“Ce cher Cellini!” the cheery and pleasant little woman had exclaimed, as she set before me a deliciously prepared breakfast. “Je l’aime tant! Il a si bon coeur! et ses beaux yeux! Mon Dieu, comme un ange!”
As soon as I had settled the various little details respecting my room and attendance, and had changed my travelling-dress for a quiet visiting toilette, I started for the abode3 of Heliobas.
The weather was very cold; I had left the summer behind me at Cannes, to find winter reigning4 supreme5 in Paris. A bitter east wind blew, and a few flakes6 of snow fell now and then from the frowning sky. The house to which I betook myself was situated7 at a commanding corner of a road facing the Champs Elysees. It was a noble-looking building. The broad steps leading to the entrance were guarded on either side by a sculptured Sphinx, each of whom held, in its massive stone paws, a plain shield, inscribed8 with the old Roman greeting to strangers, “Salve!” Over the portico9 was designed a scroll10 which bore the name “Hotel Mars” in clearly cut capitals, and the monogram11 “C. H.”
I ascended12 the steps with some hesitation13, and twice I extended my hand towards the bell, desiring yet fearing to awaken14 its summons. I noticed it was an electric bell, not needing to be pulled but pressed; and at last, after many doubts and anxious suppositions, I very gently laid my fingers on the little button which formed its handle. Scarcely had I done this than the great door slid open rapidly without the least noise. I looked for the servant in attendance — there was none. I paused an instant; the door remained invitingly15 open, and through it I caught a glimpse of flowers. Resolving to be bold, and to hesitate no longer, I entered. As I crossed the threshold, the door closed behind me instantly with its previous swiftness and silence.
I found myself in a spacious16 hall, light and lofty, surrounded with fluted17 pillars of white marble. In the centre a fountain bubbled melodiously18, and tossed up every now and then a high jet of sparkling spray, while round its basin grew the rarest ferns and exotics, which emitted a subtle and delicate perfume. No cold air penetrated19 here; it was as warm and balmy as a spring day in Southern Italy. Light Indian bamboo chairs provided with luxurious20 velvet21 cushions were placed in various corners between the marble columns, and on one of these I seated myself to rest a minute, wondering what I should do next, and whether anyone would come to ask me the cause of my intrusion. My meditations22 were soon put to flight by the appearance of a young lad, who crossed the hall from the left-hand side and approached me. He was a handsome boy of twelve or thirteen years of age, and he was attired23 in a simple Greek costume of white linen24, relieved with a broad crimson25 silk sash. A small flat crimson cap rested on his thick black curls; this he lifted with deferential27 grace, and, saluting28 me, said respectfully:
“My master is ready to receive you, mademoiselle.”
I rose without a word and followed him, scarcely permitting myself to speculate as to how his master knew I was there at all.
The hall was soon traversed, and the lad paused before a magnificent curtain of deep crimson velvet, heavily bordered with gold. Pulling a twisted cord that hung beside it, the heavy, regal folds parted in twain with noiseless regularity30, and displayed an octagon room, so exquisitely31 designed and ornamented33 that I gazed upon it as upon some rare and beautiful picture. It was unoccupied, and my young escort placed a chair for me near the central window, informing me as he did so that “Monsieur le Comte” would be with me instantly; whereupon he departed.
Left alone, I gazed in bewilderment at the loveliness round me. The walls and ceiling were painted in fresco34. I could not make out the subjects, but I could see faces of surpassing beauty smiling from clouds, and peering between stars and crescents. The furniture appeared to be of very ancient Arabian design; each chair was a perfect masterpiece of wood-carving, picked out and inlaid with gold. The sight of a semi-grand piano, which stood open, brought me back to the realization35 that I was living in modern times, and not in a dream of the Arabian Nights; while the Paris Figaro and the London Times — both of that day’s issue — lying on a side-table, demonstrated the nineteenth century to me with every possible clearness. There were flowers everywhere in this apartment — in graceful36 vases and in gilded37 osier baskets — and a queer lop-sided Oriental jar stood quite near me, filled almost to overflowing38 with Neapolitan violets. Yet it was winter in Paris, and flowers were rare and costly39.
Looking about me, I perceived an excellent cabinet photograph of Raffaello Cellini, framed in antique silver; and I rose to examine it more closely, as being the face of a friend. While I looked at it, I heard the sound of an organ in the distance playing softly an old familiar church chant. I listened. Suddenly I bethought myself of the three dreams that had visited me, and a kind of nervous dread40 came upon me. This Heliobas — was I right after all in coming to consult him? Was he not perhaps a mere41 charlatan42? and might not his experiments upon me prove fruitless, and possibly fatal? An idea seized me that I would escape while there was yet time. Yes! . . . I would not see him to-day, at any rate; I would write and explain. These and other disjointed thoughts crossed my mind; and yielding to the unreasoning impulse of fear that possessed43 me, I actually turned to leave the room, when I saw the crimson velvet portiere dividing again in its regular and graceful folds, and Heliobas himself entered.
I stood mute and motionless. I knew him well; he was the very man I had seen in my third and last dream; the same noble, calm features; the same commanding presence; the same keen, clear eyes; the same compelling smile. There was nothing extraordinary about his appearance except his stately bearing and handsome countenance44; his dress was that of any well-to-do gentleman of the present day, and there was no affectation of mystery in his manner. He advanced and bowed courteously45; then, with a friendly look, held out his hand. I gave him mine at once.
“So you are the young musician?” he said, in those warm mellifluous46 accents that I had heard before and that I so well remembered. “My friend Raffaello Cellini has written to me about you. I hear you have been suffering from physical depression?”
He spoke47 as any physician might do who inquired after a patient’s health. I was surprised and relieved. I had prepared myself for something darkly mystical, almost cabalistic; but there was nothing unusual in the demeanour of this pleasant and good-looking gentleman who, bidding me be seated, took a chair himself opposite to me, and observed me with that sympathetic and kindly48 interest which any well-bred doctor would esteem49 it his duty to exhibit. I became quite at ease, and answered all his questions fully29 and frankly50. He felt my pulse in the customary way, and studied my face attentively51. I described all my symptoms, and he listened with the utmost patience. When I had concluded, he leaned back in his chair and appeared to ponder deeply for some moments. Then he spoke.
“You know, of course, that I am not a doctor?”
“I know,” I said; “Signer Cellini explained to me.”
“Ah!” and Heliobas smiled. “Raffaello explained as much as he might; but not everything. I must tell you I have a simple pharmacopoeia of my own — it contains twelve remedies, and only twelve. In fact there me no more that are of any use to the human mechanism52. All are made of the juice of plants, and six of them are electric. Raffaello tried you with one of them, did he not?”
As he put this question, I was aware of a keenly inquiring look sent from the eyes of my interrogator53 into mine.
“Yes,” I answered frankly, “and it made me dream, and I dreamt of YOU.”
Heliobas laughed lightly.
“So! — that is well. Now I am going in the first place to give you what I am sure will be satisfactory information. If you agree to trust yourself to my care, you will be in perfect health in a little less than a fortnight — but you must follow my rules exactly.”
I started up from my seat.
“Of course!” I exclaimed eagerly, forgetting all my previous fear of him; “I will do all you advise, even if you wish to magnetize me as you magnetized Signor Cellini!”
“I never MAGNETIZED Raffaello,” he said gravely; “he was on the verge54 of madness, and he had no faith whereby to save himself. I simply set him free for a time, knowing that his was a genius which would find out things for itself or perish in the effort. I let him go on a voyage of discovery, and he came back perfectly55 satisfied. That is all. You do not need his experience.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“You are a woman — your desire is to be well and strong, health being beauty — to love and to be beloved — to wear pretty toilettes and to be admired; and you have a creed56 which satisfies you, and which you believe in without proofs.”
There was the slightest possible tinge57 of mockery in his voice as he said these words. A tumultuous rush of feelings overcame me. My high dreams of ambition, my innate58 scorn of the trite59 and commonplace, my deep love of art, my desires of fame — all these things bore down upon my heart and overcame it, and a pride too deep for tears arose in me and found utterance60.
“You think I am so slight and weak a thing!” I exclaimed. “YOU, who profess61 to understand the secrets of electricity — you have no better instinctive62 knowledge of me than that! Do you deem women all alike — all on one common level, fit for nothing but to be the toys or drudges63 of men? Can you not realize that there are some among them who despise the inanities64 of everyday life — who care nothing for the routine of society, and whose hearts are filled with cravings that no mere human love or life can satisfy? Yes — even weak women are capable of greatness; and if we do sometimes dream of what we cannot accomplish through lack of the physical force necessary for large achievements, that is not our fault but our misfortune. We did not create ourselves. We did not ask to be born with the over-sensitiveness, the fatal delicacy65, the highly-strung nervousness of the feminine nature. Monsieur Heliobas, you are a learned and far-seeing man, I have no doubt; but you do not read me aright if you judge me as a mere woman who is perfectly contented66 with the petty commonplaces of ordinary living. And as for my creed, what is it to you whether I kneel in the silence of my own room or in the glory of a lighted cathedral to pour out my very soul to ONE whom I know exists, and whom I am satisfied to believe in, as you say, without proofs, save such proofs as I obtain from my own inner consciousness? I tell you, though, in your opinion it is evident my sex is against me, I would rather die than sink into the miserable67 nonentity68 of such lives as are lived by the majority of women.”
I paused, overcome by my own feelings. Heliobas smiled.
“So! You are stung!” he said quietly; “stung into action. That is as it should be. Resume your seat, mademoiselle, and do not be angry with me. I am studying you for your own good. In the meantime permit me to analyze69 your words a little. You are young and inexperienced. You speak of the ‘over-sensitiveness, the fatal delicacy, the highly-strung nervousness of the feminine nature.’ My dear lady, if you had lived as long as I have, you would know that these are mere stock phrases — for the most part meaningless. As a rule, women are less sensitive than men. There are many of your sex who are nothing but lumps of lymph and fatty matter — women with less instinct than the dumb beasts, and with more brutality70. There are others who — adding the low cunning of the monkey to the vanity of the peacock — seek no other object but the furtherance of their own designs, which are always petty even when not absolutely mean. There are obese71 women whose existence is a doze72 between dinner and tea. There are women with thin lips and pointed73 noses, who only live to squabble over domestic grievances74 and interfere75 in their neighbours’ business. There are your murderous women with large almond eyes, fair white hands, and voluptuous76 red lips, who, deprived of the dagger77 or the poison-bowl, will slay78 a reputation in a few lazily enunciated79 words, delivered with a perfectly high-bred accent. There are the miserly woman, who look after cheese-parings and candle-ends, and lock up the soap. There are the spiteful women whose very breath is acidity80 and venom81. There are the frivolous82 women whose chitter-chatter83 and senseless giggle84 are as empty as the rattling85 of dry peas on a drum. In fact, the delicacy of women is extremely overrated — their coarseness is never done full justice to. I have heard them recite in public selections of a kind that no man would dare to undertake — such as Tennyson’s ‘Rizpah,’ for instance. I know a woman who utters every line of it, with all its questionable86 allusions87, boldly before any and everybody, without so much as an attempt at blushing. I assure you men are far more delicate than women — far more chivalrous88 — far larger in their views, and more generous in their sentiments. But I will not deny the existence of about four women in every two hundred and fifty, who may be, and possibly are, examples of what the female sex was originally intended to be — pure-hearted, self-denying, gentle and truthful89 — filled with tenderness and inspiration. Heaven knows my own mother was all this and more! And my sister is —. But let me speak to you of yourself. You love music, I understand — you are a professional artist?”
“I was,” I answered, “till my state of health stopped me from working.”
Heliobas bent90 his eyes upon me in friendly sympathy.
“You were, and you will be again, an improvisatrice” he went on. “Do you not find it difficult to make your audiences understand your aims?”
I smiled as the remembrance of some of my experiences in public came to my mind.
“Yes,” I said, half laughing. “In England, at least, people do not know what is meant by IMPROVISING91. They think it is to take a little theme and compose variations on it — the mere ABC of the art. But to sit down to the piano and plan a whole sonata92 or symphony in your head, and play it while planning it, is a thing they do not and will not understand. They come to hear, and they wonder and go away, and the critics declare it to be CLAP-TRAP.”
“Exactly!” replied Heliobas. “But you are to be congratulated on having attained93 this verdict. Everything that people cannot quite understand is called CLAP-TRAP in England; as for instance the matchless violin-playing of Sarasate; the tempestuous94 splendor95 of Rubinstein; the wailing96 throb97 of passion in Hollmann’s violoncello — this is, according to the London press, CLAP-TRAP; while the coldly correct performances of Joachim and the ‘icily-null’ renderings98 of Charles Halle are voted ‘magnificent’ and ‘full of colour.’ But to return to yourself. Will you play to me?”
“I have not touched the instrument for two months,” I said; “I am afraid I am out of practice.”
“Then you shall not exert yourself to-day,” returned Heliobas kindly. “But I believe I can help you with your improvisations. You compose the music as you play, you tell me. Well, have you any idea how the melodies or the harmonies form themselves in your brain?”
“Not the least in the world,” I replied.
“Is the act of thinking them out an effort to you?” he asked.
“Not at all. They come as though someone else were planning them for me.”
“Well, well! I think I can certainly be of use to you in this matter as in others. I understand your temperament99 thoroughly100. And now let me give you my first prescription101.”
He went to a corner of the room and lifted from the floor an ebony casket, curiously102 carved and ornamented with silver. This he unlocked. It contained twelve flasks103 of cut glass, stoppered with gold and numbered in order. He next pulled out a side drawer in this casket, and in it I saw several little thin empty glass tubes, about the size of a cigarette-holder. Taking two of these he filled them from two of the larger flasks, corked104 them tightly, and then turning to me, said:
“To-night, on going to bed, have a warm bath, empty the contents of the tube marked No. 1 into it, and then immerse yourself thoroughly for about five minutes. After the bath, put the fluid in this other tube marked 2, into a tumbler of fresh spring water, and drink it off. Then go straight to bed.”
“Shall I have any dreams?” I inquired with a little anxiety.
“Certainly not,” replied Heliobas, smiling. “I wish you to sleep as soundly as a year-old child. Dreams are not for you to-night. Can you come to me tomorrow afternoon at five o’clock? If you can arrange to stay to dinner, my sister will be pleased to meet you; but perhaps you are otherwise engaged?”
I told him I was not, and explained where I had taken rooms, adding that I had come to Paris expressly to put myself under his treatment.
“You shall have no cause to regret this journey,” he said earnestly. “I can cure you thoroughly, and I will. I forget your nationality — you are not English?”
“No, not entirely105. I am half Italian.”
“Ah, yes! I remember now. But you have been educated in England?”
“Partly.”
“I am glad it is only partly,” remarked Heliobas. “If it had been entirely, your improvisations would have had no chance. In fact you never would have improvised106. You would have played the piano like poor mechanical Arabella Goddard. As it is, there is some hope of originality107 in you — you need not be one of the rank and file unless you choose.”
“I do not choose,” I said.
“Well, but you must take the consequences, and they are bitter. A woman who does not go with her time is voted eccentric; a woman who prefers music to tea and scandal is an undesirable108 acquaintance; and a woman who prefers Byron to Austin Dobson is — in fact, no measure can gauge109 her general impossibility!” I laughed gaily110. “I will take all the consequences as willingly as I will take your medicines,” I said, stretching out my hand for the little vases which he gave me wrapped in paper. “And I thank you very much, monsieur. And”— here I hesitated. Ought I not to ask him his fee? Surely the medicines ought to be paid for?
Heliobas appeared to read my thoughts, for he said, as though answering my unuttered question:
“I do not accept fees, mademoiselle. To relieve your mind from any responsibility of gratitude111 to me, I will tell you at once that I never promise to effect a cure unless I see that the person who comes to be cured has a certain connection with myself. If the connection exists I am bound by fixed112 laws to serve him or her. Of course I am able also to cure those who are NOT by nature connected with me; but then I have to ESTABLISH a connection, and this takes time, and is sometimes very difficult to accomplish, almost as tremendous a task as the laying down of the Atlantic cable. But in your case I am actually COMPELLED to do my best for you, so you need be under no sense of obligation.”
Here was a strange speech — the first really inexplicable113 one I had heard from his lips.
“I am connected with you?” I asked, surprised. “How? In what way?”
“It would take too long to explain to you just now,” said Heliobas gently; “but I can prove to you in a moment that a connection DOES exist between YOUR inner self, and MY inner self, if you wish it.”
“I do wish it very much,” I answered.
“Then take my hand,” continued Heliobas, stretching it out, “and look steadily114 at me.”
I obeyed, half trembling. As I gazed, a veil appeared to fall from my eyes. A sense of security, of comfort, and of absolute confidence came upon me, and I saw what might be termed THE IMAGE OF ANOTHER FACE looking at me THROUGH or BEHIND the actual form and face of Heliobas. And that other face was his, and yet not his; but whatever it appeared to be, it was the face of a friend to ME, one that I was certain I had known long, long ago, and moreover one that I must have loved in some distant time, for my whole soul seemed to yearn115 towards that indistinct haze116 where smiled the fully recognised yet unfamiliar117 countenance. This strange sensation lasted but a few seconds, for Heliobas suddenly dropped my hand. The room swam round me; the walls seemed to rock; then everything steadied and came right again, and all was as usual, only I was amazed and bewildered.
“What does it mean?” I murmured.
“It means the simplest thing in nature,” replied Heliobas quietly, “namely, that your soul and mine are for some reason or other placed on the same circle of electricity. Nothing more nor less. Therefore we must serve each other. Whatever I do for you, you have it in your power to repay me amply for hereafter.”
I met the steady glance of his keen eyes, and a sense of some indestructible force within me gave me a sudden courage.
“Decide for me as you please,” I answered fearlessly. “I trust you completely, though I do not know why I do so.”
“You will know before long. You are satisfied of the fact that my touch can influence you?”
“Yes; most thoroughly.”
“Very well. All other explanations, if you desire them, shall be given you in due time. In the power I possess over you and some others, there is neither mesmerism nor magnetism118 — nothing but a purely119 scientific fact which can be clearly and reasonably proved and demonstrated. But till you are thoroughly restored to health, we will defer26 all discussion. And now, mademoiselle, permit me to escort you to the door. I shall expect you to-morrow.”
Together we left the beautiful room in which this interview had taken place, and crossed the hall. As we approached the entrance, Heliobas turned towards me and said with a smile:
“Did not the manoeuvres of my street-door astonish you?”
“A little,” I confessed.
“It is very simple. The button you touch outside is electric; it opens the door and at the same time rings the bell in my study, thus informing me of a visitor. When the visitor steps across the threshold he treads, whether he will or no, on another apparatus120, which closes the door behind him and rings another bell in my page’s room, who immediately comes to me for orders. You see how easy? And from within it is managed in almost the same manner.”
And he touched a handle similar to the one outside, and the door opened instantly. Heliobas held out his hand — that hand which a few minutes previously121 had exercised such strange authority over me.
“Good-bye, mademoiselle. You are not afraid of me now?”
I laughed. “I do not think I was ever really afraid of you,” I said. “If I was, I am not so any longer. You have promised me health, and that promise is sufficient to give me entire courage.”
“That is well,” said Heliobas. “Courage and hope in themselves are the precursors122 of physical and mental energy. Remember to-morrow at five, and do not keep late hours to-night. I should advise you to be in bed by ten at the latest.”
I agreed to this, and we shook hands and parted. I walked blithely123 along, back to the Avenue du Midi, where, on my arrival indoors, I found a letter from Mrs. Everard. She wrote “in haste” to give me the names of some friends of hers whom she had discovered, through the “American Register,” to be staying at the Grand Hotel. She begged me to call upon them, and enclosed two letters of introduction for the purpose. She concluded her epistle by saying:
“Raffaello Cellini has been invisible ever since your departure, but our inimitable waiter, Alphonse, says he is very busy finishing a picture for the Salon124 — something that we have never seen. I shall intrude125 myself into his studio soon on some pretence126 or other, and will then let you know all about it. In the meantime, believe me,
“Your ever devoted127 friend,
AMY.”
I answered this letter, and then spent a pleasant evening at the Pension, chatting sociably128 with Madame Denise and another cheery little Frenchwoman, a day governess, who boarded there, and who had no end of droll129 experiences to relate, her enviable temperament being to always see the humorous side of life. I thoroughly enjoyed her sparkling chatter and her expressive130 gesticulations, and we all three made ourselves merry till bedtime. Acting131 on the advice of Heliobas, I retired132 early to my room, where a warm bath had been prepared in compliance133 with my orders. I uncorked the glass tube No. 1, and poured the colourless fluid it contained into the water, which immediately bubbled gently, as though beginning to boil. After watching it for a minute or two, and observing that this seething134 movement steadily continued, I undressed quickly and stepped in. Never shall I forget the exquisite32 sensation I experienced! I can only describe it as the poor little Doll’s Dressmaker in “Our Mutual135 Friend” described her angel visitants, her “blessed children,” who used to come and “take her up and make her light.” If my body had been composed of no grosser matter than fire and air, I could not have felt more weightless, more buoyant, more thoroughly exhilarated than when, at the end of the prescribed five minutes, I got out of that marvellous bath of healing! As I prepared for bed, I noticed that the bubbling of the water had entirely ceased; but this was easy of comprehension, for if it had contained electricity, as I supposed, my body had absorbed it by contact, which would account for the movement being stilled. I now took the second little phial, and prepared it as I had been told. This time the fluid was motionless. I noticed it was very faintly tinged136 with amber137. I drank it off — it was perfectly tasteless. Once in bed, I seemed to have no power to think any more — my eyes closed readily — the slumber138 of a year-old child, as Heliobas had said, came upon me with resistless and sudden force, and I remembered no more.
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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effusiveness
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| n.吐露，唠叨 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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6
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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monogram
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| n.字母组合 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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melodiously
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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32
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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33
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
fresco
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| n.壁画；vt.作壁画于 | |
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35
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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36
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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37
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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38
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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39
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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40
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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41
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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42
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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43
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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44
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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45
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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46
mellifluous
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| adj.（音乐等）柔美流畅的 | |
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47
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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48
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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49
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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50
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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51
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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52
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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53
interrogator
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| n.讯问者；审问者；质问者；询问器 | |
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54
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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55
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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56
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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57
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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58
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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59
trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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60
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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61
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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62
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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63
drudges
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| n.做苦工的人，劳碌的人( drudge的名词复数 ) | |
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64
inanities
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| n.空洞( inanity的名词复数 )；浅薄；愚蠢；空洞的言行 | |
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65
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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66
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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67
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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68
nonentity
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| n.无足轻重的人 | |
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69
analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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70
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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71
obese
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| adj.过度肥胖的，肥大的 | |
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72
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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76
voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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77
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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78
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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79
enunciated
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| v.（清晰地）发音( enunciate的过去式和过去分词 )；确切地说明 | |
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80
acidity
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| n.酸度，酸性 | |
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81
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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82
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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83
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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84
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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85
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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86
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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87
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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88
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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89
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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90
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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91
improvising
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| 即兴创作（improvise的现在分词形式） | |
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92
sonata
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| n.奏鸣曲 | |
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93
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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94
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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95
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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96
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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97
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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98
renderings
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| n.（戏剧或乐曲的）演奏( rendering的名词复数 )；扮演；表演；翻译作品 | |
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99
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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100
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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101
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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102
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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103
flasks
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| n.瓶，长颈瓶， 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
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104
corked
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| adj.带木塞气味的，塞着瓶塞的v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的过去式 ) | |
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105
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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106
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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107
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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108
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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109
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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110
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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111
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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112
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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113
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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114
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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115
yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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116
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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117
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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118
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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119
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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120
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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121
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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122
precursors
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| n.先驱( precursor的名词复数 )；先行者；先兆；初期形式 | |
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123
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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124
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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125
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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126
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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127
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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128
sociably
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| adv.成群地 | |
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129
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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130
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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131
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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132
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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133
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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134
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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135
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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136
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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138
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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