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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 432/849
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"
Will
you
eat
any
of
these
beans
,
Cousin
Porthos
?
"
said
Mme.
Coquenard
,
in
that
tone
which
says
,
"
Take
my
advice
,
do
n't
touch
them
.
"
"
Devil
take
me
if
I
taste
one
of
them
!
"
murmured
Porthos
to
himself
,
and
then
said
aloud
,
"
Thank
you
,
my
cousin
,
I
am
no
longer
hungry
.
"
There
was
silence
.
Porthos
could
hardly
keep
his
countenance
.
The
procurator
repeated
several
times
,
"
Ah
,
Madame
Coquenard
!
Accept
my
compliments
;
your
dinner
has
been
a
real
feast
.
Lord
,
how
I
have
eaten
!
"
M.
Coquenard
had
eaten
his
soup
,
the
black
feet
of
the
fowl
,
and
the
only
mutton
bone
on
which
there
was
the
least
appearance
of
meat
.
Porthos
fancied
they
were
mystifying
him
,
and
began
to
curl
his
mustache
and
knit
his
eyebrows
;
but
the
knee
of
Mme.
Coquenard
gently
advised
him
to
be
patient
.
This
silence
and
this
interruption
in
serving
,
which
were
unintelligible
to
Porthos
,
had
,
on
the
contrary
,
a
terrible
meaning
for
the
clerks
.
Upon
a
look
from
the
procurator
,
accompanied
by
a
smile
from
Mme.
Coquenard
,
they
arose
slowly
from
the
table
,
folded
their
napkins
more
slowly
still
,
bowed
,
and
retired
.
"
Go
,
young
men
!
go
and
promote
digestion
by
working
,
"
said
the
procurator
,
gravely
.
The
clerks
gone
,
Mme.
Coquenard
rose
and
took
from
a
buffet
a
piece
of
cheese
,
some
preserved
quinces
,
and
a
cake
which
she
had
herself
made
of
almonds
and
honey
.
M.
