Mordioux!_" cried the musketeer, stamping with his foot, "I am