“Happily not, or I should have been grilled prematurely.”
“And you were only knocked down flat, instead?”
“Not at all.”
“How, ‘not at all?’”
“Why, the luster fell on my skull. It appears that we have upon the top of our heads an exceedingly thick crust.”
“Who told you that, Porthos?”
“The doctor. A sort of dome which would bear Notre-Dame.”
“Bah!”
“Yes, it seems that our skulls are made in that manner.”
“Speak for yourself, my dear fellow, it is your own skull that is made in that manner, and not the skulls of other people.”