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A Procurator’s Dinner

           Then,whilepassing,hehadcastarapid,investigatingglanceintothekitchen;andhewasobligedtoconfesstohimself,totheshameoftheprocurator’swifeandhisownregret,thathedidnotseethatfire,thatanimation,thatbustle,whichwhenagoodrepastisonfootprevailsgenerallyinthatsanctuaryofgoodliving.

           Theprocuratorhadwithoutdoubtbeenwarnedofhisvisit,asheexpressednosurpriseatthesightofPorthos,whoadvancedtowardhimwithasufficientlyeasyair,andsalutedhimcourteously.

           "Wearecousins,itappears,MonsieurPorthos?"saidtheprocurator,rising,yetsupportinghisweightuponthearmsofhiscanechair.

           Theoldman,wrappedinalargeblackdoublet,inwhichthewholeofhisslenderbodywasconcealed,wasbriskanddry.Hislittlegrayeyesshonelikecarbuncles,andappeared,withhisgrinningmouth,tobetheonlypartofhisfaceinwhichlifesurvived.Unfortunatelythelegsbegantorefusetheirservicetothisbonymachine.Duringthelastfiveorsixmonthsthatthisweaknesshadbeenfelt,theworthyprocuratorhadnearlybecometheslaveofhiswife.

           Thecousinwasreceivedwithresignation,thatwasall.M.Coquenard,firmuponhislegs,wouldhavedeclinedallrelationshipwithM.Porthos.

           "Yes,monsieur,wearecousins,"saidPorthos,withoutbeingdisconcerted,ashehadneverreckoneduponbeingreceivedenthusiasticallybythehusband.

           "Bythefemaleside,Ibelieve?"saidtheprocurator,maliciously.

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