The porters had not yet turned the handles of the doors, when one of them opened, and Séverine sprang lightly to the platform, before the train had stopped. Her carriage was at the end. To reach the locomotive, she had to hurry through the swarm4 of passengers, embarrassed by children and packages, who had suddenly left the compartments5. Jacques stood there, erect6 on the foot-plate, waiting to go to the engine-house; while Pecqueux wiped the brasswork with a cloth.
"So it is understood," said she, on tiptoe. "I will be at the Rue7 Cardinet at three o'clock, and you will have the kindness to introduce me to your chief, so that I may thank him."
This was the pretext8 imagined by Roubaud: a visit to the head of the dep?t at Batignolles, to thank him for some vague service he had rendered. In this manner she would find herself confided10 to the good friendship of the driver. She could strengthen the bonds, and exert her influence over him.
[Pg 133]
But Jacques, black with coal, drenched11 with water, exhausted12 by the struggle against rain and wind, stared at her with his harsh eyes, without answering. On leaving Havre, he had been unable to refuse the request of the husband to look after her; and this idea of finding himself alone in her company upset him, for he now felt that he was very decidedly falling in love with her.
"Is that right?" she resumed, smiling, with her sweet, caressing14 look, overcoming her surprise and slight repugnance15 at finding him so dirty, barely recognisable. "Is that right? I shall rely on your being there."
And, as she raised herself a little higher, resting her gloved hand on one of the iron handles, Pecqueux obligingly interfered17:
"Take care, you will dirty yourself," said he.
Then Jacques had to answer, and he did so in a surly tone.
"Yes, Rue Cardinet, unless I get drowned in this abominable18 rain. What horrid19 weather!"
She felt touched at his wretched appearance, and added, as if he had suffered solely20 for her:
"Oh! what a dreadful state you are in! And I was so comfortable. I was thinking of you, you know; and that deluge22 of rain quite distressed23 me. I felt very pleased at the idea that you were bringing me up this morning, and would take me back to-night, by the express."
But this familiarity, so tender and so nice, only seemed to trouble him the more. He appeared relieved when a voice shouted, "Back!" Promptly25 he blew the whistle, while the fireman made a sign to the young woman to stand back.
"At three o'clock!"
"Yes; at three o'clock!"
And as the locomotive moved along, Séverine left the platform, the last of the passengers. Outside, in the Rue d'Amsterdam, as she was about to open her umbrella, she[Pg 134] was glad to find it had ceased raining. She walked down to the Place du Havre, where she stood reflecting for an instant, and at last decided13 that it would be best to lunch at once. It was twenty-five minutes past eleven. She stepped into a little restaurant at the corner of the Rue Saint Lazare, where she ordered a couple of fried eggs and a cutlet. Then, whilst eating very slowly, she fell into reflections that had been haunting her for weeks, her face pale and cloudy, and bereft26 of its docile27, seductive smile.
It was on the previous evening, two days after their examination at Rouen, that Roubaud, judging it dangerous to wait, had resolved to send her on a visit to M. Camy-Lamotte, not at the Ministry28, but at his private residence, Rue du Rocher, where he occupied a house close to that of the late President Grandmorin. She knew she would find him there at one o'clock, and she did not hurry. She was preparing what she should say, endeavouring to foresee what he would answer, so as not to get troubled at anything that might transpire29.
The evening before, a new cause of anxiety had hastened her journey. They had learnt, from gossip at the station, that Madame Lebleu and Philomène were relating everywhere that the company was going to dismiss Roubaud, who was considered involved. And the worst of it was that M. Dabadie, who had been questioned point blank, had not answered no, which gave considerable weight to the news. From that moment it became urgent that she should hurry off to Paris to plead their cause, and particularly to solicit30 the protection of the powerful personage in question, as on former occasions she had sought that of the President.
But, apart from this request, which anyhow would serve to explain her visit, there was a more imperative31 motive3—a burning and insatiable hankering to know, that hankering which drives the criminal to give himself away rather than[Pg 135] remain ignorant. The uncertainty32 was killing33 them, now that they felt themselves discovered, since Jacques had told them of the suspicion which the judicial34 authorities seemed to entertain of there being an accomplice35. They were lost in conjectures36: had the letter been found, the facts established? Hour by hour they expected a search would be made at their lodgings37, that they would be arrested; and their burden became so heavy, the least occurrence in their surroundings assumed an air of such alarming menace, that in the end they preferred the catastrophe38 to this constant apprehension39, to have a certainty and no longer suffer.
When Séverine had finished her cutlet, she was so absorbed that she awoke almost with a start to reality, astonished to find herself in a public room. Everything seemed bitter. Her food stuck in her throat, and she had no heart to take coffee. Although she had eaten slowly, it was barely a quarter past twelve, when she left the restaurant. Another three-quarters of an hour to kill! She who adored Paris, who was so fond of rambling40 through the streets, freely, on the rare occasions when she visited the capital, now felt lost, timid, and was full of impatience41 to have done with the place and hide herself. The pavements were already drying; a warm wind was driving away the last clouds.
Taking the Rue Tronchet, she found herself at the flower-market of the Madeleine, one of those March markets, all abloom with primroses42 and azaleas, in the dull days of expiring winter. She sauntered for half an hour, amidst this premature43 spring, resuming her vague reflections, thinking of Jacques as an enemy whom she must disarm44. It seemed to her that she had paid her visit to the Rue du Rocher, that all had gone well in that quarter, that the only thing remaining was to ensure the silence of this man; and this was a complicated undertaking45 that bewildered her, and set her head labouring at romantic plans. But these caused her no worry, no terror; on the contrary she experienced a sweet, soothing[Pg 136] feeling. Then, abruptly46, she saw the time by a clock at a kiosk: ten minutes past one. She had not yet performed her errand; and, harshly recalled to the agony of reality, she hastened in the direction of the Rue du Rocher.
The residence of M. Camy-Lamotte was at the corner of this street and the Rue de Naples, and Séverine had to pass by the house of Grandmorin, which stood silent, tenantless48, and with closed shutters49. Raising her eyes, she hurried on. She recollected50 her last visit. The great house towered up, terrible, before her, and when a little further on, she instinctively51 turned round, to look behind, like a person pursued by the shouts of a crowd, she was startled to perceive M. Denizet, the examining-magistrate53 at Rouen, who was also coming up the street, on the opposite side of the way. The thrill she experienced brought her to a standstill. Had he noticed her casting a glance at the house? He was walking along quietly, and she allowed him to get ahead of her, following him in great trouble. She received another shock when she saw him ring at the corner of the Rue de Naples, at the residence of M. Camy-Lamotte.
She felt terrified. She would never dare enter now. She turned on her heel, cut through the Rue d'Edimbourg, and descended54 as far as the Pont de l'Europe. It was not until then, that she felt herself secure. And, quite distracted, not knowing where to go nor what to do, she leant motionless against one of the balustrades, gazing below, across the iron sheds, at the vast station, where the trains were constantly performing evolutions. She followed them with her anxious eyes. She thought the magistrate must assuredly have gone to see M. Camy-Lamotte on this business, that the two men were talking about her, and that her fate was being settled at that very minute.
Then, in despair, she was tormented55 by the desire to cast herself at once under a train rather than return to the Rue du Rocher. Just then a train was issuing from beneath the[Pg 137] iron marquee of the main lines. She watched it coming and pass below her, puffing57 in her face a tepid58 cloud of white steam. Then the stupid uselessness of her journey, the frightful59 anguish60 she would carry away with her, should she fail to have the energy to go and find out something certain, were impressed on her mind with such vigour61, that she gave herself five minutes to gain courage.
Engines were whistling. Her eyes followed a small one, branching off a train that served the environs; and, then looking up towards the left, she recognised above the courtyard of the small parcels department, at the very top of the house in the Impasse62 d'Amsterdam, the window of Mother Victoire—that window on whose rail she again saw herself leaning with her husband, before the abominable scene that had caused their calamity63. This brought home to her the danger of her position with such a keen pang64 of pain, that she suddenly felt ready to encounter anything, to put an end to the business. The blasts of the horn, and the prolonged rumbling65 noise deafened66 her, while thick smoke flying over the great, clear, Parisian sky, barred the horizon. And she again took the road to the Rue du Rocher, wending her way with the feelings of a person going to commit suicide, stepping out with precipitation, in sudden fear lest she might find no one there.
When Séverine had touched the bell a renewed feeling of terror turned her icy cold. But a footman, after taking her name, had already offered her a seat in an antechamber; and through the doors, gently set ajar, she very distinctly heard the lively conversation of two voices. Then followed profound and absolute silence. She could distinguish naught67 but the dull throbbing68 of her temples. And she said to herself that the magistrate must still be in conference, and that she would no doubt be kept waiting a long time; and this idea of waiting seemed intolerable. All at once, she met with a surprise; the footman came to her, and showed[Pg 138] her in. The magistrate had certainly not gone. She conjectured69 he was there, hidden behind a door.
She found herself in a large study, with black furniture, a thick carpet, and heavy door-hangings, so severe and so completely closed, that not a sound from the outside could penetrate70 within. Nevertheless, there were some flowers, some pale roses in a bronze corbeil, and this indicated a sort of concealed71 grace, a taste for amiable72 life beneath all this severity. The master of the house was on his feet, very correctly attired74 in a frock-coat; he also looked severe with his pinched face, which his greyish whiskers rendered slightly fuller. But he had all the elegance75 of a former beau who had remained slim, and a demeanour that one felt would be pleasant, freed from the stiffness that his official position made him assume. In the subdued76 light of the apartment, he looked very tall.
Séverine, on entering, felt oppressed by the close atmosphere caused by the hangings, and she saw no one but M. Camy-Lamotte, who watched her approach. He made no motion to invite her to be seated, and he was careful not to open his mouth the first, waiting for her to explain the motive of her visit. This prolonged the silence. But, as the result of a violent reaction, she all at once found she was mistress of herself in the peril77, and remained very calm, and very prudent78.
"Sir," said she, "you will excuse me if I make so bold as to come and solicit your goodwill79. You are aware of the irreparable loss I have suffered, and, abandoned as I now am, I have had the courage to think of you to defend us, to continue to give us a little of the same support as your friend, my deeply regretted protector."
M. Camy-Lamotte was then obliged to wave his hand to a seat, for she had spoken in a strain that was perfect, without exaggerated humility81 or grief, with the innate82 art of feminine hypocrisy83; but he still maintained silence. He[Pg 139] had himself sat down, still waiting. Seeing she must explain, she continued:
"Allow me to refresh your memory by reminding you that I have had the honour of seeing you at Doinville. Ah! those were happy days for me! At present, bad times have come, and I have no one but you, sir. I implore84 you, in the name of him we have lost, you who were his intimate friend, to complete his good work, to take his place beside us."
He listened, he looked at her, and all his suspicions were wavering; she seemed so natural, so charming in her expressions of regret and supplication85. It had struck him that the letter he had found among the papers of Grandmorin, those two unsigned lines, could only have come from her, whom he knew to be intimate with the President, and just now the mere86 mention of her visit had completely convinced him. He had only interrupted his interview with the magistrate, to confirm his conviction. But how could he think her guilty seeing her as she appeared—so quiet and so sweet?
He wished to set his mind at rest. And while maintaining an air of severity, he said:
"Tell me what it is all about, madam. I remember perfectly88. I shall only be too happy to be of use to you, if there is no impediment."
Séverine then related, very plainly, that her husband was threatened with dismissal. They were very jealous of him on account of his merit, and of the high patronage89 which hitherto had covered him. Now, thinking him without support, they hoped to triumph, and redoubled their efforts. Nevertheless, she mentioned no names. She spoke80 in measured terms in spite of the imminent90 peril. For her to have decided on making the journey to Paris, she must have been convinced of the necessity of acting91 as rapidly as possible. Perhaps to-morrow it would be no longer time; it was immediately that she required help and succour. She related all this with such an abundance of logical facts, and good reasons, that it[Pg 140] seemed to him really impossible that she should have taken the trouble to come up with any other object.
M. Camy-Lamotte studied her even to the slight, almost imperceptible quiver of her lips, and he struck the first blow.
"But why should the company dismiss your husband? They have nothing grave to reproach him with," said he.
Neither did her eyes leave him. She sat watching the faintest lines on his face, wondering if he had found the letter; and, notwithstanding the apparent innocence95 of the question, she abruptly became convinced that the letter was there, in one of the pieces of furniture in that study. He knew all about it, for he had set a trap for her, anxious to learn whether she would dare mention the real reasons for his dismissal. Moreover, he had too forcibly accentuated96 his tone, and she felt herself probed to the innermost recesses97 of her being, by his sparkless eyes of a worn-out man.
Bravely she advanced to the peril.
"Dear me, sir!" she said; "it sounds very monstrous98, but they suspected us of killing our benefactor99, on account of that unfortunate will. We had no difficulty in proving our innocence, only there always remains100 something of these abominable accusations101, and the company no doubt fears the scandal."
He was again surprised, thrown off his guard, by this frankness, particularly by the sincerity102 of her accent. Besides, having at first glance considered her face merely passable, he began to find her extremely seductive, with the complacent103 submissiveness of her blue eyes, set off by the energy of her raven104 hair. She was really very charming, very refined, and he allowed the smile of an amateur of feminine charms, no longer interested in such matters, to mingle105 with the grand, cold manner of the functionary106 who had such a disagreeable affair on his hands.
But Séverine, with the bravado107 of the woman who feels her strength, had the imprudence to add:
[Pg 141]
"Persons like ourselves do not kill for money. There would have been some other motive, and there was none."
He looked at her, and saw the corners of her mouth quiver. It was she. Thenceforth his conviction was absolute. And she understood, immediately, that she had given herself up, at the way in which he had ceased to smile, and at his nervously108 pinched chin. She felt like fainting, as if all her being was abandoning her. Nevertheless, she remained on her chair, her bust109 straight. She heard her voice continuing to converse110 in the same even tone, uttering the words it was necessary to say. The conversation pursued its course; but, henceforth, neither had anything further to learn. He had the letter. It was she who had written it.
"Madam," he at last resumed, "I do not refuse to intercede111 with the company, if you are really worthy112 of interest. It so happens that I am expecting the traffic-manager this afternoon, on some other business. Only, I shall require a few notes. Look here, just write me down the name, the age, the record of service, of your husband; briefly113, all that is necessary to post me up in regard to your position."
And he pushed a small occasional-table towards her, ceasing to look at her, so as not to frighten her too much. She shuddered114. He wanted a page of her handwriting, in order to compare it with the letter. For a moment she despairingly sought a pretext, resolved not to write. Then she reflected: what was the good of that, as he knew? It would be easy to obtain a few lines she had penned. Without any visible discomposure, in the simplest manner in the world, she wrote down what he asked her for; while he, standing94 up behind her, recognised the writing perfectly, although taller and less shaky than that in the note. And he ended by thinking this slim little woman very brave. He smiled again, now she was unable to see him, with that smile of the man who is no longer touched by anything, save the charm, and whom experience in everything has made[Pg 142] insouciant115. After all, it was not worth the trouble to be just. He only watched over the decorative116 part of the régime he served.
"Very well, madam," said he, "give me this. I will make inquiries117; I will do the best I can."
"I am very much obliged to you, sir," she answered. "So you will see that my husband is maintained in his position? I may consider the affair arranged?"
"Ah! no, indeed!" he exclaimed; "I bind118 myself to nothing. I shall have to see, to think the matter over."
In fact he was hesitating. He did not know what course he would follow in regard to the couple. And she was in anguish, since she felt herself at his mercy: this hesitation119, this alternative of being saved or ruined by him, without being able to guess the reasons that would influence him in his decision, drove her crazy.
"Oh! sir! think how tormented we are! You will not let me leave without a certainty," she pleaded.
"Indeed, madam, I can do nothing. You must wait," said he.
He led her to the door. She was going away in despair, beside herself, on the point of confessing everything, openly, feeling the immediate92 necessity of forcing him to say distinctly what he intended doing with them. To remain a minute longer, hoping to find a subterfuge120, she exclaimed:
"Ah! I forgot! I wished to ask your advice about that wretched will. Do you think we ought to refuse the legacy121?"
"The law is on your side," he prudently122 answered. "It is a matter of appreciation123, and of circumstances."
She was on the threshold of the door, and she made a final effort.
"Sir," said she, "do not allow me to leave thus! Tell me if I may hope."
With a gesture of abandonment, she had seized his hand.[Pg 143] He drew it away. But she looked at him with her beautiful eyes so ardent124 with prayer, that he was stirred.
"Very well, then, return here at five o'clock. Perhaps I may have something to tell you."
She went off. She quitted the house in still greater agony than on entering it. The situation had become clear, her fate remained in suspense125. She was threatened with arrest which might take place at once. How could she keep alive until five o'clock? Suddenly she thought of Jacques, whom she had forgotten. He was another who might be her ruin, if they took her in charge! Although it was barely half-past two, she hastened to ascend126 the Rue du Rocher, in the direction of the Rue Cardinet.
M. Camy-Lamotte, left alone, stood before his writing-table. A familiar figure at the Tuileries, where his functions as chief secretary to the Ministry of Justice, caused him to be summoned almost daily, as powerful as the Minister himself, and even entrusted127 with more delicate duties, he was aware how irritating and alarming this Grandmorin case proved in high quarters. The opposition129 newspapers continued to carry on a noisy campaign; some accusing the police of being so busy with political business, that they had no time to arrest murderers; the others, probing the life of the President, gave their readers to understand that he belonged to the Court, where the lowest kind of debauchery prevailed; and this campaign really became disastrous130, as the time for the elections approached. And so it had been formally intimated to the chief secretary, that he must bring the business to a termination as rapidly as possible, no matter how. The Minister, having relieved himself of this delicate affair by passing it on to him, he found himself sole arbiter131 of the decision to be taken, but on his own responsibility, it is true; a matter that required looking into, for he had no idea of paying for the others, should he prove inexpert.
M. Camy-Lamotte, still thinking, went and opened the door[Pg 144] of the adjoining room where M. Denizet was waiting. And the latter, who had overheard everything, exclaimed on entering:
"What did I say? It is wrong to suspect those people. This woman is evidently only thinking of saving her husband from possible dismissal. She did not utter a single word that could arouse suspicion."
The chief secretary did not answer at once. All absorbed, his eyes on the magistrate, struck by his heavy, thin-lipped face, he was now thinking of that magistracy, which he held in his hand, as occult chief of its members, and he felt astonished that it was still so worthy in its poverty, so intelligent in its professional torpidity132. But really, this gentleman, however sharp he might fancy himself, with his eyes veiled with thick lids, was tenacious133 in his conviction, when he thought he had got hold of the truth.
"So," resumed M. Camy-Lamotte, "you persist in believing in the guilt87 of this Cabuche?"
M. Denizet started in astonishment134.
"Oh! certainly!" said he; "everything is against him! I enumerated135 the proofs to you. I may say they are classic, for not one is wanting. I did not fail to look for an accomplice, a woman in the coupé, as you suggested. This seemed to agree with the evidence of a driver, a man who caught a glimpse of the murder scene. But skilfully136 cross-questioned by me, this man did not persist in his first statement, and he even recognised the travelling-rug, as being the dark bundle he had referred to. Oh! yes; Cabuche is certainly the culprit, and the more so, as, if we cannot fix it on him, we have no one else."
Up to then, the chief secretary had delayed bringing the written proof he possessed137 to the knowledge of the magistrate; and now that he had formed a conviction, he was still less eager to establish the truth. What was the use of upsetting the false clue of the prosecution138, if the real clue was to lead[Pg 145] to greater embarrassments139? All this would have to be considered in the first instance.
"Very well," he resumed, with that smile of the worn-out man, "I am willing to admit you are right. I only sent for you for the purpose of discussing certain grave points. This is an exceptional case, and it has now become quite political; you feel this, do you not? We shall therefore, perhaps, find ourselves compelled to act as government men. Come, frankly140, this girl, the sweetheart of Cabuche, was victimised, eh?"
The magistrate gave the pout141 of a cunning fellow, whilst his eyes became half lost in his lids.
"If you ask me," said he, "I think the President put her in a great fright, and this will assuredly come out at the trial. Moreover, if the defence is entrusted to a lawyer of the opposition, we may expect a regular avalanche142 of tiresome143 tales; for there is no lack of these stories down there, in our part of the country."
This Denizet was not so stupid when free from the routine of the profession, where he soared on high in his unlimited144 perspicacity145 and mighty146 power. He understood why he had been summoned to the private residence of the chief secretary, in preference to the Ministry of Justice.
"Briefly," concluded he, seeing that M. Camy-Lamotte did not open his mouth, "we shall have a rather nasty business."
The chief secretary confined himself to tossing his head. He was engaged in calculating the results of the trial of the Roubauds. It was a dead certainty that if the husband were brought up at the assizes, he would relate all: how his wife had been led astray, she also, when a young girl, and the intrigues147 that followed, and the jealous rage that had urged him on to murder, without taking into consideration that, in this instance, it was not a question of a domestic and a convicted criminal. This assistant station-master, married to this pretty woman, would mix up a number of people of[Pg 146] independent means, and others connected with the railways, in the business. Then, who could tell where the affairs of a man like the President would lead them? They might perhaps fall into unforeseen abominations. No, decidedly; the case against the Roubauds, the real culprits, was more objectionable than the other. He had made up his mind; he put it absolutely aside. If they had to choose between the two, he was in favour of proceeding150 with the prosecution of the innocent Cabuche.
"I give in to your theory," he at last said to M. Denizet. "There are, indeed, strong presumptions151 against the quarryman, if so be he had a legitimate152 vengeance153 to satisfy; but all this is very sad, and what a quantity of mud will be thrown about! Of course I know that justice should remain indifferent to consequences, and that, soaring above the interests——"
He concluded his phrase with a gesture, while the magistrate, silent in turn, awaited with gloomy countenance154, the orders he felt were coming. From the moment they accepted his idea of the truth—that creation of his own intelligence, he was ready to sacrifice the idea of justice to the requirements of the government. But the secretary, notwithstanding his usual dexterity155 in this kind of transaction, hastened on a little, spoke too rapidly, like a chief in the habit of being obeyed.
"Finally, what is desired is that you should desist from further proceedings," said he. "Arrange matters so that the case may be shelved."
"Excuse me, sir," answered M. Denizet, "I am no longer master of the case; it rests with my conscience."
At once M. Camy-Lamotte smiled, becoming correct again, with an easy and polite bearing that seemed full of mockery.
"No doubt; and it is to your conscience that I appeal. I leave you to take the decision it may dictate156, convinced that you will equitably157 weigh both sides, in view of the[Pg 147] triumph of healthy doctrines158, and public morality. You know, better than I can tell you, that it is sometimes heroic to accept one evil, rather than fall into another that is worse. Briefly, one only appeals to you as a good citizen, an upright man. No one thinks of interfering159 with your independence, and that is why I repeat that you are absolute master in the matter, as, for that matter, it has been provided by law."
Jealous of this illimited power, particularly when prepared to make a bad use of it, the magistrate welcomed each of these sentences with a nod of satisfaction.
"Besides," continued the other, redoubling his good grace, with an exaggeration that was becoming sarcastic160, "we know whom we address. We have long been watching your efforts; and I may tell you that we should call you without delay to Paris, were there a vacancy161."
M. Denizet made a movement. What was this? If he rendered the service required of him, they would not satisfy his great ambition, his dream of a seat at Paris. But M. Camy-Lamotte, who understood, lost no time in adding:
"Your place is marked. It is a question of time. Only, as I have commenced to be indiscreet, I am happy to be able to tell you that your name is down for the cross, on the Emperor's next fête-day."
The magistrate reflected a moment. He would have preferred advancement162, for he reckoned that it carried with it an increase of about 166 frcs., or ￡6 16s., a month in salary. And, in the decent misery163 in which he lived, this meant greater comfort, his wardrobe renewed, his servant Mélanie better fed, and in consequence better tempered; but the cross, nevertheless, was worth having. Then, he had a promise. And he, who would not have sold himself, nurtured164 in the tradition of this magistracy, upright and mediocre165, he at once yielded to a simple hope, to the vague promise that[Pg 148] the administration made to favour him. The judicial function was nothing more than a trade like others, and he bore along the burden of advancement, in the quality of a humble166 solicitant, ever ready to bend to the orders of authority.
"I feel very much touched at the honour," he murmured. "Kindly167 say so to the Minister."
He had risen, feeling that anything they might add, would cause uneasiness.
"So," he concluded, his eyes dim, his face expressionless, "I shall complete my inquiry168, bearing your scruples170 in mind. Of course, if we have not absolute proof against this Cabuche, it would be better not to risk the useless scandal of a trial. He shall be set at liberty and watched."
The chief secretary, on the threshold of his study, made a final display of effusive171 amiability172.
"Monsieur Denizet," said he, "we entirely173 rely on your great tact174 and high rectitude."
M. Camy-Lamotte, alone again, had the curiosity which, however, was useless, now, to compare the page penned by Séverine with the unsigned note he had found among the papers of President Grandmorin. The resemblance proved complete. He folded up the letter and put it carefully away, for, if he had not breathed a word about it to the examining-magistrate, he nevertheless considered such an arm worth keeping. And as he recalled the profile of this little woman, so delicate, and yet so strong in her nervous resistance, he gave an indulgent, mocking shrug175 of the shoulders. Ah! those creatures, when they mean it!
When Séverine reached the Rue Cardinet at twenty minutes to three, to keep her appointment with Jacques, she found herself before her time. He occupied a small room right at the top of a great house, to which he only ascended176 at night for the purpose of sleeping. And he slept out twice a week, on the two nights he passed at Havre, between the evening and morning express. On that particular day, however,[Pg 149] drenched with rain, broken down with fatigue177, he had gone there and thrown himself on his bed. So that Séverine would perhaps have waited for him in vain, had not a quarrel in an adjoining apartment, a husband brutalising his shrieking178 wife, awakened179 him. He had washed and dressed in a very bad humour, having recognised her below, on the pavement, while looking out of his garret window.
"So it's you at last!" she exclaimed, when she saw him issue from the front door. "I was afraid I had misunderstood. You really did tell me at the corner of the Rue Saussure——"
And without awaiting his answer, raising her eyes to the house, she remarked:
"So it's there you live?"
Without telling her, he had made the appointment before his own door, because the dep?t where they had to go together, was opposite. But her question worried him. He imagined she was going to take advantage of their good fellowship, to ask him to let her see his room, which was so simply furnished, and in such disorder180, that he felt ashamed of it.
"Oh! I don't live there!" he replied; "I perch181. Let us be quick, I am afraid the chief may have already gone out!"
And so it happened, for when they presented themselves at the small house which the latter occupied behind the dep?t, within the station walls, they did not find him. In vain they went from shed to shed, everywhere they were told to return at about half-past four, if they wished to be sure of catching182 him at the repairing workshops.
"Very well, we will return," said Séverine.
Then, when she was again outside, alone in the company of Jacques, she remarked:
"If you are free, perhaps you will not mind if I remain and wait with you?"
He could not refuse; and, moreover, notwithstanding the[Pg 150] gloomy anxiety she caused, she exercised such a great and ever-increasing charm over him, that the sullen183 attitude he had made up his mind to observe, vanished at her sweet glances. This one, with her long, tender, timid face, must love like a faithful hound, whom one would not even have the courage to thrash.
"Of course I shall not leave you," he answered, in a less surly tone; "only we have more than an hour to get through. Would you like to go to a café?"
She smiled, delighted to find him more cordial. Vivaciously184 she protested:
"Oh! no, no; I don't want to shut myself up! I prefer walking on your arm through the streets, anywhere you like."
And gracefully185 she took his arm of her own accord. Now that he was free from the dirt of the journey, she thought him superior-looking, in his attire73 of a clerk in easy circumstances, and with his gentlemanly bearing, enhanced by a look of independent pride, due to his life in the open air and the daily habit of facing danger. She had never noticed so distinctly that he was handsome, with his regular, round countenance, and his black moustache on a white skin. His fleeting186 eyes, those eyes studded with golden sparks, which turned away from her, alone continued to cause her distrust. If he avoided looking her straight in the face, was it because he would not bind himself to anything, because he wished to retain his freedom to act as he pleased, even against her?
From that moment, in her uncertainty as to his intentions, shuddering187 each time she thought of that study in the Rue du Rocher where her life lay in the balance, she had but one aim—to feel that this man, who gave her his arm, belonged to her entirely; to obtain, that when she raised her head, his eyes should look deeply into her own. Then he would be her property. She did not love him; she did not even think of such a thing. She was simply doing her[Pg 151] utmost to make him her creature, so that she need fear him no more.
They walked for a few minutes without speaking, amid the continual stream of passers-by who obstruct188 this populous189 quarter. Ever and anon they were compelled to leave the pavement; they crossed the road among the vehicles. Then they found themselves at the Square des Batignolles, which is almost deserted190 at this time of year. The sky, cleansed191 by the deluge of the morning, wore a tint192 of very soft blue, and the lilac-bushes were budding in the gentle March sun.
"Shall we go into the garden?" inquired Séverine. "All this crowd makes me giddy."
Jacques had intended entering the enclosure of his own accord, unconscious of his desire to have her more to himself, far from the multitude of people.
"As you like," said he. "Let us go in."
Slowly they continued walking beside the grass, between the leafless trees. A few women were out with babies in long clothes, and persons were hurrying across the garden to make a short cut. Jacques and Séverine took the brook193 at a stride, and ascended among the rocks. Then, retracing194 their steps, not knowing where to go, they passed through a cluster of pines, whose lasting195 dark green foliage196 shone in the sun. And there, in this solitary197 corner, stood a bench hidden from view. They sat down, without even consulting one another this time, as if they had agreed to come to that spot.
"It is lovely weather," she remarked after a silence.
"Yes," he replied; "the sun has made its appearance again."
But their thoughts were elsewhere. He, who fled women, had been reflecting on the events that had drawn198 him to this one. She sat there, touching199 him, threatening to invade his existence, and he experienced endless surprise. Since the last examination at Rouen, he no longer had any doubt.[Pg 152] This woman was an accomplice in the murder at La Croix-de-Maufras. How was it? As the result of what circumstances? Urged to the crime by what passion, or what interest? He had asked himself these questions, without being able to answer them clearly. Nevertheless, he had ended by arranging a version: the husband, avaricious200 and violent, yearned201 to get possession of the legacy; perhaps he feared the will might be altered to their disadvantage; perhaps he wished to attach his wife to him by a sanguinary bond. And he clung to this version. The obscure parts of it interested him without him seeking to elucidate202 them.
The idea that it was his duty to unbosom himself to justice, had also haunted him. It was this idea, indeed, that had been engaging his attention since he had found himself seated on that bench close to Séverine, so close that he could feel the warmth of her form against his own.
"It's astonishing," he resumed, "to be able to remain out of doors like this, in the month of March, just as in summer."
"Oh!" said she, "as soon as the sun ascends203, it is delightful204!"
And, on her side, she reflected that this man would have been an idiot, had he not guessed them the culprits. They had been too eager to force themselves on him, and at this very moment she continued to press too close to him. And so, in the silence broken by empty phrases, she followed his reflections.
Their eyes had met. She had just read in his, that he had come to the point of inquiring of himself whether it was not she whom he had seen, weighing with all her weight on the legs of the victim, like a dark bundle. What could she do? what could she say, to bind him to her by an inseverable bond?
"This morning," she remarked, "it was very cold at Havre."
"Without taking into account," said he, "all the rain that fell."
[Pg 153]
At that instant, Séverine had an abrupt47 inspiration. She did not reason, she did not think the matter over; it came to her like an instinctive52 impulsion from the obscure depths of her intelligence and heart. Had she thought about it, she would have said nothing. She simply felt the idea was good, and that by speaking she would conquer him.
Gently she took his hand. She looked at him. The cluster of green trees hid them from the pedestrians205 in the neighbouring streets. They only heard a distant rumble206 of vehicles that came deadened to this sunny solitude207 of the square. Alone, at the bend of the path, a child played in silence, filling a small pail with sand with a wooden spade. Without wavering in her idea, with all her soul, and in a low voice she put this question to him:
"You believe me guilty?"
He slightly trembled, and looked into her eyes.
"Yes," he answered, in the same low, unsteady tone.
Then she pressed his hand, which she had retained, in a tighter clasp. But she did not continue speaking at once. She felt their feverish208 warmth mingling209 in one.
"You are mistaken," she resumed; "I am not guilty."
She did not say this to convince him, but simply to warn him that she must be innocent in the eyes of others. It was the avowal210 of the woman who says no, desiring it to be no, in spite of all, and always.
"I am not guilty," she added. "You will not continue to pain me by believing I am guilty?"
And she was very happy to see his eyes gazing deeply into her own. Without doubt what she had just said, was equivalent to selling herself to him, for she gave herself away, and later on, if he claimed her, she could not refuse. But the bond was tied between them, and could not be severed211. She absolutely defied him to speak now. He belonged to her, as she belonged to him. The avowal had united them.
[Pg 154]
"You will not cause me any more pain?" she asked. "You believe me?"
"Yes, I believe you," he replied, smiling.
What need was there to force her to talk brutally212 of this frightful event? Later on, she would tell him all about it, if she wished to do so. This way of tranquillising herself by confessing to him, without saying anything, touched him deeply, as a proof of infinite tenderness. She was so confiding213, so fragile, with her gentle blue eyes. She appeared to him so womanly, devoted214 to man, ever ready to submit to him so as to be happy. And what delighted him above all else, while their hands remained joined and their eyes never parted, was to find himself free from his disorder, the frightful shiver that agitated215 him when beside a woman. Could he love this one, without killing her?
"You know I am your friend, and that you have naught to fear from me," he murmured in her ear. "I do not want to know your business. It shall be as you please, you understand. Make any use of me you like."
He had approached so close to her face that he felt her warm breath in his moustache. That morning, even, he would have trembled at such a thing, in the wild terror of an attack. What could be passing within him, that he barely felt a thrill, attended by the pleasant lassitude of convalescence216? This idea that she had killed a fellow creature, which had now become a certainty, made her appear different in his eyes—greater, a person apart. Perhaps she had not merely assisted, but had also struck. He felt convinced of it, without the slightest proof. And, henceforth, she seemed sacred to him, beyond all reasoning.
Both of them now chatted gaily217, as a couple just met, with whom love is commencing.
"You should give me your other hand," said he, "for me to warm it."
"Oh! no, not here," she protested. "We might be seen."
[Pg 155]
"Who by, as we are alone?" he inquired. "And, besides, there would be no harm in it," he added.
She laughed frankly in her joy at being saved. She did not love this man, she thought she was quite sure of that; and, indeed, if she had involved herself, she was already thinking of a way out of the difficulty. He looked nice; he would not torment56 her; everything could be arranged beautifully.
"We are comrades, that's settled," said she; "and neither my husband nor anyone else shall interfere16. Now, let go of my hand, and do not keep on staring at me like that, because you will spoil your eyes!"
But he detained her delicate fingers between his own, and very lowly he stammered218:
"You know I love you."
Sharply she freed herself with a slight jerk; and, standing before the bench, where he remained seated, she exclaimed:
"What nonsense, indeed! Conduct yourself properly; someone is coming!"
A wet-nurse appeared, with her baby asleep in her arms. Then a young girl passed along in a great hurry. The sun was sinking, disappearing on the horizon in a violescent mist, and its rays vanished from the grass, dying away in golden dust beside the green patch of pines. A sudden pause came in the continual rumble of vehicles. Five o'clock was heard striking at a neighbouring clock.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Séverine. "Five o'clock, and I have an appointment in the Rue du Rocher!"
Her joy departed, back came the agony of the unknown awaiting her there, and she remembered she was not yet saved. She turned quite pale, and her lip quivered.
"But you have to see the chief of the dep?t," said Jacques.
"It cannot be helped!" she replied; "I must pay him a visit another time. Listen, my friend, I will not keep you any longer. Let me go quickly on my errand. And thanks again, thanks from the bottom of my heart."
[Pg 156]
She squeezed his hand, and hurried off.
"By-and-bye at the train," he called after her.
"Yes, by-and-bye," she answered.
She was already walking rapidly away, and soon disappeared among the clusters of shrubs219; whilst he proceeded leisurely220, in the direction of the Rue Cardinet.
M. Camy-Lamotte had just had a long interview in his study, with the traffic-manager of the Western Railway Company. Summoned under pretext of some other business, the latter had ended by admitting that the company felt very much annoyed at this Grandmorin case. First of all, came the complaints of the newspapers, in regard to the little security enjoyed by first-class passengers. Then all the staff were mixed up in the drama. Several of their servants were suspected, without counting this Roubaud, who appeared the most involved, and who might be arrested at any moment. The rumours221 of the irregular mode of life of the President, who had a seat on the board of directors, seemed to bespatter the whole board. And it was thus that the presumed crime of an insignificant222 assistant station-master, attributed to some shady, low, and nauseous intrigue148, threatened to disorganise the management of an important railway enterprise.
The shock had even been felt in higher places. It had gained the Ministry, menaced the State at a moment of political uneasiness. It was a critical time, when the slightest effervescence might hasten the downfall of the Empire.
So when M. Camy-Lamotte heard from his visitor, that the company had that morning decided to dismiss Roubaud, he energetically opposed the measure. No! no! nothing could be more clumsy! The rumpus in the press would increase, should the writers take it into their heads to set up the assistant station-master as a political victim. Everything would be rent from top to bottom, and heaven only knew what unpleasant revelations would be made about one[Pg 157] and another! The scandal had lasted too long, and must be put an end to at once. And the traffic-manager, convinced, had undertaken to maintain Roubaud in his post, and not even to remove him from Havre. It would soon be seen that there were no disreputable people on their staff. It was all over. The matter would be shelved.
When Séverine, out of breath, her heart beating violently, found herself once more in the severe study in the Rue du Rocher, before M. Camy-Lamotte, the latter contemplated223 her an instant in silence, interested at the extraordinary effort she made to appear calm. He certainly felt sympathy for this delicate criminal with the soft blue eyes.
"Well, madam——" he began.
And he paused to enjoy her anxiety a few seconds longer. But her look was so profound, he felt her casting herself before him in such a burning desire to learn her fate that he had pity.
"Well, madam," he resumed, "I've seen the traffic-manager, and have persuaded him not to dismiss your husband. The matter is settled."
Then, in the flood of joy that overwhelmed her, she broke down. Her eyes were full of tears; but she answered nothing. She only smiled.
He repeated what he had said, laying stress on the phrase, to convey to her all its significance:
"The matter is settled; you can return in tranquillity224 to Havre!"
She heard well enough: he meant to say that they would not be arrested, that they were pardoned. It was not merely the position maintained, it was the horrible drama forgotten, buried. With an instinctive caressing movement, like a pretty, domestic animal that thanks and fawns225, she bent226 over his hands, kissed them, kept them pressed to her cheeks. And this time, very much troubled himself at the tender charm of her gratitude227, he did not withdraw them.
[Pg 158]
"Only," he continued, trying to resume his severity, "do not forget, and behave properly."
"Oh! sir!" she exclaimed.
In the desire to have them both at his mercy, he alluded228 to the letter.
"Remember that the papers remain there, and that at the least fault, the matter will be brought up again. Above all, advise your husband not to meddle229 in politics. On that point we shall be pitiless. I know he has already given cause for complaint; they spoke to me of an annoying quarrel with the sub-prefect. It seems that he passes for a republican, which is detestable, is it not? Let him behave himself, or we shall simply suppress him."
She was standing up, anxious now to be outside, to give room to the joy she felt stifling230 her.
"Sir," she answered, "we shall obey you; we will do as you please; no matter when, nor where. You have only to command."
He began to smile again, in his weary way, with just a tinge231 of that disdain232 of a man who has taken a long draught233 at the cup of all things, and drained it dry.
He opened the door of his study to her. On the landing, she turned round twice, and with her visage beaming, thanked him again.
Once in the Rue du Rocher, Séverine walked along without giving a thought to where she was going. All at once, she perceived she was ascending234 the street to no purpose. Turning round, she descended the slope, crossed the road with no object, at the risk of being knocked down. She felt she wanted to move about, to gesticulate, to shout. She already understood why they had been pardoned, and she caught herself saying:
"Of course! They are afraid; there is no fear of them stirring up the business. I was a great fool to give myself all that torture. It was evident they would do nothing.[Pg 159] Ah! what luck! Saved, saved for good this time! But no matter, I mean to frighten my husband, so as to make him keep quiet. Saved, saved! What luck!"
As she turned into the Rue St. Lazare, she saw by a clock at the shop of a jeweller, that it wanted twenty minutes to six.
"By Jove! I'll stand myself a good dinner. I have time," said she to herself.
Opposite the station she picked out the most luxurious-looking restaurant; and, seated alone at a small table, with snow-white cloth, against the undraped plate-glass window, intensely amused at the movement in the street, she ordered a nice meal: oysters235, filets-de-sole, and the wing of a roast fowl236. She was well entitled to make up for a bad lunch. She ate with a first rate appetite, found the bread, made of the finest flour—the pain-de-gruau—exquisite; and she had some beignets soufflés prepared for her, by way of sweets. Then, when she had taken her coffee, she hurried off, for she had only a few minutes left to catch the express.
Jacques, on leaving her, after paying a visit to his room to put on his working-garments, had at once made his way to the dep?t, where, as a rule, he never showed himself until half an hour before the departure of his locomotive. He had got into the habit of relying on Pecqueux to inspect the engine, notwithstanding that the latter was in drink two days out of three. But on that particular evening, in his tender emotion, he unconsciously felt a scruple169. He wished to make sure, with his own eyes, that all the parts of the engine were in thorough working order; and the more so, as in the morning, on the way from Havre, he fancied he had noticed an increased expenditure237 of strength, for less work.
Among the other locomotives at rest in the vast engine-house, into which daylight penetrated238 through tall, dusty windows, the one driven by Jacques was already at the[Pg 160] head of a line, and destined239 to leave the first. A fireman belonging to the dep?t, had just made up the fire, and red-hot cinders240 were falling below into the ash-pit.
It was one of those express engines with double axle-trees coupled together, of delicate elegance, and gigantic build; with its great, light wheels united by steel arms, its broad chest, its elongated241 and mighty loins, conceived with all that logic93 and all that certainty, which make up the sovereign beauty of these metal beings—precision with strength. Like the other locomotives of the Western Company, this one bore the name of a railway-station as well as a number, that of Lison, a town in lower Normandy. But Jacques, in affection, had turned the word into a woman's name, by setting the feminine article before it—La Lison, as he called it with caressing gentleness.
And, in truth, he fondly loved his engine, which he had driven for four years. He had been on others, some docile, some jibbers, some courageous242, and some lazy. He was well aware that each had its peculiar243 character, and that some were not worth much. So that if he was fond of this one, it was because it possessed rare qualities, being gentle, obedient, easy to set in motion, and gifted with even and lasting speed, thanks to its good vaporisation.
Some pretended that if this locomotive started off so easily, it was due to its excellent tyres, and particularly to the perfect regulation of its slide-valves; and that if a large quantity of steam could be produced with little fuel, it was owing to the quality of the copper244 in the tubes, and to the satisfactory arrangement of the boiler245.
But he knew there was something else; for other engines, built identically in the same way, put together with the same care, displayed none of the qualities of this one. There was the soul, so to say, to be taken into account, the mystery of the fabrication, that peculiar something which the hazard of the hammer gives to the metal, which the skill of the[Pg 161] fitter conveys to the various pieces—the personality of the engine, its life.
So he loved La Lison, which started quickly and stopped sharp, like a vigorous and docile steed; he loved it because, apart from his fixed246 wages, it earned him cash, thanks to the gratuities247 on the consumption of fuel. Its excellent vaporisation effected, indeed, considerable economy in coal. It merited but one reproach, that of requiring too much oil. The cylinders248, particularly, devoured249 unreasonable251 quantities of this liquid. They had a constant appetite which nothing could appease252. In vain had he sought to moderate it. The engine lost breath at once. Its constitution required all this nourishment253. Ultimately, he had made up his mind to tolerate the gluttonous254 passion, just as the eyes are closed to a vice9 in people, who, in other respects, are full of qualities.
Whilst the fire roared, and La Lison was gradually getting up steam, Jacques walked round and round the engine, inspecting it in all its parts, endeavouring to discover why, in the morning, it should have put away more oil than usual. And he found nothing amiss. The locomotive was bright and clean, presenting that delightful appearance which indicates the good, tender care of the driver. He could be seen wiping, and furbishing the metal incessantly255, particularly at the end of a journey, in the same manner as smoking steeds are whisked down after a long run. He rubbed it vigorously, taking advantage of its being warm, to remove stains and foam256 more perfectly.
He never played tricks with his locomotive, but kept it at an even pace, avoiding getting late, which would necessitate257 disagreeable leaps of speed. And the two had gone on so well together, that not once in four years had he lodged258 a complaint in the register at the dep?t, where drivers book their requests for repairs—the bad drivers, drunkards or idlers, who are ever at variance259 with their engines. But truly, on this particular evening, he had the consumption of[Pg 162] oil at heart; and there was also another feeling, something vague and profound, which he had not hitherto experienced—anxiety, distrust, as if he could not rely on his engine, and wanted to make sure that it was not going to behave badly on the journey.
Pecqueux was not there, and when he at length appeared, with flushed countenance, after lunching with a friend, Jacques flew into a rage. Habitually260 the two men agreed very well, in that long companionship, extending from one end of the line to the other, jolted261 side by side, silent, united by the same labour and the same dangers.
Although Jacques was the junior of the other man by more than a decade, he showed himself paternal262 for his fireman, shielding his vices263, allowing him to sleep for an hour when too far gone in drink; and the latter repaid him for this kindness with canine264 devotedness265. Apart from his drunkenness, he was an excellent workman, thoroughly266 broken to his calling. It must be said, that he also loved La Lison, which sufficed for a good understanding between the two. And Pecqueux, taken aback at being so roughly welcomed, looked at Jacques with increased surprise, when he heard him grumbling267 his doubts about the engine.
"What is the matter? Why, it goes beautifully!" said the fireman.
"No, no," answered Jacques; "I am uneasy."
And, notwithstanding each part of the locomotive being in good condition, he continued to toss his head. He turned the handles, assured himself that the safety-valve worked well, got on to the frame-plate, and attended to the grease-boxes of the cylinders himself; while the fireman wiped the dome149, where a few slight traces of rust128 remained. Nothing was wrong with the sand-rod. All this should have set his mind at ease.
The fact was, that La Lison no longer stood alone in his heart. Another tenderness was growing there for that slim,[Pg 163] and very fragile creature, whom he continued to see beside him on the bench in the garden of the square. A girl so gentle, so caressing, so weak in character, and who needed love and protection. Never, when some involuntary cause had put him behind time, and he had sent his engine along at a speed of sixty miles an hour, never had he thought of the danger the passengers might be incurring268. And, now, the mere idea of taking this woman back to Havre, this woman whom he almost detested269 in the morning, whom he brought up with annoyance270, caused him great anxiety, and made him dread21 an accident, in which he imagined her wounded by his fault, and dying in his arms. The distrusted La Lison would do well to behave properly, if it wished to maintain the reputation of making good speed.
It struck six. Jacques and Pecqueux climbed up to the foot-plate, and the latter, opening the exhaust-pipe at a sign from his chief, a coil of white steam filled the black engine-house. Then, responding to the handle of the regulator which the driver slowly turned, La Lison began to move, left the dep?t, and whistled for the line to be opened. Almost immediately the engine was able to enter the Batignolles tunnel, but at the Pont de l'Europe it had to wait; and it was not until the regulation time that the pointsman sent it on to the 6.30 express, to which a couple of porters firmly secured it.
The train was about to leave; it wanted but five minutes to the time, and Jacques leant over the side, surprised at not perceiving Séverine among the swarm of passengers. He felt certain she would not seat herself without first of all coming to the engine. At last she appeared, behind time, almost running. And, as he had foreseen, she passed all along the train and only stopped when beside the locomotive, her face crimson271, exulting272 with joy.
Her little feet went on tiptoe, her face rose up, laughing.
"Do not be alarmed!" she exclaimed. "Here I am."
[Pg 164]
He also laughed, happy to see her there, and answered:
"Ah! very good! That's all right."
But she went on tiptoe again, and resumed, in a lower tone:
"My friend, I am pleased, very pleased. I have had a great piece of luck. All that I desired."
He understood perfectly, and experienced great pleasure. Then, as she was running off, she turned round to add, in fun:
"I say, don't you smash me up, now."
And he gaily retorted:
"Oh! what next? No fear!"
But the carriage doors were being slammed. Séverine had only just time to get in. Jacques, at a signal from the chiefguard, blew the whistle, and then opened the regulator. They were off. The departure took place at the same time as that of the tragic273 train in February, amidst the same activity in the station, the same sounds, the same smoke. Only it was still daylight now, a clear crepuscule, infinitely274 soft. Séverine, with her head at the window of the door, looked out.
Jacques, standing to the right on La Lison, warmly clothed in woollen trousers and vest, wearing spectacles with cloth sides, fastened behind his head under his cap, henceforth never took his eyes off the line, leaning at every minute outside the cab so as to see better. Roughly shaken by the vibration275, of which he was not even conscious, his right hand rested on the reversing-wheel, like that of a pilot on the wheel of the helm; and he man?uvred it with a movement that was imperceptible and continuous, moderating, accelerating the rapidity; while, with his left hand, he never ceased sounding the whistle, for the exit from Paris is difficult, and beset276 with pitfalls277.
He whistled at the level crossings, at the stations, at the great curves. A red light having appeared in the distance, as daylight vanished, he for a long time inquired if the road[Pg 165] was free, and then passed like lightning. It was only from time to time that he cast a glance at the steam-gauge, turning the injector-wheel as soon as the pressure reached ten kilogrammes. But it was always to the permanent way that his eyes returned, bent on observing its smallest peculiarities278, and with such attention, that he saw nothing else, and did not even feel the wind blowing a tempest. The steam-gauge falling, he opened the door of the fire-box, raising the bars; and Pecqueux, accustomed to a gesture, understood at once. He broke up coal with his hammer, and with his shovel279 put on an even layer. The scorching280 heat burnt the legs of both of them. Then, the door once closed again, they had to face the current of icy air.
When night closed in, Jacques became doubly prudent. Rarely had he found La Lison so obedient. He handled the engine as he pleased, with the absolute will of the master; and yet he did not relax his severity, but treated it as a tamed animal that must always be distrusted.
There, behind his back, in the train, whirling along at express speed, he saw a delicate, confiding, smiling face. He felt a slight shiver. With a firmer hand he grasped the reversing-wheel, piercing the increasing darkness with fixed eyes, in search of red lights. After the embranchments at Asnières and Colombes, he breathed a little. As far as Mantes all went well, the line was as a sheet of glass, and the train rolled along at ease.
After Mantes he had to urge La Lison on, so that it might ascend a rather steep incline, almost half a league long. Then, without slackening speed, he ran down the gentle slope to the Rolleboise tunnel, just about two miles in length, which he negotiated in barely three minutes. There remained but one more tunnel, that of La Roule, near Gaillon, before the station of Sotteville—a spot to be feared, for the complication of the lines, the continual shunting proceeding there, and the constant obstruction281, made it exceedingly[Pg 166] dangerous. All the strength of his being lay in his eyes which watched, in his hand which drove; and La Lison, whistling and smoking, dashed through Sotteville at full steam, only to stop at Rouen, whence it again set out, a trifle calmer, ascending more slowly the incline that extends as far as Malaunay.
A very clear moon had risen, shedding a white light, by which Jacques was able to distinguish the smallest bushes, and even the stones on the roads, in their rapid flight. As he cast a glance to the right, on leaving the tunnel of Malaunay, disturbed at the shadow cast across the line by a great tree, he recognised the out-of-the-way corner, the field full of bushes, whence he had witnessed the murder. The wild, deserted country flew past, with its continuous hills, its raw black patches of copses, its ravaged282 desolation. Next, at La Croix-de-Maufras, beneath the motionless moon, abruptly appeared the vision of the atrociously melancholy283 house set down aslant284 in its abandonment and distress24, with its shutters everlastingly285 closed. And without understanding why, Jacques, this time again, and more vigorously than on previous occasions, felt a tightening286 at the heart as if he was passing before his doom287.
But immediately afterwards, his eyes carried another image away. Near the house of the Misards, against the gate at the level crossing, stood Flore. He now saw her at this spot at each of his journeys, awaiting, on the watch for him. She did not move, she simply turned her head so as to be able to get a longer view of him in the flash that bore him away. Her tall silhouette288 stood out in black, against the white light, her golden locks alone being illumined by the pale gold of the celestial289 body.
And Jacques, having urged on La Lison, to make it scale the ascent290 at Motteville, allowed the engine breathing time across the plateau of Bolbec. But he finally sent it on again, from Saint-Romain to Harfleur, down the longest incline on[Pg 167] the line, a matter of three leagues, which the engines devour250 at the gallop291 of mad cattle sniffing292 the stable. And he was broken down with fatigue at Havre, when, beneath the iron marquee, full of the uproar293 and smoke at the arrival, Séverine, before going up to her rooms, ran to say to him, in her gay and tender manner:
"Thanks. We may see one another to-morrow."
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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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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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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8
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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9
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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12
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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13
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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14
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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15
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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16
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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17
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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18
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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19
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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20
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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21
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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22
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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23
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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24
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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25
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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26
bereft
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| adj.被剥夺的 | |
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27
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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28
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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29
transpire
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| v.(使)蒸发，(使)排出 ；泄露，公开 | |
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30
solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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31
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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32
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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33
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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34
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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35
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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36
conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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37
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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38
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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39
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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40
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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41
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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42
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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43
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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44
disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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45
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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46
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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47
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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48
tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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49
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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50
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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52
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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53
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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54
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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55
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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56
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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57
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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58
tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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59
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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60
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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61
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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62
impasse
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| n.僵局；死路 | |
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63
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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64
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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65
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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66
deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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67
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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68
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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69
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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71
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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72
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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73
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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74
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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75
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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76
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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77
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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78
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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79
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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80
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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81
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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82
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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83
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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84
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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85
supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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86
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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87
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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88
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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89
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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90
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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91
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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92
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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93
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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94
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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95
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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96
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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97
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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98
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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99
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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100
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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101
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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102
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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103
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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104
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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105
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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106
functionary
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| n.官员；公职人员 | |
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107
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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108
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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109
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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110
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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111
intercede
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| vi.仲裁，说情 | |
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112
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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113
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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114
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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115
insouciant
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| adj.不在意的 | |
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116
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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117
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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118
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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119
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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120
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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121
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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122
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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123
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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124
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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125
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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126
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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127
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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129
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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130
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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131
arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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132
torpidity
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| n.麻痹 | |
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133
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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134
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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135
enumerated
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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137
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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138
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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139
embarrassments
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| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
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140
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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141
pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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142
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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143
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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144
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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145
perspicacity
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| n. 敏锐, 聪明, 洞察力 | |
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146
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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147
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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148
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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149
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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150
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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151
presumptions
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| n.假定( presumption的名词复数 )；认定；推定；放肆 | |
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152
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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153
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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154
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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155
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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156
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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157
equitably
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| 公平地 | |
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158
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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159
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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160
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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161
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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162
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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163
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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164
nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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165
mediocre
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| adj.平常的，普通的 | |
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166
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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167
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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168
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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169
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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170
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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171
effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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172
amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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173
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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174
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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175
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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176
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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178
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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179
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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180
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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181
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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182
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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183
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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184
vivaciously
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| adv.快活地；活泼地；愉快地 | |
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185
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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186
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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187
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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188
obstruct
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| v.阻隔，阻塞(道路、通道等)；n.阻碍物，障碍物 | |
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189
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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190
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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191
cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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192
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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193
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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194
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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195
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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196
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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197
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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198
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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199
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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200
avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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201
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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202
elucidate
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| v.阐明，说明 | |
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203
ascends
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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204
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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205
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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206
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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207
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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208
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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209
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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210
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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211
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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212
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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213
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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214
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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215
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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216
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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217
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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218
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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219
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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220
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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221
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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222
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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223
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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224
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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225
fawns
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| n.（未满一岁的）幼鹿( fawn的名词复数 )；浅黄褐色；乞怜者；奉承者v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的第三人称单数 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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226
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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227
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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228
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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229
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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230
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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231
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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232
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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233
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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234
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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235
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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236
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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237
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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238
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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239
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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240
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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241
elongated
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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242
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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243
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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244
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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245
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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246
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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247
gratuities
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| n.报酬( gratuity的名词复数 )；小账；小费；养老金 | |
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248
cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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249
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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250
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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251
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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252
appease
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| v.安抚，缓和，平息，满足 | |
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253
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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254
gluttonous
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| adj.贪吃的，贪婪的 | |
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255
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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256
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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257
necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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258
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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259
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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260
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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261
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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262
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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263
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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264
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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265
devotedness
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266
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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267
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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268
incurring
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| 遭受，招致，引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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269
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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270
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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271
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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272
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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273
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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274
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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275
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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276
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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277
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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278
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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279
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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280
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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281
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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282
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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283
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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284
aslant
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| adv.倾斜地；adj.斜的 | |
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285
everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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286
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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287
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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288
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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289
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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290
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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291
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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292
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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293
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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