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- Александр Дюма
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- Три мушкетера
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- Стр. 430/849
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"
Oh
,
oh
!
"
said
he
;
"
here
is
a
soup
which
is
rather
inviting
.
"
"
What
the
devil
can
they
smell
so
extraordinary
in
this
soup
?
"
said
Porthos
,
at
the
sight
of
a
pale
liquid
,
abundant
but
entirely
free
from
meat
,
on
the
surface
of
which
a
few
crusts
swam
about
as
rare
as
the
islands
of
an
archipelago
.
Mme.
Coquenard
smiled
,
and
upon
a
sign
from
her
everyone
eagerly
took
his
seat
.
M.
Coquenard
was
served
first
,
then
Porthos
.
Afterward
Mme.
Coquenard
filled
her
own
plate
,
and
distributed
the
crusts
without
soup
to
the
impatient
clerks
.
At
this
moment
the
door
of
the
dining
room
unclosed
with
a
creak
,
and
Porthos
perceived
through
the
half-open
flap
the
little
clerk
who
,
not
being
allowed
to
take
part
in
the
feast
,
ate
his
dry
bread
in
the
passage
with
the
double
odor
of
the
dining
room
and
kitchen
.
After
the
soup
the
maid
brought
a
boiled
fowl
--
a
piece
of
magnificence
which
caused
the
eyes
of
the
diners
to
dilate
in
such
a
manner
that
they
seemed
ready
to
burst
.
"
One
may
see
that
you
love
your
family
,
Madame
Coquenard
,
"
said
the
procurator
,
with
a
smile
that
was
almost
tragic
.
"
You
are
certainly
treating
your
cousin
very
handsomely
!
"
The
poor
fowl
was
thin
,
and
covered
with
one
of
those
thick
,
bristly
skins
through
which
the
teeth
can
not
penetrate
with
all
their
efforts
.
The
fowl
must
have
been
sought
for
a
long
time
on
the
perch
,
to
which
it
had
retired
to
die
of
old
age
.
"
The
devil
!
"
thought
Porthos
,
"
this
is
poor
work
.
I
respect
old
age
,
but
I
do
n't
much
like
it
boiled
or
roasted
.
"
And
he
looked
round
to
see
if
anybody
partook
of
his
opinion
;
but
on
the
contrary
,
he
saw
nothing
but
eager
eyes
which
were
devouring
,
in
anticipation
,
that
sublime
fowl
which
was
the
object
of
his
contempt
.
