“In fact,” said Porthos, “the real truth is, that I felt far worse outside my head than inside. I will even confess, that when I put my hat upon my head, clapping it on my head with that graceful energy which we gentlemen of the sword possess, if my fist was not very gently applied, I experienced the most painful sensations.”
“I quite believe you, Porthos.”
“Therefore, my friend,” said the giant, “M. Fouquet decided, seeing how slightly built the house was, to give me another lodging, and so they brought me here.”
“It is the private park, I think, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Where the rendezvous are made; that park, indeed, which is so celebrated in some of those mysterious stories about the superintendent?”
“I don’t know; I have had no rendezvous or heard mysterious stories myself, but they have authorized me to exercise my muscles, and I take advantage of the permission by rooting up some of the trees.”
“What for?”
“To keep my hand in, and also to take some birds’ nests; I find it more convenient than climbing.”
“You are as pastoral as Tyrcis, my dear Porthos.”