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- Уилки Коллинз
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The
French
proprietor
joined
his
English
friend
,
with
his
cigar
already
lit
.
He
started
back
in
dismay
at
a
sight
terrible
to
his
countrymen
in
general
—
the
sight
of
an
open
window
.
’
You
English
people
are
perfectly
mad
on
the
subject
of
fresh
air
!
’
he
exclaimed
.
’
We
shall
catch
our
deaths
of
cold
.
’
Francis
turned
,
and
looked
at
him
in
astonishment
.
’
Are
you
really
not
aware
of
the
smell
there
is
in
the
room
?
’
he
asked
.
’
Smell
!
’
repeated
his
brother
-
manager
.
’
I
smell
my
own
good
cigar
.
Try
one
yourself
.
And
for
Heaven
’
s
sake
shut
the
window
!
’
Francis
declined
the
cigar
by
a
sign
.
’
Forgive
me
,
’
he
said
.
’
I
will
leave
you
to
close
the
window
.
I
feel
faint
and
giddy
—
I
had
better
go
out
.
’
He
put
his
handkerchief
over
his
nose
and
mouth
,
and
crossed
the
room
to
the
door
.
The
Frenchman
followed
the
movements
of
Francis
,
in
such
a
state
of
bewilderment
that
he
actually
forgot
to
seize
the
opportunity
of
shutting
out
the
fresh
air
.
’
Is
it
so
nasty
as
that
?
’
he
asked
,
with
a
broad
stare
of
amazement
.
’
Horrible
!
’
Francis
muttered
behind
his
handkerchief
.
’
I
never
smelt
anything
like
it
in
my
life
!
’
There
was
a
knock
at
the
door
.
The
scene
-
painter
appeared
.
His
employer
instantly
asked
him
if
he
smelt
anything
.
’
I
smell
your
cigar
.
Delicious
!
Give
me
one
directly
!
’
’
Wait
a
minute
.
Besides
my
cigar
,
do
you
smell
anything
else
—
vile
,
abominable
,
overpowering
,
indescribable
,
never
-
never
-
never
-
smelt
before
?
’
