“Stay here,” said the Marquis, “I have thought of a way of finding him. Besides, his jealousy2 may have warned him that there is no particular advantage to be gained by presenting you to his wife; I had better go and reason with him, as you seem to wish an introduction so very much.”
This occurred in the room that is now called the “Salon d’Apollon.” The paintings remained in my memory, and my adventure of that evening was destined3 to occur there.
I sat down upon a sofa, and looked about me. Three or four persons beside myself were seated on this roomy piece of gilded4 furniture. They were chatting all very gaily5; all — except the person who sat next me, and she was a lady. Hardly two feet interposed between us. The lady sat apparently6 in a reverie. Nothing could be more graceful7. She wore the costume perpetuated8 in Collignan’s full-length portrait of Mademoiselle de la Valière. It is, as you know, not only rich, but elegant. Her hair was powdered, but one could perceive that it was naturally a dark brown. One pretty little foot appeared, and could anything be more exquisite9 than her hand?
It was extremely provoking that this lady wore her mask, and did not, as many did, hold it for a time in her hand.
I was convinced that she was pretty. Availing myself of the privilege of a masquerade, a microcosm in which it is impossible, except by voice and allusion10, to distinguish friend from foe11, I spoke12:
“It is not easy, Mademoiselle, to deceive me,” I began.
“So much the better for Monsieur,” answered the mask, quietly.
“I mean,” I said, determined13 to tell my fib, “that beauty is a gift more difficult to conceal14 than Mademoiselle supposes.”
“Yet Monsieur has succeeded very well,” she said in the same sweet and careless tones.
“I see the costume of this, the beautiful Mademoiselle de la Valière, upon a form that surpasses her own; I raise my eyes, and I behold15 a mask, and yet I recognize the lady; beauty is like that precious stone in the ‘Arabian Nights,’ which emits, no matter how concealed16, a light that betrays it.”
“I know the story,” said the young lady. “The light betrayed it, not in the sun but in darkness. Is there so little light in these rooms, Monsieur, that a poor glowworm can show so brightly? I thought we were in a luminous17 atmosphere, wherever a certain Countess moved?”
Here was an awkward speech! How was I to answer? This lady might be, as they say some ladies are, a lover of mischief18, or an intimate of the Countess de St. Alyre. Cautiously, therefore, I inquired,
“What Countess?”
“If you know me, you must know that she is my dearest friend. Is she not beautiful?”
“How can I answer, there are so many countesses.”
“Everyone who knows me, knows who my best beloved friend is. You don’t know me?”
“That is cruel. I can scarcely believe I am mistaken.”
“With whom were you walking, just now?” she asked.
“A gentleman, a friend,” I answered.
“I saw him, of course, a friend; but I think I know him, and should like to be certain. Is he not a certain Marquis?”
Here was another question that was extremely awkward.
“There are so many people here, and one may walk, at one time with one, and at another with a different one, that —”
“That an unscrupulous person has no difficulty in evading20 a simple question like mine. Know then, once for all, that nothing disgusts a person of spirit so much as suspicion. You, Monsieur, are a gentleman of discretion21. I shall respect you accordingly.”
“Mademoiselle would despise me, were I to violate a confidence.”
“But you don’t deceive me. You imitate your friend’s diplomacy22. I hate diplomacy. It means fraud and cowardice23. Don’t you think I know him? The gentleman with the cross of white ribbon on his breast? I know the Marquis d’Harmonville perfectly24. You see to what good purpose your ingenuity25 has been expended26.”
“To that conjecture27 I can answer neither yes nor no.”
“You need not. But what was your motive28 in mortifying29 a lady?”
“It is the last thing on earth I should do.”
“You affected30 to know me, and you don’t; through caprice, or listlessness, or curiosity, you wished to converse31, not with a lady, but with a costume. You admired, and you pretend to mistake me for another. But who is quite perfect? Is truth any longer to be found on earth?”
“Mademoiselle has formed a mistaken opinion of me.”
“And you also of me; you find me less foolish than you supposed. I know perfectly whom you intend amusing with compliments and melancholy32 declamation33, and whom, with that amiable34 purpose, you have been seeking.”
“Tell me whom you mean,” I entreated35. “Upon one condition.”
“What is that?”
“That you will confess if I name the lady.”
“You describe my object unfairly,” I objected. “I can’t admit that I proposed speaking to any lady in the tone you describe.”
“Well, I shan’t insist on that; only if I name the lady, you will promise to admit that I am right.”
“Must I promise?”
“Certainly not, there is no compulsion; but your promise is the only condition on which I will speak to you again.”
I hesitated for a moment; but how could she possibly tell? The Countess would scarcely have admitted this little romance to anyone; and the mask in the La Vallière costume could not possibly know who the masked domino beside her was.
“I consent,” I said, “I promise.”
“You must promise on the honor of a gentleman.”
“Well, I do; on the honor of a gentleman.”
“Then this lady is the Countess de St. Alyre.”
I was unspeakably surprised; I was disconcerted; but I remembered my promise, and said:
“The Countess de St. Alyre is, unquestionably, the lady to whom I hoped for an introduction tonight; but I beg to assure you, also on the honor of a gentleman, that she has not the faintest imaginable suspicion that I was seeking such an honor, nor, in all probability, does she remember that such a person as I exists. I had the honor to render her and the Count a trifling36 service, too trifling, I fear, to have earned more than an hour’s recollection.”
“The world is not so ungrateful as you suppose; or if it be, there are, nevertheless, a few hearts that redeem37 it. I can answer for the Countess de St. Alyre, she never forgets a kindness. She does not show all she feels; for she is unhappy, and cannot.”
“Unhappy! I feared, indeed, that might be. But for all the rest that you are good enough to suppose, it is but a flattering dream.”
“I told you that I am the Countess’s friend, and being so I must know something of her character; also, there are confidences between us, and I may know more than you think of those trifling services of which you suppose the recollection is so transitory.”
I was becoming more and more interested. I was as wicked as other young men, and the heinousness38 of such a pursuit was as nothing, now that self-love and all the passions that mingle39 in such a romance were roused. The image of the beautiful Countess had now again quite superseded40 the pretty counterpart of La Vallièe, who was before me. I would have given a great deal to hear, in solemn earnest, that she did remember the champion who, for her sake, had thrown himself before the saber of an enraged41 dragoon, with only a cudgel in his hand, and conquered.
“You say the Countess is unhappy,” said I. “What causes her unhappiness?”
“Many things. Her husband is old, jealous, and tyrannical. Is not that enough? Even when relieved from his society, she is lonely.”
“But you are her friend?” I suggested.
“And you think one friend enough?” she answered; “she has one alone, to whom she can open her heart.”
“Is there room for another friend?”
“Try.”
“How can I find a way?”
“She will aid you.”
“How?”
She answered by a question. “Have you secured rooms in either of the hotels of Versailles?”
“No, I could not. I am lodged42 in the Dragon Volant, which stands at the verge43 of the grounds of the Chateau44 de la Carque.”
“That is better still. I need not ask if you have courage for an adventure. I need not ask if you are a man of honor. A lady may trust herself to you, and fear nothing. There are few men to whom the interview, such as I shall arrange, could be granted with safety. You shall meet her at two o’clock this morning in the Park of the Chateau de la Carque. What room do you occupy in the Dragon Volant?”
I was amazed at the audacity45 and decision of this girl. Was she, as we say in England, hoaxing46 me?
“I can describe that accurately,” said I. “As I look from the rear of the house, in which my apartment is, I am at the extreme right, next the angle; and one pair of stairs up, from the hall.”
“Very well; you must have observed, if you looked into the park, two or three clumps47 of chestnut48 and lime trees, growing so close together as to form a small grove49. You must return to your hotel, change your dress, and, preserving a scrupulous19 secrecy50 as to why or where you go, leave the Dragon Volant, and climb the park wall, unseen; you will easily recognize the grove I have mentioned; there you will meet the Countess, who will grant you an audience of a few minutes, who will expect the most scrupulous reserve on your part, and who will explain to you, in a few words, a great deal which I could not so well tell you here.”
I cannot describe the feeling with which I heard these words. I was astounded51. Doubt succeeded. I could not believe these agitating52 words.
“Mademoiselle will believe that if I only dared assure myself that so great a happiness and honor were really intended for me, my gratitude53 would be as lasting54 as my life. But how dare I believe that Mademoiselle does not speak, rather from her own sympathy or goodness, than from a certainty that the Countess de St. Alyre would concede so great an honor?”
“Monsieur believes either that I am not, as I pretend to be, in the secret which he hitherto supposed to be shared by no one but the Countess and himself, or else that I am cruelly mystifying him. That I am in her confidence, I swear by all that is dear in a whispered farewell. By the last companion of this flower!” and she took for a moment in her fingers the nodding head of a white rosebud55 that was nestled in her bouquet56. “By my own good star, and hers — or shall I call it our ‘belle étoile?’ Have I said enough?”
“Enough?” I repeated, “more than enough — a thousand thanks.”
“And being thus in her confidence, I am clearly her friend; and being a friend would it be friendly to use her dear name so; and all for sake of practicing a vulgar trick upon you — a stranger?”
“Mademoiselle will forgive me. Remember how very precious is the hope of seeing, and speaking to the Countess. Is it wonderful, then, that I should falter57 in my belief? You have convinced me, however, and will forgive my hesitation58.”
“You will be at the place I have described, then, at two o’clock?”
“Assuredly,” I answered.
“And Monsieur, I know, will not fail through fear. No, he need not assure me; his courage is already proved.”
“No danger, in such a case, will be unwelcome to me.”
“Had you not better go now, Monsieur, and rejoin your friend?”
“I promised to wait here for my friend’s return. The Count de St. Alyre said that he intended to introduce me to the Countess.”
“And Monsieur is so simple as to believe him?”
“Why should I not?”
“Because he is jealous and cunning. You will see. He will never introduce you to his wife. He will come here and say he cannot find her, and promise another time.”
“I think I see him approaching, with my friend. No — there is no lady with him.”
“I told you so. You will wait a long time for that happiness, if it is never to reach you except through his hands. In the meantime, you had better not let him see you so near me. He will suspect that we have been talking of his wife; and that will whet59 his jealousy and his vigilance.”
I thanked my unknown friend in the mask, and withdrawing a few steps, came, by a little “circumbendibus,” upon the flank of the Count. I smiled under my mask as he assured me that the Duchess de la Roqueme had changed her place, and taken the Countess with her; but he hoped, at some very early time, to have an opportunity of enabling her to make my acquaintance.
I avoided the Marquis d’Harmonville, who was following the Count. I was afraid he might propose accompanying me home, and had no wish to be forced to make an explanation.
I lost myself quickly, therefore, in the crowd, and moved, as rapidly as it would allow me, toward the Galerie des Glaces, which lay in the direction opposite to that in which I saw the Count and my friend the Marquis moving.
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1
salons
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| n.（营业性质的）店( salon的名词复数 )；厅；沙龙（旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所）；（大宅中的）客厅 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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perpetuated
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| vt.使永存（perpetuate的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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13
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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15
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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18
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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19
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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20
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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21
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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mortifying
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| adj.抑制的，苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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declamation
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| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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38
heinousness
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39
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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40
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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41
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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42
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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43
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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44
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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45
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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46
hoaxing
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| v.开玩笑骗某人，戏弄某人( hoax的现在分词 ) | |
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47
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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48
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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49
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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50
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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51
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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52
agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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53
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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54
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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55
rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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56
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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57
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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58
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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59
whet
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| v.磨快，刺激 | |
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