Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
AT
THE
SAME
time
that
Laure
Richis
and
her
father
were
leaving
Grasse
,
Grenouille
was
at
the
other
end
of
town
in
the
Arnulfi
workshop
macerating
jonquils
.
He
was
alone
and
he
was
in
good
spirits
.
His
days
in
Grasse
were
coming
to
an
end
.
His
day
of
triumph
was
imminent
.
Out
in
his
cabin
was
a
crate
padded
with
cotton
,
in
it
were
twenty-four
tiny
flacons
filled
with
drops
of
the
congealed
aura
of
twenty-four
virgins-precious
essences
that
Grenouille
had
produced
over
the
last
year
by
cold-oil
enfleurage
of
their
bodies
,
digestion
of
their
hair
and
clothes
,
lavage
,
and
distillation
.
And
the
twenty-fifth
,
the
most
precious
and
important
of
all
,
he
planned
to
fetch
today
.
For
his
final
fishing
expedition
,
he
had
at
the
ready
a
small
pot
of
oils
purified
several
times
over
,
a
cloth
of
finest
linen
,
and
a
demijohn
of
high-proof
alcohol
.
The
terrain
had
been
studied
down
to
the
last
detail
.
The
moon
was
new.He
knew
that
any
attempt
to
break
into
the
well-protected
mansion
on
the
rue
Droite
was
pointless
.
Which
was
why
he
planned
,
just
as
dusk
fell
and
before
the
doors
were
closed
,
to
sneak
in
under
his
cover
of
odorlessness
,
which
like
a
magic
cape
deprived
man
and
beast
of
their
perceptive
faculties
,
and
there
to
hide
in
some
nook
of
the
house
.
Then
later
,
when
everyone
was
asleep
,
he
would
follow
the
compass
of
his
nose
through
the
darkness
and
climb
up
to
the
chamber
that
held
his
treasure
.
He
would
set
to
work
on
it
with
his
oil-drenched
cloths
right
then
and
there
.
All
that
he
would
take
with
him
would
be
,
as
usual
,
the
hair
and
clothes
,
since
these
could
be
washed
directly
in
rectified
spirit
,
which
could
be
done
more
conveniently
in
the
workshop
.
He
estimated
it
would
take
an
additional
night
to
complete
the
production
of
the
pomade
and
to
distill
the
concentrate
.
And
if
everything
went
well-and
he
had
no
reason
to
doubt
that
everything
would
go
well
--
then
by
the
day
after
tomorrow
he
would
possess
all
of
the
essences
needed
for
the
best
perfume
in
the
world
,
and
he
would
leave
Grasse
as
the
world
's
most
fragrant
human
being.Around
noon
he
was
finished
with
his
jonquils
.
He
doused
the
fire
,
covered
the
pot
of
oil
,
and
stepped
outside
the
workshop
to
cool
off
.
The
wind
was
from
the
west.With
his
very
first
breath
,
he
knew
something
was
wrong
.
The
atmosphere
was
not
as
it
should
be
.
In
the
town
's
aromatic
garb
,
that
veil
of
many
thousands
of
woven
threads
,
the
golden
thread
was
missing
.
During
the
last
few
weeks
the
fragrance
of
that
thread
had
grown
so
strong
that
Grenouilie
had
clearly
discerned
it
from
his
cabin
on
the
far
side
of
the
town
.
Now
it
was
gone
,
vanished
,
untraceable
despite
the
most
intensive
sniffing
.
Grenouilie
was
almost
paralyzed
with
fright.She
is
dead
,
he
thought
.
Then
,
more
terrifying
still
:
Someone
else
has
got
to
her
before
me
.
Someone
else
has
plucked
my
flower
and
taken
its
odor
for
himself
!
He
could
not
so
much
as
scream
,
the
shock
was
too
great
for
that
,
but
he
could
produce
tears
that
welled
up
in
the
corners
of
his
eyes
and
suddenly
streamed
down
both
sides
of
his
nose
.
Then
Druot
,
returning
home
from
the
Quatre
Dauphins
for
lunch
,
remarked
in
passing
that
early
this
morning
the
second
consul
had
left
for
Grenoble
together
with
twelve
mules
and
his
daughter
.
Gre-nouille
forced
back
the
tears
and
ran
off
,
straight
through
town
to
the
Porte
du
Cours
.
He
stopped
to
sniff
in
the
square
before
the
gate
.
And
in
the
pure
west
wind
,
unsullied
by
the
odors
of
the
town
,
he
did
indeed
find
his
golden
thread
again
,
thin
and
fragile
,
but
absolutely
unmistakable
.
The
precious
scent
,
however
,
was
not
blowing
from
the
northwest
,
where
the
road
leads
toward
Grenoble
,
but
more
from
the
direction
of
Cabris-if
not
directly
out
of
the
southwest.Grenouille
asked
the
watch
which
road
the
second
consul
had
taken
.
The
guard
pointed
north
.
Not
the
road
to
Cabris
?
Or
the
other
one
,
that
went
south
toward
Auribeau
and
La
Napoule
?
Definitely
not
,
said
the
guard
,
he
had
watched
with
his
own
eyes.Grenouille
ran
back
through
town
to
his
cabin
,
packed
linen
,
pomade
pot
,
spatula
,
scissors
,
and
a
small
,
smooth
club
of
olivewood
into
his
knapsack
and
promptly
took
to
the
road-not
the
road
to
Grenoble
,
but
the
one
to
which
his
nose
directed
him
:
to
the
south.This
road
,
the
direct
road
to
La
Napoule
,
led
along
the
foothills
of
the
Tanneron
,
through
the
river
valleys
of
the
Frayere
and
Siagne
.
It
was
an
easy
walk
.
Grenouille
made
rapid
progress
.
As
Auribeau
emerged
on
his
right
,
clinging
to
the
mountains
above
him
,
he
could
smell
that
he
had
almost
caught
up
with
the
runaways
.
A
little
later
and
he
had
drawn
even
with
them
.
He
could
now
smell
each
one
,
could
smell
the
aroma
of
their
horses
.
At
most
they
were
no
more
than
a
half
mile
west
of
him
,
somewhere
in
the
forests
of
the
Tanneron
.
They
were
holding
course
southwards
,
toward
the
sea
.
Just
as
he
was.Around
five
o'clock
that
evening
,
Grenouille
reached
La
Napoule
.
He
went
to
the
inn
,
ate
,
and
asked
for
cheap
lodging
.
He
was
a
journeyman
tanner
from
Nice
,
he
said
,
on
his
way
to
Marseille
.
He
could
spend
the
night
in
a
stall
,
they
told
him
.
There
he
lay
down
in
a
corner
and
rested
.
He
could
smell
the
three
riders
approaching
.
He
need
only
wait.Two
hours
later-it
was
deep
dusk
by
then-they
arrived
.
To
preserve
their
disguise
,
they
had
changed
costumes
.
The
two
women
now
wore
dark
cloaks
and
veils
,
Richis
a
black
frock
coat
.
He
identified
himself
as
a
nobleman
on
his
way
from
Castellane
;
in
the
morning
he
wanted
to
be
ferried
over
to
the
lies
de
LSrins
,
the
innkeeper
should
make
arrangements
for
a
boat
to
be
ready
by
sunrise
.
Were
there
any
other
guests
in
the
house
besides
himself
and
his
people
?
No
,
said
the
innkeeper
,
only
a
journeyman
tanner
from
Nice
who
was
spending
the
night
in
a
stall.Richis
sent
the
women
to
their
room
.
He
was
going
out
to
the
stalls
,
he
said
,
to
get
something
from
the
saddlebags
.
At
first
he
could
not
find
the
journeyman
tanner
,
he
had
to
ask
a
groom
to
give
him
a
lantern
.
Then
he
saw
him
,
lying
on
some
straw
and
an
old
blanket
in
one
corner
,
his
head
resting
on
his
knapsack
,
sound
asleep
.
He
looked
so
totally
insignificant
that
for
a
moment
Richis
had
the
impression
that
he
was
not
even
there
,
but
was
merely
a
chimera
cast
by
the
swaying
shadow
of
the
lantern
candle
.
At
any
rate
,
Richis
was
immediately
convinced
that
there
was
no
danger
whatever
to
fear
from
this
almost
touchingly
harmless
creature
,
and
he
left
very
quietly
so
as
not
to
disturb
his
sleep
and
went
back
into
the
inn.He
took
his
evening
meal
in
his
own
room
along
with
his
daughter
.
He
had
not
explained
the
purpose
and
goal
of
their
journey
to
her
and
did
not
do
it
even
now
,
although
she
asked
him
.
Tomorrow
he
would
let
her
in
on
the
secret
,
he
said
,
but
she
could
be
certain
that
everything
that
he
was
planning
and
doing
was
for
her
good
and
would
work
toward
her
future
happiness.After
their
meal
they
played
a
few
games
of
I
'
hombre
,
which
he
lost
because
he
was
forever
gazing
at
her
face
to
delight
in
her
beauty
instead
of
looking
at
his
cards
.
Around
nine
o'clock
he
brought
her
to
her
room
,
directly
across
from
his
own
,
kissed
her
good
night
,
and
locked
the
door
from
the
outside
.
Then
he
went
to
bed
himself.He
was
suddenly
very
tired
from
the
exertions
of
the
day
and
of
the
night
before
and
equally
very
satisfied
with
himself
and
how
things
had
gone
.
Without
the
least
thought
of
care
,
without
any
of
the
gloomy
suspicions
that
until
yesterday
had
plagued
him
and
kept
him
awake
every
time
he
had
put
out
his
light
,
he
instantly
fell
asleep
and
slept
without
a
dream
,
without
a
moan
,
without
a
twitch
or
a
nervous
toss
of
his
body
back
and
forth
.
For
the
first
time
in
a
good
while
,
Richis
found
deep
,
peaceful
,
refreshing
sleep.Around
the
same
time
,
Grenouille
got
up
from
his
bed
in
the
stall
.
He
too
was
satisfied
with
how
things
were
going
and
felt
completely
refreshed
,
although
he
had
not
slept
a
single
second
When
Richis
had
come
to
the
stall
looking
for
him
,
he
had
only
feigned
sleep
,
augmenting
the
impression
of
obvious
harmlessness
he
already
exuded
with
his
odor
of
inconspicuous-ness
.
Moreover
,
in
contrast
to
the
way
in
which
Richis
had
perceived
him
,
he
had
observed
Richis
with
utmost
accuracy
,
olfactory
accuracy
,
and
Richis
's
relief
at
the
sight
of
him
had
definitely
not
escaped
him.And
so
at
their
meeting
each
had
convinced
himself
of
the
other
's
harmlessness
,
both
correctly
and
falsely
,
and
that
was
how
it
should
be
,
Grenouille
thought
,
for
his
apparent
and
Richis
's
true
harmlessness
made
it
much
easier
for
him
,
Grenouille
,
to
go
about
his
work-an
opinion
that
,
to
be
sure
,
Richis
would
definitely
have
shared
had
the
situation
been
reversed
.
GRENOUILLE
SET
to
work
with
professional
circumspection
.
He
opened
his
knapsack
,
took
out
the
linen
,
pomade
,
and
spatula
,
spread
the
cloth
over
the
blanket
on
which
he
had
lain
,
and
began
to
brush
on
the
fatty
paste
.
This
job
took
time
,
for
it
was
important
that
the
oil
be
applied
in
thinner
or
thicker
layers
depending
on
what
part
of
the
body
would
end
up
lying
on
a
particular
patch
of
the
cloth
.
The
mouth
and
armpits
,
breasts
,
genitals
,
and
feet
gave
off
greater
amounts
of
scent
than
,
for
instance
,
shins
,
back
,
and
elbows
;
the
palms
more
than
the
backs
of
the
hands
;
eyebrows
more
than
eyelids
,
etc.-and
therefore
needed
to
be
provided
with
a
heavier
dose
of
oil
.
Grenouille
was
creating
a
model
,
as
it
were
,
transferring
onto
the
linen
a
scent
diagram
of
the
body
to
be
treated
,
and
this
part
of
the
job
was
actually
the
one
that
satisfied
him
most
,
for
it
was
a
matter
of
an
artistic
technique
that
incorporated
equally
one
's
knowledge
,
imagination
,
and
manual
dexterity
,
while
at
the
same
time
it
anticipated
on
an
ideal
plane
the
enjoyment
awaiting
one
from
the
final
results
.
Once
he
had
applied
the
whole
potful
of
pomade
,
he
dabbed
about
here
and
there
,
removing
a
bit
of
oil
from
the
cloth
here
,
adding
another
there
,
retouching
,
checking
the
greasy
landscape
he
had
modeled
one
last
time-with
his
nose
,
by
the
way
,
not
with
his
eyes
,
for
the
whole
business
was
carried
on
in
total
darkness
,
which
was
perhaps
yet
another
reason
for
Grenouille
's
equably
cheerful
mood
.
There
was
nothing
to
distract
him
on
this
night
of
new
moon
.
The
world
was
nothing
but
odor
and
the
soft
sound
of
surf
from
the
sea
.
He
was
in
his
element
.
Then
he
folded
the
cloth
together
like
a
tapestry
,
so
that
the
oiled
surfaces
lay
against
one
another
.
This
was
a
painful
procedure
for
him
,
because
he
knew
well
that
despite
the
utmost
caution
certain
parts
of
the
sculpted
contours
would
be
flattened
or
shifted
.
But
there
was
no
other
way
to
transport
the
cloth
.
After
he
had
folded
it
up
small
enough
to
be
carried
under
his
arm
without
all
too
much
difficulty
,
he
tucked
spatula
,
scissors
,
and
the
little
olivewood
club
in
his
pockets
and
crept
out
into
the
night.The
sky
was
clouded
over
.
There
were
no
lights
burning
in
the
inn
.
The
only
glimmer
on
this
pitch-dark
night
was
the
winking
of
the
lighthouse
at
the
fort
on
the
He
Sainte-Marguerite
,
over
a
mile
away
to
the
east
,
a
tiny
bright
needlepoint
in
a
raven-black
cloth
.
A
light
,
fishy
wind
was
blowing
from
the
bay
.
The
dogs
were
asleep.Grenouille
walked
to
the
back
dormer
of
the
threshing
shed
,
where
a
ladder
stood
propped
.
He
picked
the
ladder
up
,
and
balancing
it
vertically
,
three
rungs
clamped
under
his
free
right
arm
,
the
rest
of
it
pressed
against
his
right
shoulder
,
he
moved
across
the
courtyard
until
he
was
under
her
window
.
The
window
stood
half
ajar
.
As
he
climbed
the
ladder
,
as
easily
as
a
set
of
stairs
,
he
congratulated
himself
on
the
circumstances
that
made
it
possible
for
him
to
harvest
the
girl
's
scent
here
in
La
Napoule
.
In
Grasse
,
where
the
house
had
barred
windows
and
was
tightly
guarded
,
all
this
would
have
been
much
more
difficult
.
She
was
even
sleeping
by
herself
here
.
He
would
not
have
to
bother
with
eliminating
the
maid.He
pushed
up
the
casement
,
slipped
into
the
room
,
and
laid
down
his
cloth
.
Then
he
turned
to
the
bed
.
The
dominant
scent
came
from
her
hair
,
for
she
was
lying
on
her
stomach
with
her
head
pressed
into
the
pillow
and
framed
by
the
crook
of
her
arm
--
presenting
the
back
of
her
head
in
an
almost
ideal
position
for
the
blow
by
the
club.The
sound
of
the
blow
was
a
dull
,
grinding
thud
.
He
hated
it
.
He
hated
it
solely
because
it
was
a
sound
,
a
sound
in
the
midst
of
his
otherwise
soundless
procedure
.
He
could
bear
that
gruesome
sound
only
by
clenching
his
teeth
,
and
,
after
it
was
all
over
,
standing
off
to
one
side
stiff
and
implacable
,
as
if
he
feared
the
sound
would
return
from
somewhere
as
a
resounding
echo
.
But
it
did
not
return
,
instead
stillness
returned
to
the
room
,
an
increased
stillness
in
fact
,
for
now
even
the
shuffle
of
the
girl
's
breathing
had
ceased
.
And
at
once
Grenouille
's
tenseness
dissolved
(
one
might
have
interpreted
it
more
as
a
posture
of
reverence
or
some
sort
of
crabbed
moment
of
silence
)
and
his
body
fell
back
to
a
pliable
ease.He
tucked
the
club
away
and
from
here
on
was
all
bustle
and
business
.
First
he
unfolded
the
impregnating
cloth
,
spread
it
loosely
on
its
back
over
the
table
and
chairs
,
taking
care
that
the
greased
side
not
be
touched
.
Then
he
pulled
back
the
bedclothes
.
The
glorious
scent
of
the
girl
,
welling
up
so
suddenly
warm
and
massive
,
did
not
stir
him
.
He
knew
that
scent
,
of
course
,
and
would
savor
it
,
savor
it
to
intoxication
,
later
on
,
once
he
truly
possessed
it
.
But
now
the
main
thing
was
to
capture
as
much
of
it
as
possible
,
let
as
little
of
it
as
possible
evaporate
;
for
now
the
watchwords
were
concentration
and
haste
.
With
a
few
quick
snips
of
his
scissors
,
he
cut
open
her
nightgown
,
pulled
it
off
,
grabbed
the
oiled
linen
,
and
tossed
it
over
her
naked
body
.
Then
he
lifted
her
up
,
tugged
the
overhanging
cloth
under
her
,
rolled
her
up
in
it
as
a
baker
rolls
strudel
,
tucking
in
the
corners
,
enveloping
her
from
toes
up
to
brow
.
Only
her
hair
still
stuck
out
from
the
mummy
clothes
.
He
cut
it
off
close
to
her
scalp
and
packed
it
inside
her
nightgown
,
which
he
then
tied
up
into
a
bundle
.
Finally
he
took
a
piece
of
cloth
still
dangling
free
and
flapped
it
over
the
shaved
skull
,
smoothed
down
the
overlapping
ends
,
gently
pressed
it
tight
with
a
finger
.
He
examined
the
whole
package
.
Not
a
slit
,
not
a
hole
,
not
one
bulging
pleat
was
left
through
which
the
girl
's
scent
could
have
escaped
.
She
was
perfectly
packed
.
There
was
nothing
to
do
but
wait
,
for
six
hours
,
until
the
gray
of
dawn.He
took
the
little
armchair
on
which
her
clothes
lay
,
dragged
it
to
the
bed
,
and
sat
down
.
The
gentle
breath
of
her
scent
still
clung
to
the
ample
black
cloak
,
blending
with
the
odor
of
aniseed
cakes
she
had
put
in
her
pocket
as
a
snack
for
the
journey
.
He
put
his
feet
up
on
the
end
of
the
bed
,
near
her
feet
,
covered
himself
with
her
dress
,
and
ate
aniseed
cakes
.
He
was
tired
.
But
he
did
not
want
to
fall
asleep
,
because
it
was
improper
to
sleep
on
the
job
,
even
if
your
job
was
merely
to
wait
.
He
recalled
the
nights
he
had
spent
distilling
in
Baldini
's
workshop
:
the
soot-blackened
alembic
,
the
flickering
fire
,
the
soft
spitting
sound
the
distillate
made
as
it
dripped
from
the
cooling
tube
into
the
Florentine
flask
.
