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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 427/849
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His
heart
beat
,
but
not
like
d'Artagnan
's
with
a
young
and
impatient
love
.
No
;
a
more
material
interest
stirred
his
blood
.
He
was
about
at
last
to
pass
that
mysterious
threshold
,
to
climb
those
unknown
stairs
by
which
,
one
by
one
,
the
old
crowns
of
M.
Coquenard
had
ascended
.
He
was
about
to
see
in
reality
a
certain
coffer
of
which
he
had
twenty
times
beheld
the
image
in
his
dreams
--
a
coffer
long
and
deep
,
locked
,
bolted
,
fastened
in
the
wall
;
a
coffer
of
which
he
had
so
often
heard
,
and
which
the
hands
--
a
little
wrinkled
,
it
is
true
,
but
still
not
without
elegance
--
of
the
procurator
's
wife
were
about
to
open
to
his
admiring
looks
.
And
then
he
--
a
wanderer
on
the
earth
,
a
man
without
fortune
,
a
man
without
family
,
a
soldier
accustomed
to
inns
,
cabarets
,
taverns
,
and
restaurants
,
a
lover
of
wine
forced
to
depend
upon
chance
treats
--
was
about
to
partake
of
family
meals
,
to
enjoy
the
pleasures
of
a
comfortable
establishment
,
and
to
give
himself
up
to
those
little
attentions
which
"
the
harder
one
is
,
the
more
they
please
,
"
as
old
soldiers
say
.
To
come
in
the
capacity
of
a
cousin
,
and
seat
himself
every
day
at
a
good
table
;
to
smooth
the
yellow
,
wrinkled
brow
of
the
old
procurator
;
to
pluck
the
clerks
a
little
by
teaching
them
BASSETTE
,
PASSE-DIX
,
and
LANSQUENET
,
in
their
utmost
nicety
,
and
winning
from
them
,
by
way
of
fee
for
the
lesson
he
would
give
them
in
an
hour
,
their
savings
of
a
month
--
all
this
was
enormously
delightful
to
Porthos
.
The
Musketeer
could
not
forget
the
evil
reports
which
then
prevailed
,
and
which
indeed
have
survived
them
,
of
the
procurators
of
the
period
--
meanness
,
stinginess
,
fasts
;
but
as
,
after
all
,
excepting
some
few
acts
of
economy
which
Porthos
had
always
found
very
unseasonable
,
the
procurator
's
wife
had
been
tolerably
liberal
--
that
is
,
be
it
understood
,
for
a
procurator
's
wife
--
he
hoped
to
see
a
household
of
a
highly
comfortable
kind
.
And
yet
,
at
the
very
door
the
Musketeer
began
to
entertain
some
doubts
.
The
approach
was
not
such
as
to
prepossess
people
--
an
ill-smelling
,
dark
passage
,
a
staircase
half-lighted
by
bars
through
which
stole
a
glimmer
from
a
neighboring
yard
;
on
the
first
floor
a
low
door
studded
with
enormous
nails
,
like
the
principal
gate
of
the
Grand
Chatelet
.
Porthos
knocked
with
his
hand
.
A
tall
,
pale
clerk
,
his
face
shaded
by
a
forest
of
virgin
hair
,
opened
the
door
,
and
bowed
with
the
air
of
a
man
forced
at
once
to
respect
in
another
lofty
stature
,
which
indicated
strength
,
the
military
dress
,
which
indicated
rank
,
and
a
ruddy
countenance
,
which
indicated
familiarity
with
good
living
.
A
shorter
clerk
came
behind
the
first
,
a
taller
clerk
behind
the
second
,
a
stripling
of
a
dozen
years
rising
behind
the
third
.
In
all
,
three
clerks
and
a
half
,
which
,
for
the
time
,
argued
a
very
extensive
clientage
.
Although
the
Musketeer
was
not
expected
before
one
o'clock
,
the
procurator
's
wife
had
been
on
the
watch
ever
since
midday
,
reckoning
that
the
heart
,
or
perhaps
the
stomach
,
of
her
lover
would
bring
him
before
his
time
.
Mme.
Coquenard
therefore
entered
the
office
from
the
house
at
the
same
moment
her
guest
entered
from
the
stairs
,
and
the
appearance
of
the
worthy
lady
relieved
him
from
an
awkward
embarrassment
.
The
clerks
surveyed
him
with
great
curiosity
,
and
he
,
not
knowing
well
what
to
say
to
this
ascending
and
descending
scale
,
remained
tongue-tied
.
"
It
is
my
cousin
!
"
cried
the
procurator
's
wife
.
"
Come
in
,
come
in
,
Monsieur
Porthos
!
"
