Thursday? - what can be left for poor Thursday?"

"It is not very unfortunate, monsieur," said Mousqueton, smiling.
"Thursday, Olympian pleasures. Ah, monsieur, that is superb! We get
together all monseigneur's young vassals, and we make them throw the
disc, wrestle, and run races. Monseigneur can't run now, no more can I;
but monseigneur throws the disc as nobody else can throw it. And when he
does deal a blow, oh, that proves a misfortune!"

"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 to 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?"