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- Гастон Леру
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- Стр. 236/258
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"
Barrels
!
Barrels
!
What
a
lot
of
barrels
!
.
.
.
"
Indeed
,
there
was
quite
a
number
of
them
,
symmetrically
arranged
in
two
rows
,
one
on
either
side
of
us
.
They
were
small
barrels
and
I
thought
that
Erik
must
have
selected
them
of
that
size
to
facilitate
their
carriage
to
the
house
on
the
lake
.
We
examined
them
successively
,
to
see
if
one
of
them
had
not
a
funnel
,
showing
that
it
had
been
tapped
at
some
time
or
another
.
But
all
the
barrels
were
hermetically
closed
.
Then
,
after
half
lifting
one
to
make
sure
it
was
full
,
we
went
on
our
knees
and
,
with
the
blade
of
a
small
knife
which
I
carried
,
I
prepared
to
stave
in
the
bung
-
hole
.
At
that
moment
,
I
seemed
to
hear
,
coming
from
very
far
,
a
sort
of
monotonous
chant
which
I
knew
well
,
from
often
hearing
it
in
the
streets
of
Paris
:
"
Barrels
!
.
.
.
Barrels
!
.
.
.
Any
barrels
to
sell
?
"
My
hand
desisted
from
its
work
.
M
.
de
Chagny
had
also
heard
.
He
said
:
"
That
’
s
funny
!
It
sounds
as
if
the
barrel
were
singing
!
"
The
song
was
renewed
,
farther
away
:
"
Barrels
!
.
.
.
Barrels
!
.
.
.
Any
barrels
to
sell
?
.
.
.
"
