"Hawthorne, Nathaniel - Dr. Heidegger's Experiment" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawthorne Nathaniel)

waist-coats of the young men, and the ancient cap and gown of the
blooming girl. One limped across the floor like a gouty grandfather;
one set a pair of spectacles astride of his nose, and pretended to
pore over the black-letter pages of the book of magic; a third
seated himself in an arm-chair, and strove to imitate the venerable
dignity of Dr. Heidegger. Then all shouted mirthfully, and leaped
about the room. The Widow Wycherly- if so fresh a damsel could be
called a widow- tripped up to the doctor's chair, with a mischievous
merriment in her rosy face.

"Doctor, you dear old soul," cried she, "get up and dance with me!"
And then the four young people laughed louder than ever, to think what
a queer figure the poor old doctor would cut.

"Pray excuse me," answered the doctor quietly. "I am old and
rheumatic, and my dancing days were over long ago. But either of these
gay young gentlemen will be glad of so pretty a partner."

"Dance with me, Clara!" cried Colonel Killigrew.

"No, no, I will be her partner!" shouted Mr. Gascoigne.

"She promised me her hand, fifty years ago!" exclaimed Mr.
Medbourne.

They all gathered round her. One caught both her hands in his
passionate grasp- another threw his arm about her waist- the third
buried his hand among the glossy curls that clustered beneath the
widow's cap. Blushing, panting, struggling, chiding, laughing, her
warm breath fanning each of their faces by turns, she strove to
disengage herself, yet still remained in their triple embrace. Never
was there a livelier picture of youthful rivalship, with bewitching
beauty for the prize. Yet, by a strange deception, owing to the
duskiness of the chamber, and the antique dresses which they still
wore, the tall mirror is said to have reflected the figures of the
three old, gray, withered grandsires, ridiculously contending for
the skinny ugliness of a shrivelled grandam.

But they were young: their burning passions proved them so.
Inflamed to madness by the coquetry of the girl-widow, who neither
granted nor quite withheld her favors, the three rivals began to
interchange threatening glances. Still keeping hold of the fair prize,
they grappled fiercely at one another's throats. As they struggled
to and fro, the table was overturned, and the vase dashed into a
thousand fragments. The precious Water of Youth flowed in a bright
stream across the floor, moistening the wings of a butterfly, which,
grown old in the decline of summer, had alighted there to die. The
insect fluttered lightly through the chamber, and settled on the snowy
head of Dr. Heidegger.