The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [173]
“The devil if I’ll taste them!” Porthos murmured softly…Then aloud: “Thank you, cousin, I’m no longer hungry.”
Silence ensued. Porthos did not know where to look. The procureur repeated several times:
“Ah, Mme Coquenard, I give you my compliments, your dinner was a veritable feast! God, how I’ve eaten!”
Master Coquenard had eaten his soup, the chicken’s black feet, and the one mutton bone on which there was a little meat.
Porthos thought they were hoaxing him, and began to frown and twist his mustache, but Mme Coquenard’s knee came quite gently to counsel patience.
The silence and the interruption of the service, which remained incomprehensible for Porthos, had, on the contrary, a terrible significance for the clerks: at a glance from the procureur, accompanied by a smile from Mme Coquenard, they slowly got up from the table, folded their napkins still more slowly, then bowed and left.
“Go, young men, go and digest while you work,” the procureur said gravely.
Once the clerks were gone, Mme Coquenard got up and took from the buffet a piece of cheese, some quince preserves, and a cake she had made herself from almonds and honey.
Master Coquenard frowned, because he saw too much food; Porthos pressed his lips, because he saw there was nothing to eat.
He looked to see if the dish of broad beans was still there: the dish of broad beans had disappeared.
“A decided feast,” cried Master Coquenard, fidgeting in his chair, “a veritable feast, epulæ epularum!* Lucullus dining with Lucullus!”137
Porthos eyed the bottle, which was close to him, and hoped that with wine, bread, and cheese he would have enough to eat. But the wine was gone, the bottle was empty. M. and Mme Coquenard seemed not to notice it.
“Very well,” Porthos said to himself, “I’m forewarned.”
He passed his tongue over a small spoonful of preserves and sank his teeth into Mme Coquenard’s sticky pastry.
“Now,” he said to himself, “the sacrifice is consummated. Ah, if it weren’t for the hope of looking with Mme Coquenard into her husband’s cupboard!”
Master Coquenard, after the delights of such a meal, which he called an excess, felt the need for a siesta. Porthos hoped it would take place on the spot and in that same locale; but the cursed procureur would hear none of it: he had to be taken to his room, and he shouted so long as he was not facing his cupboard, on the edge of which, for still greater precaution, he placed his feet.
The procureuse took Porthos to a neighboring room, and they began laying the foundations for a reconciliation.
“You could come to dine three times a week,” said Mme Coquenard.
“Thanks,” said Porthos, “but I don’t like to overdo things. Besides, I have to think about my outfit.”
“That’s true,” said the procureuse, sighing, “…it’s that wretched outfit.”
“Alas, yes,” said Porthos, “that it is!”
“But what does an outfit consist of in your corps, M. Porthos?”
“Oh, lots of things,” said Porthos. “The musketeers, as you know, are elite soldiers, and they need lots of things that would be useless for the guards or the Switzers.”
“But, still, tell me in detail.”
“But that may come to…” said Porthos, who preferred discussing the total than the particulars.
The procureuse waited tremblingly.
“To how much?” she asked. “I hope it won’t be more than…”
She stopped; words failed her.
“Oh, no!” said Porthos, “it won’t go over two thousand five hundred livres. I even think that, with some economies, I could get away with two thousand.”
“Good God, two thousand livres!” she cried. “But that’s a fortune!”
Porthos made a most significant grimace. Mme Coquenard understood it.
“I asked for details,” she said, “because, having many relations and clients in trade, I was almost sure I could get the things at a hundred percent less than you would pay for them yourself.”
“Aha!” said Porthos, “if that’s what you meant to say!”
“Yes, dear M. Porthos! So, then, don’t you need a horse first of all?”
“Yes, a horse.”
“Well, I’ve got just the thing for you.”
“Ah!” said Porthos, beaming, “then that takes care of