They walked arm in arm, occupying the whole width of the street and taking in every musketeer they met, so that in the end it became a triumphal march. The heart of d’Artagnan swam in delirium; he marched between Athos and Porthos, pressing them tenderly.
“If I am not yet a musketeer,” said he to his new friends, as he passed through the gateway of M. de Tréville’s hotel, “at least I have entered upon my apprenticeship, haven’t I?”