Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

           Onlyattheendoftheprocedure-Grenouilledidnotshakethebottlethistime,butswirleditaboutgentlylikeabrandyglass,perhapsindeferencetoBaldini’sdelicacy,perhapsbecausethecontentsseemedmoreprecioustohimthistime-onlythen,astheliquidwhirledaboutinthebottle,didBaldiniawakenfromhisnumbedstateandstandup,thehandkerchiefstillpressedtohisnose,ofcourse,asifhewerearminghimselfagainstyetanotherattackuponhismostprivateself.“It’salldone,maitre,”Grenouillesaid.“Nowit’sareallygoodscent.”“Yes,yes,fine,fine,”Baldinirepliedandwavedhimoffwithhisfreehand.“Don’tyouwanttotestit?”Grenouillegurgledon.“Don’tyouwantto,maitre?Aren’tyougoingtotestit?”“Later.I’mnotinthemoodtotestitatthemoment…haveotherthingsonmymind.Gonow!Comeon!”Andhepickeduponeofthecandlesticksandpassedthroughthedoorintotheshop.Grenouillefollowedhim.Theyenteredthenarrowhallwaythatledtotheservants’entrance.Theoldmanshuffleduptothedoorway,pulledbackthebolt,andopenedthedoor.Hesteppedasidetolettheladout.“Can’tIcometoworkforyou,maitre,can’tI?”Grenouilleasked,standingonthethreshold,hunchedoveragain,thelurkinglookreturningtohiseye.“Idon’tknow,”saidBaldini.“Ishallthinkaboutit.Go.”AndthenGrenouillehadvanished,goneinasplitsecond,swallowedupbythedarkness.Baldinistoodthereandstaredintothenight.