“Without counting a luster, which fell on my head and was broken into a thousand pieces—ha, ha, ha!”
“Upon your head?” said D’Artagnan, holding his sides.
“On top.”
“But your head was broken, I suppose?”
“No, since I tell you, on the contrary, my dear fellow, that it was the luster which was broken, like glass, which, in point of fact, it was.”
“Ah! the luster was glass, you say.”
“Venetian glass! a perfect curiosity, quite matchless, indeed, and weighed two hundred pounds.”
“And it fell upon your head!”
“Upon my head. Just imagine, a globe of crystal, gilded all over, the lower part beautifully encrusted, perfumes burning at the top, with jets from which flame issued when they were lighted.”
“I quite understand, but they were not lighted at the time, I suppose?”