D’Artagnan burst out laughing, as he said, “Take care, Planchet; for if Porthos begins to like you so much, he will caress you, and if he caresses you he will knock you as flat as a pancake. Porthos is still as strong as ever, you know.”
“Oh,” said Planchet, “Mousqueton is not dead, and yet monsieur le baron is very fond of him.”
“Certainly,” said Porthos, with a sigh which made all the three horses rear; “and I was only saying, this very morning, to D’Artagnan, how much I regretted him. But tell me, Planchet?”
“Thank you, monsieur le baron, thank you.”
“Good lad, good lad! How many acres of park have you got?”
“Of park?”
“Yes; we will reckon up the meadows presently, and the woods afterwards.”
“Whereabouts, monsieur?” “At your chateau.”
“Oh, monsieur le baron, I have neither chateau, nor park, nor meadows, nor woods.”
“What have you got, then?” inquired Porthos, “and why do you call it a country-seat?”