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A Procurator’s Dinner

           Healsodrankhalfaglassofthissparinglyservedwine,andfoundittobenothingbutthathorribleMontreuiltheterrorofallexpertpalates.

           M.Coquenardsawhimswallowingthiswineundiluted,andsigheddeeply.

           "Willyoueatanyofthesebeans,CousinPorthos?"saidMme.Coquenard,inthattonewhichsays,"Takemyadvice,don’ttouchthem."

           "DeviltakemeifItasteoneofthem!"murmuredPorthostohimself,andthensaidaloud,"Thankyou,mycousin,Iamnolongerhungry."

           Therewassilence.Porthoscouldhardlykeephiscountenance.

           Theprocuratorrepeatedseveraltimes,"Ah,MadameCoquenard!Acceptmycompliments;yourdinnerhasbeenarealfeast.Lord,howIhaveeaten!"

           M.Coquenardhadeatenhissoup,theblackfeetofthefowl,andtheonlymuttonboneonwhichtherewastheleastappearanceofmeat.

           Porthosfanciedtheyweremystifyinghim,andbegantocurlhismustacheandknithiseyebrows;butthekneeofMme.Coquenardgentlyadvisedhimtobepatient.

           Thissilenceandthisinterruptioninserving,whichwereunintelligibletoPorthos,had,onthecontrary,aterriblemeaningfortheclerks.Uponalookfromtheprocurator,accompaniedbyasmilefromMme.Coquenard,theyaroseslowlyfromthetable,foldedtheirnapkinsmoreslowlystill,bowed,andretired.

           "Go,youngmen!goandpromotedigestionbyworking,"saidtheprocurator,gravely.

           Theclerksgone,Mme.Coquenardroseandtookfromabuffetapieceofcheese,somepreservedquinces,andacakewhichshehadherselfmadeofalmondsandhoney.

           M.

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