“Well, that may be so,” said Porthos, conceitedly, “so much, however, was that the case, in my instance, that no sooner did the luster fall upon the dome which we have at the top of our head, than there was a report like a cannon, the crystal was broken to pieces, and I fell, covered from head to foot.”
“With blood, poor Porthos!”
“Not at all; with perfumes, which smelt like rich creams; it was delicious, but the odor was too strong, and I felt quite giddy from it; perhaps you have experienced it sometimes yourself, D’Artagnan?”
“Yes, in inhaling the scent of the lily of the valley; so that, my poor friend, you were knocked over by the shock and overpowered by the perfumes?”
“Yes; but what is very remarkable, for the doctor told me he had never seen anything like it—”
“You had a bump on your head I suppose?” interrupted D’Artagnan.
“I had five.”
“Why five?”
“I will tell you; the luster had, at its lower extremity, five gilt ornaments; excessively sharp.”
“Oh!”