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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 365/849
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Then
the
lamentations
of
the
host
and
hostess
pierced
the
vault
of
the
cellar
.
D'Artagnan
himself
was
moved
by
them
.
Athos
did
not
even
turn
his
head
.
To
grief
succeeded
rage
.
The
host
armed
himself
with
a
spit
,
and
rushed
into
the
chamber
occupied
by
the
two
friends
.
"
Some
wine
!
"
said
Athos
,
on
perceiving
the
host
.
"
Some
wine
!
"
cried
the
stupefied
host
,
"
some
wine
?
Why
you
have
drunk
more
than
a
hundred
pistoles
'
worth
!
I
am
a
ruined
man
,
lost
,
destroyed
!
"
"
Bah
,
"
said
Athos
,
"
we
were
always
dry
.
"
"
If
you
had
been
contented
with
drinking
,
well
and
good
;
but
you
have
broken
all
the
bottles
.
"
"
You
pushed
me
upon
a
heap
which
rolled
down
.
That
was
your
fault
.
"
"
All
my
oil
is
lost
!
"
"
Oil
is
a
sovereign
balm
for
wounds
;
and
my
poor
Grimaud
here
was
obliged
to
dress
those
you
had
inflicted
on
him
.
"
"
All
my
sausages
are
gnawed
!
"
