"Impossible, I tell you," he said. "You are like all young men; you are not in love, you are out of your senses."
"Well! suppose it were only that?"
"No sensible man ever succeeded in making much of a brain when the head was turned. I have completely lost my senses in the same way a hundred times in my life. You would listen to me, but you would not hear me; you would hear, but you would not understand me; you would understand, but you would not obey me."
"Oh! try, try."
"I go far. Even if I were unfortunate enough to know something, and foolish enough to communicate it to you—— You are my friend, you say?"
"Indeed, yes."
"Very good. I should quarrel with you. You would never forgive me for having destroyed your illusion, as people say of love affairs."
"Monsieur d'Artagnan, you know all; and yet you plunge me in perplexity and despair, in death itself."
"There, there, now."
"I never complain, as you know; but as Heaven and my father would never forgive me for blowing out my brains, I will go and get the first person I meet to give me the information which you withhold; I will tell him he lies, and—"