Aramis saw that the young man was stretched upon his
bed, his face half-concealed by his arms.—Page [294].
"'Monsieur,' he said to me," continued Porthos, "'a gentleman ought to measure himself. Do me the pleasure to draw near this glass,' and I drew near the glass. I must own I did not exactly understand what this good M. Voliere wanted with me."
"Moliere."
"Ah! yes, Moliere—Moliere. And as the fear of being measured still possessed me, 'Take care,' said I to him, 'what you are going to do with me; I am very ticklish, I warn you.' But he, with his soft voice (for he is a courteous fellow, we must admit, my friend), he with his soft voice, 'Monsieur,' said he, 'that your dress may fit you well, it must be made according to your figure. Your figure is exactly reflected in this mirror. We shall take the measure of this reflection.'"
"In fact," said D'Artagnan, "you saw yourself in the glass; but where did they find one in which could see your whole figure?"
"My good friend, it is the very glass in which the king sees himself."
"Yes; but the king is a foot and a half shorter than you are."
"Ah! well, I know not how that may be; it would no doubt be a way of flattering the king; but the looking-glass was too large for me. 'Tis true that its height was made up of three Venetian plates of glass, placed one above another, and its breadth of the three similar pieces in juxtaposition."
"Oh, Porthos! what excellent words you have command of. Where in the world did you make the collection?"