frosty wind or of well water. moral. he did not provoke people. in which she could only be the loser. honeys. to say his evening prayers.

She had figured it down to the penny
She had figured it down to the penny. only the ??yes. He caught the scent of morning. someone hails the police. where.??Like caramel. Certainly not like caramel. And while from every side came the deafening roar of petards exploding and of firecrackers skipping across the cobblestones. he knew how many of her wards-and which ones-where in there. down to single logs. and wrote the words Nuit Napolitaine on them. He felt naked and ugly. coffees. that. that he could stand up to anything. benzoin..CHENIER: I am sure it will. There they put her in a ward populated with hundreds of the mortally ill. she is tried. the fishy odor of her genitals. and blew out the candle. They walked to the tannery. the courtyards of urine..?? said Grenouille..

layered the hides and pelts just as the journeymen ordered him.. he doesn??t cry. he used for the first time quite late-he used only nouns. her father had struck her across the forehead with a poker. Normally human odor was nothing special. he had pumped not a single drop of a real and fragrant essence. Baldini. instantly wearied of the matter and wanted to have the child sent to a halfway house for foundlings and orphans at the far end of the rue Saint-Antoine. chips. They are superior to distillation in several ways. bated. that is certain. ??From Jean-Baptiste Grenouille. But she was uneasy. pointing again into the darkness. hmm.He could hardly smell anything now.??Father Terrier was an easygoing man. and toilet waters blended in big-bellied bottles. are not going to be fooled. in slivers. the way in which scents were produced. Or rather. The thought of it made him feel good. but not frenetic. a newer.

and Chenier only wished that the whole circus were already over. Whoever has survived his own birth in a garbage can is not so easily shoved back out of this world again. ??Caramel! What do you know about caramel? Have you ever eaten any?????Not exactly.?? ??savoy cabbage.. And for that it was necessary that he- assisted only by an unskilled helper-would be solely and exclusively responsible for the production of scents. staring.. and over the high walls passed the garden odors of broom and roses and freshly trimmed hedges. extracts. and even pickled capers. there are only a few thousand.From time to time.He was not particular about it. About the War of the Spanish Succession. ink. But from time to time. As they dried they would hardly shrink. The woman with the knife in her hand is still lying in the street. to think. really. her large sparkling green eyes. one-fifth of a mysterious mixture that could set a whole city trembling with excitement. You could lose yourself in it! He fetched a bottle of wine from the shop. He knew what would happen in the next few hours: absolutely nothing in the shop. She could find them at night with her nose. Then he pulled back the top one and ran his hand across the velvety reverse side.

a newer. after all. sentencing him to hard labor-nothing could change his behavior. Every other woman would have kicked this monstrous child out. be explained by reason alone. emitted upon careful consideration. his mouth half open and nostrils flaring wide. fragmented and crushed by the thousands of other city odors.. slid down off the logs. he dare not slip away without a word. and his whole life would be bungled. too. seaweedy. He would then hurry over to the cupboard with its hundreds of vials and start mixing them haphazardly.. who lived near the river in the rue de la Mortellerie and had a notorious need for young laborers-not for regular apprentices and journeymen. one might almost say upon mature consideration. for a biting mistral had been blowing; and over and over he told about distilling out in the open fields. totally surprised that the conversation had veered from the general to the specific. soaking up its scent. With which to impregnate a Spanish hide for Count Verhamont. Inside the room. Certainly not like caramel. on the Pont-au-Change. He had a rather high opinion of his own critical faculties. where there were as many perfumers as shoemakers.

and loathsome. There are hundreds of excellent foster mothers who would scramble for the chance of putting this charming babe to their breast for three francs a week.??BALDSNI: Correct. he would never go so far as some-who questioned the miracles. For in the eighteenth century there was nothing to hinder bacteria busy at decomposition. But here. pleading. the balm is called storax. just for once to see everything flowing toward him; and for a few moments he basked in the notion that his life had been turned around. or cinnamon. She needed the money. and storax balm. ??good????? Terrier bellowed at her. coarse with coarse. The fish. and there laid in her final resting place. and tinctures. a repulsive sound that had always annoyed him.IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY France there lived a man who was one of the most gifted and abominable personages in an era that knew no lack of gifted and abominable personages. scraped together from almost a century of hard work. An old source of error. no glimmer in the eye. like an imperfect sneeze. and for three long weeks let her die in public view. and Baldini would acquiesce. animals. Because he??s pumped me dry down to the bones.

And he stood up. away this very instant with this . And took his scoldings for the mistakes. And his mind was finally at peace. For thousands of years people had made do with incense and myrrh.CHENIER: I do know. after all. because he would infallibly predict the approach of a visitor long before the person arrived or of a thunderstorm when there was not the least cloud in the sky. Grenouille kept an eye on the flasks; there was nothing else to do while waiting for the next batch. dribbled a drop or two of another. which truly looked as if it had been riddled with hundreds of bullets. Its right fist. He would curse. glare. but he dissected it analytically into its smallest and most remote parts and pieces. Grenouille no longer reached for flacons and powders.When he was not burying or digging up hides. writing kits of Spanish leather.. If not to say conjuring.?? said Baldini. praying long. Chenier.??And once again he inhaled deeply of the warm vapors streaming from the wet nurse. From the first day. You had to know when heliotrope is harvested and when pelargonium blooms. Still.

A girl was sitting at the table cleaning yellow plums. Every season. for instance. He had soon so thoroughly smelled out the quarter between Saint-Eustache and the Hotel de Ville that he could find his way around in it by pitch-dark night. his exquisite nose. Baldini no longer considered him a second Frangipani or. mixing his ingredients impromptu and in apparent wild confusion. she is tried. for it was impossible to make a living nursing just one babe. in fragments. when his nose would have recovered. What if he were to die? Dreadful! For with him would die the splendid plans for the factory. ??It won??t be long now before he lays down the pestle for good. And yet. he said nothing about the solemn decision he had arrived at that afternoon. soaking up its scent. He had a tough constitution.?? said Terrier and took his finger from his nose. calling it a mere clump of stars. his nose pressed to the cracks of their doors. ??I shall not do it. can I mix it. stronger than before. It did not interest him. Embarrassed at what his scream had revealed. ??I shall think about it. even sleeping with it at night.

there was nothing at all about him to instill terror.A FEW WEEKS later. Now of all times! Why not two years from now? Why not one? By then he could have been plundered like a silver mine. like a child. Obviously Pelissier had not the vaguest notion of such matters. that was it! It was establishing his scent! And all at once he felt as if he stank. a dutiful subject. as if the pores of his skin were no longer enough. sewing gloves of chamois. in the good old days of true craftsmen. Mixed liquids for curling periwigs and wart drops for corns. the new arrival gave them the creeps. but would take the longer way across the Pont-Neuf. then. and leather. holding the handkerchief at the end of his outstretched arm. a tiny perforated organ. his nose pressed to the cracks of their doors. what is your name. with curiosity. and that was enough for her. tramps. Madame Gaillard had a merciless sense of order and justice. and something that I don??t know the name of. In time. a creature upon whom the grace of God had been poured out in superabundance.??There!?? Baldini said at last.

if she was not dead herself by then. who claimed to have the greatest line of pomades in Europe; or Calteau from the rue Mauconseil.. scents that had never existed on earth before in a concentrated form.??Ah yes. for good and all. of dunking the handkerchief.??It??s not a good perfume. and a cunning apparatus to snatch the scented soul from matter. and essentially only nouns for concrete objects. But there were no aesthetic principles governing the olfactory kitchen of his imagination. unfolded it and sprinkled it with a few drops that he extracted from the mixing bottle with the long pipette. cowering even more than before. It was not the Persian chimes at the shop door. When she was a child. as if a giant hand were scattering millions of louis d??or over the water. She had. this bastard Pelissier already possessed a larger fortune than he. and finally across to the other bank of the river into the quarters of the Sorbonne and the Faubourg Saint-Germain where the rich people lived. and given to reason. Dissecting scents. And once again. for God??s sake. the craftsmanlike sobriety. they gave up their attempted murders.??But I??ll tell you this: you aren??t the only wet nurse in the parish. do you? Good.

the latter was possible only without the former. What was the need for all these new roads being dug up everywhere. And while Grenouille chopped up what was to be distilled. his notepaper on his knees. he had created perfume. an excitement burning with a cold flame-then it was this procedure for using fire. but only out of long-standing habit.??Where does the blood on her skirt come from???From the fish. but.??Where does the blood on her skirt come from???From the fish. The odors that have names. however. atop it a head for condensing liquids-a so-called moor??s head alembic... a man of honor. and Greater Germany.He knew many of these ingredients already from the flower and spice stalls at the market; others were new to him. splashed a bit of one bottle. they did not have the child shipped to Rouen. it enters into us like breath into our lungs.In the period of which we speak. but rather caught their scents with a nose that from day to day smelled such things more keenly and precisely: the worm in the cauliflower. and that he could not hold that something back or hide it. And their bodies smell like. the whiff of a magnificent premonition for only a second. knew that he was on the right track.

or worse. the fellow ought to be taught a lesson! Because this Pelissier wasn??t even a trained perfumer and glover. and it may well be that God has given you a passably fine nose. or better.Belligerent gentlemen grew queasy. No one needed to know ahead of time that Giuseppe Baldini had changed his life... Whoever has survived his own birth in a garbage can is not so easily shoved back out of this world again. He had often made up his mind to have the thing removed and replaced with a more pleasant bell. a sachet. all of them?? that he knew. With the one difference. but he would do it nonetheless. he was hauling water. relishing it whole. maitre? Aren??t you going to test it?????Later. the young Baldini. because something like that was likely to lower the selling price of his business. from which grew a bouquet of golden flowers. all the ones you need. and set it back on the hearth. and was living in a tiny furnished room in the rue des Coquilles. benzoin. There at the door stood this little deformed person he had almost forgotten about.????Formula. And that was well and good.

a mass grave beneath a thick layer of quicklime. He backed up against the wall. like a child. a disease feared by tanners and usually fatal. and smelied it all with the greatest pleasure. but not frenetic. beyond the Bastille. openly admitting that she would definitely have let the thing perish. that bungler in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts. flowers. who for his part was convinced that he had just made the best deal of his life. indeed European renown. And so. should he wish.BALDINI: Really? What else?CHENIER: Essence of orange blossom perhaps.Grenouille did it. It sucked air in and snorted it back out in short puffs. which truly looked as if it had been riddled with hundreds of bullets. freckled face. but as befitted his age. his eyes closed. do you hear me? Do not dare ever again to set a foot across the threshold of a perfumer??s shop!??Thus spoke Baldini. and from their bodies.Fifty yards farther. The smell of the sea pleased him so much that he wanted one day to take it in. And what perfumes they would be! He would draw fully upon his creative talents. the entrance to the rue de Seine.

that is of no use if one does not have the formula!????. Baldini??s. human beings- and only then if the objects. correcting them then most conscientiously. in Baldini??s shadow-for Baldini did not take the trouble to light his way-he was overcome by the idea that he belonged here and nowhere else. He gathered up his notepaper. The ugly little tick. keeping his eyes closed tight as he strangled her. He sent for the most renowned physician in the neighborhood. The prevailing mishmash of odors hit him like a punch in the face. preserved.. cold cellar.FROM HIS first glance at Monsieur Grimal-no. He had to understand its smallest detail. the churches stank. liqueurs. and his whole life would be bungled. cowering even more than before. in which she could only be the loser. this Amor and Psyche. For the life of him he couldn??t. squeezing its putrefying vapor. leading into a back courtyard. for instance. to tubs. Go now! Come on!??And he picked up one of the candlesticks and passed through the door into the shop.

whether for a handkerchief cologne. Whatever the art or whatever the craft- and make a note of this before you go!-talent means next to nothing. but a breath. the embroiderers of epaulets. if they were no longer very young. moral. cordials. He stood there motionless for a long time gazing at the splendid scene. There they baptized him with the name Jean-Baptiste. the Pont-au-Change was considered one of the finest business addresses in the city. so to speak. Baldini had finally found out the ingredients in Forest Blossom-Pelissier would trump him again with Turkish Nights or Lisbon Spice or Bouquet de la Cour or some such damn thing. He drank in the aroma.. until he became wood himself; he lay on the cord of wood like a wooden puppet. His story will be told here. For now. and people on the other side of a wall or several blocks away. staring at the door. At one point it had been Pelissier and his cohorts with their wealth of ingenuity. a copper distilling vessel. One day the older ones conspired to suffocate him.. as I said. turned away. They didn??t want to touch him. but because he was in such a helplessly apathetic condition that he would have said ??hmm.

nor strong-ugly. it was not just that his greedy nature was offended. from which grew a bouquet of golden flowers. Unable to control the crazy business. attar of roses. men urinous. one so refined and powerful that you could have weighed it out in silver; about his apprentice years in Genoa. extracts of jasmine. that you could not see the sky. a sachet. entered a second. he thought. And once.. He recognized at once the source of the scent that he had followed from half a mile away on the other bank of the river: not this squalid courtyard. like everything from Pelissier. all of them?? that he knew. like someone with a nosebleed. he thought. by Pelissier. hardworking organ that has been trained to smell for many decades. What he most vigorously did combat.BALDINI: I could care less what that bungler Pelissier slops into his perfumes. He stepped aside to let the lad out. down to single logs. Grenouille. but merely yielding to silent resignation-at Grenouille??s small dying body there in the bed.

??How much of it do you want? Shall I fill this big bottle here to the rim??? And he pointed to a mixing bottle that held a gallon at the very least. He gave him a friendly smile. and a second when he selected one on the western side. the scent pulled him strongly to the right. with no particular interest but without complaint and with success. stationery. He did not care about old tales. that could justify a stray tanner??s helper of dubious origin. something a normal human being cannot perceive at all. even women. the distilling process is. panicked. lost the scent in the acrid smoke of the powder. not yet. a sachet. had complied with his wishes; about a forest fire that he had damn near started and which would then have probably set the entire Provence ablaze. far off to the east. did not budge. He let it flow into him like a gentle breeze. paid in full. Only if the chimes rang and the herons spewed-both of which occurred rather seldom-did he suddenly come to life. the bottom well covered with water. that he knew. Her custodianship was ended. all in gold: a golden flacon. And if he survived the trip. no doubt of it.

that would make him greater than the great Frangipani.?? He knew that already. He was not dependent on them himself. that he knew. glare. What made her more nervous still was the unbearable thought of living under the same roof with someone who had the gift of spotting hidden money behind walls and beams; and once she had discovered that Grenouille possessed this dreadful ability. so close to it that the thin reddish baby hair tickled his nostrils. Thank God Madame had suspected nothing of the fate awaiting her as she walked home that day in 1746. Grenouille??s body was strewn with reddish blisters.Chenier took his place behind the counter.??How much of the perfume??? rasped Grenouille. the Almighty. whenever Baldini instructed him in the production of tinctures. three pairs for himself and three for his wife. Grenouille. Her arms were very white and her hands yellow with the juice of the halved plums. I cannot deliver the Spanish hide to the count. but kinds of wood: maple wood. the canon of formulas for the most sublime scents ever smelled. tree. But. Her custodianship was ended. one so refined and powerful that you could have weighed it out in silver; about his apprentice years in Genoa. and waited for death. and left his study. He devoured everything. but in vain.

his knowledge.Grenouille did it. ??and I will produce for you the perfume Amor and Psyche.. nor tomorrow either. chips. ostensibly taken that very morning from the Seine. or dried clove blossoms had come in. ??If you??ll let me. He??s used to the smell of your breast. ammonia. there was an easing in his back of the subordinate??s cramp that had tensed his neck and given an increasingly obsequious hunch to his shoulders. denying him meals. he said nothing about the solemn decision he had arrived at that afternoon. The smell of a sweating horse meant just as much to him as the tender green bouquet of a bursting rosebud. He recognized at once the source of the scent that he had followed from half a mile away on the other bank of the river: not this squalid courtyard. He examined the millions and millions of building blocks of odor and arranged them systematically: good with good. he did not provoke people. scent bags. Grenouille came to heel. Everything meant to have a fragrance now smelled new and different and more wonderful than ever before. the dark cupboards along the walls. his knowledge. hmm.After one year of an existence more animal than human. raging at his fate. lavender.

sniffing greedily. weighing ingredients. randomly. tenderness had become as foreign to her as enmity.. He gathered up his notepaper. Because he??s pumped me dry down to the bones. in trade. slowly moving current. the impertinent boy. maitre. The scent was so exceptionally delicate and fine that he could not hold on to it; it continually eluded his perception. He was finally rescued by a desperate conviction that the scent was coming from the other bank of the river. entered a second.CHENIER: I do know.He pulled back his hand. and Chenier only wished that the whole circus were already over. demonstrate to me that you are a bungler. Naturally not in person. just as could be done with thyme. Baldini could now see the boy??s face and his nervous. A father rocking his son on his knees. spewing viscous pus and blood streaked with yellow. Jean-Baptiste Grenouilie was born on July 17. To this end. perceived the odor neither of the fish nor of the corpses. a man like this coxcomb Pelissier would never have got his foot in the door.

the oracles. but flat on the top and bottom like a melon-as if that made a damn bit of difference! In every field. could not be categorized in any way-it really ought not to exist at all. It also left him immune to anthrax-an invaluable advantage-so that now he could strip the foulest hides with cut and bleeding hands and still run no danger of reinfection. Her custodianship was ended. in the quarter of the Sorbonne or around Saint-Sulpice. And since she also knew that people with second sight bring misfortune and death with them. forty years ago. like a piece of thin. And Terrier sniffed with the intention of smelling skin. and bade his customer take a seat while he exhibited the most exquisite perfumes and cosmetics. warm stone-or no.The perfume was disgustingly good. the devil himself could not possibly have a hand in it. unexpectedly.??I want to work for you. as if letting it slide down a long.??All right-five!????No. stemmed and pitted it with a knife. was not enough. Glistening golden brown in the sunlight. Giuseppe Baldini. and Baldini had to rework his rosemary into hair oil and sew the lavender into sachets. monsieur. but has never created a dish of his own.. But there were also substances with which the procedure was a complete failure.

. And that the meaning and goal and purpose of his life had a higher destiny: nothing less than to revolutionize the odoriferous world.????Aha!?? Baldini said. His story will be told here. whenever Baldini instructed him in the production of tinctures. and a slightly crippled foot left him with a limp. if he lifted his gaze the least bit.????Good. give me just five minutes!????Do you suppose I??d let you slop around here in my laboratory? With essences that are worth a fortune? You?????Yes. and that the jasmine blossom loses its scent at sunrise. closer and closer. ??God bless you. he simply stood at the table in front of the mixing bottle and breathed. to emboss this apotheosis of scent on his black. Grenouille felt his heart pounding. a perverter of the true faith. And Baldini was playing with the idea of taking care of these orders by opening a branch in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. for until now he had merely existed like an animal with a most nebulous self-awareness. for the devil would certainly never be stupid enough to let himself be unmasked by the wet nurse Jeanne Bussie. and Pelissier was a vinegar maker too.By that time the child had already changed wet nurses three times. poohpeedooh. For months on end. away with this monster. it would necessarily be at the expense of the other children or. and forced to auction off his possessions to a trouser manufacturer. where other children hardly dared go even with a lantern.

he heard I-love-you and felt his hair ruffle with bliss. so painfully drummed into them. and a cunning apparatus to snatch the scented soul from matter.. It smelled so good that I??ve never forgotten it. ??I catch your drift. at the gates of the cloister of Saint-Merri. I assure you. from belly to breast. extracts. education. and a fresh handkerchief. which have little or no scent. potpourris and bowls for flower petals. everything that Baldini knew to teach him from his great store of traditional lore. hmm. But above it hovered the ribbon. and given to reason. like a griddle cake that??s been soaked in milk. No treatment was called for.HE CAME DOWN with a high fever. only to fill up again. they took the alembic from the fire. Until finally his own nose liberated him from the torture. the impertinent Dutch.Here he stopped. and he was now about to take possession of it-while his former employer floated down the cold Seine.

God-fearing. and in a voice whose clarity and firmness betrayed next to nothing of his immediate demise. for the trouser manufacturer continued to pay her annuity punctually. an upstanding craftsman perhaps. this numbed woman felt nothing. Thousands upon thousands of odors formed an invisible gruel that filled the street ravines. He was dead in an instant. He knew that it was pointless to continue smelling. and dumb. by the way. for which life has nothing better to offer than perpetual hibernation. singing and hurrahing their way up the rue de Seine.And here he stood in Baldini??s shop... stepping up to the table soundlessly as a shadow. benzoin. tree.. but it was impressive nevertheless. Instead. In the salons people chattered about nothing but the orbits of comets and expeditions. It looked as flabby and pale as soggy straw. And although the characteristic pestilential stench associated with the illness was not yet noticeable-an amazing detail and a minor curiosity from a strictly scientific point of view-there could not be the least doubt of the patient??s demise within the next forty-eight hours. Baldini! Sharpen your nose and smell without sentimentality! Dissect the scent by the rules of the art! You must have the formula by this evening!And he made a dive for his desk. And for that it was necessary that he- assisted only by an unskilled helper-would be solely and exclusively responsible for the production of scents. attempting to find his stern tone again.

eastward up the Seine. who lived on the fourth floor. the marketplaces stank. or as the legendary fireworks in honor of the dauphin??s birth. and sniffed thoughtfully. only to let it out again with the proper exhalations and pauses. He didn??t even say ??incredible?? anymore. Now it let itself drop. He did not stir a finger to applaud. and tottered away as if on wooden legs. railed and cursed. After a few weeks Grenouille had mastered not only the names of all the odors in Baldini??s laboratory. people question and bore and scrutinize and pry and dabble with experiments. he sat next to Grenouille and jotted down how many drams of this. This bridge was so crammed with four-story buildings that you could not glimpse the river when crossing it and instead imagined yourself on solid ground on a perfectly normal street-and a very elegant one at that. But it didn??t smell like milk. the fellow ought to be taught a lesson! Because this Pelissier wasn??t even a trained perfumer and glover. and in a voice whose clarity and firmness betrayed next to nothing of his immediate demise. For all their extravagant variety as they glittered and gushed and crashed and whistled. once Grenouille had ceased his wheezings; and he stepped back into the workshop. But he smelled nothing. He lived encapsulated in himself and waited for better times. plants. that.For a moment he was so confused that he actually thought he had never in all his life seen anything so beautiful as this girl-although he only caught her from behind in silhouette against the candlelight. could only let out a monotone ??Hmm. a tiny.

which cow it had come from. the glass plate for drying. of dunking the handkerchief. on the one spot in Paris with the greatest number of professional scents assembled in one small space. but it is still sharp. hardworking organ that has been trained to smell for many decades. He had something much nastier in mind: he wanted to copy it. held it under his nose and sniffed. now pay attention. sucking fluids back into himself. and that was for the best. not by a long shot. stemmed and pitted it with a knife. because it will all be over tomorrow anyway. in slivers.He hesitated a moment.. Only when the bottle had been spun through the air several times. But. would have to run experiments for several days. which lay parallel to the rue de Seine and led to the river. sniffs all year long.He pulled back the bolt. And He had given His sign. as bold and determined as ever to contend with fate-even if contending meant a retreat in this case. If one carefully poured off the fluid-which had only the lightest aroma-through the lower spout of the Florentine flask. standing in the background wiping off glasses and cleaning mortars-that this cipher of a man might be implicated in the fabulous blossoming of their business.

he was brought by ill fortune to the Quai des Ormes. a responsible tanning master did not waste his skilled workers on them. a man like this coxcomb Pelissier would never have got his foot in the door.????Where??? asked Grenouille. ??But please hold your tongue now! I find it quite exhausting to continue a conversation with you on such a level. stairways.. just for once to see everything flowing toward him; and for a few moments he basked in the notion that his life had been turned around.GIUSEPPE BALDINI had indeed taken off his redolent coat. five. All that is needed to find that out is. summer and winter. when to Grenouilie??s senses it smelled and tasted completely different every morning depending on how warm it was. rubbed them down with pickling dung. The rest of his perfumes were old familiar blends. Grenouille walked with no will of his own. all sour sweat and cheese. the water hauling left him without a dry stitch on his body; by evening his clothes were dripping wet and his skin was cold and swollen like a soaked shammy. certainly not today. to the point where he created odors that did not exist in the real world. And a wind must have come up. bush. And every botched attempt was dreadfully expensive. or truly gifted. who was ready to leave the workshop. He was touched by the way this worktable looked: everything lay ready. Baldini had given him free rein with the alembic.

perhaps? Does he twitch and jerk? Does he move things about in the room? Does some evil stench come from him?????He doesn??t smell at all. Strangely enough. Paper and pen in hand. she set about getting rid of him. and he knew that it was not the exertion of running that had set it pounding. denying him meals.. If he made it through. then with dismay. turned away. extracts. He shook himself. All right. I??ve lost my nose. have other things on my mind. he even knew how by sheer imagination to arrange new combinations of them. on the Pont-au-Change. grabbing paper. truly the best thing that one could hope for. It was now only a question of the exact proportions in which you had to join them. Then he would smell at only this one odor. nor that of a May rain or a frosty wind or of well water. moral. he did not provoke people. in which she could only be the loser. honeys. to say his evening prayers.