The noisy and scandalous Grandmorin case was quietly being forgotten, was about to be shelved, owing to the apparent inability of the authorities to discover the criminal. After Cabuche had been locked up a fortnight, the examining-magistrate, Denizet, had ordered his discharge, on the ground that there was not sufficient evidence against him. And a romantic fable4 was now being arranged by the police: that of an unknown murderer on whom it was impossible to lay hands, a criminal adventurer, who was everywhere at the same time, who was accused of all the murders, and who vanished in smoke, at the mere5 sight of the officers.
It was now only at long intervals6 that a few jokes about this fabulous7 murderer were revived in the opposition8 press, which became intensely excited as the general elections drew near. The pressure of the government, the violence of the prefects, every day furnished other subjects for indignant articles; and the newspapers were so busy with these matters that they gave no further attention to the case. It had ceased to interest the public, who no longer even spoke9 on the subject.
[Pg 169]
What had completed the tranquillity of the Roubauds was the happy way in which the other difficulty, connected with the will of President Grandmorin, had been smoothed over.
On the advice of Madame Bonnehon, the Lachesnayes had at last consented to accept the will, partly because they did not wish to revive the scandal, and also because they were very uncertain as to the result of an action. And the Roubauds, placed in possession of their legacy10, had for the past week been the owners of La Croix-de-Maufras, house and garden, estimated to be worth about 40,000 frcs., a matter of ￡1,600.
They had immediately decided11 on selling the place, which haunted them like a nightmare, and on selling it in a lump, with the furniture, just as it stood, without repairing it, and without even sweeping12 out the dust. But, as it would not have fetched anything like its value at an auction13, there being few purchasers who would consent to retire to such solitude14, they had resolved to await an amateur, and had nailed up an immense board on the front of the house, setting forth15 that it was for sale, which could easily be read by persons in the frequent trains that passed.
This notice in great letters, this desolation to be disposed of, added to the sadness of the closed shutters16, and of the garden invaded with briars. Roubaud, having absolutely refused to go there, even to take a look round, and make certain necessary arrangements, Séverine had paid a visit to the house one afternoon, and had left the keys with the Misards, telling them to show any possible purchasers who might make inquiries17, over the property. Possession could be arranged in a couple of hours, for there was even linen18 in the cupboards.
And from that moment, there being nothing further to trouble the Roubauds, they passed each day in blissful expectation of the morrow. The house would end by being sold, they would invest the money, and everything would[Pg 170] go on very well. Besides, they forgot all about it, living as if they were never going to quit the three rooms they occupied: the dining-room, with the door opening on the corridor; the bedroom, fairly large, on the right; the small, stuffy20 kitchen on the left.
Even the roofing over the platforms, before their windows, that zinc21 slope shutting out the view like the wall of a prison, instead of exasperating22 them, as formerly23, seemed to bring calm, increasing that sensation of infinite repose24, of recomforting peace, wherein they felt secure. In any case, the neighbours could not see them, there were no prying25 eyes always in front of them peering into their home; and, spring having set in, they now only complained of the stifling26 heat, of the blinding reflex from the zinc, fired by the first rays of the sun.
After that frightful27 shock, which for two months had caused them to live in a constant tremble, they enjoyed this reaction of absorbing insensibility, in perfect bliss19. They only desired never to move again, happy to be simply alive, without trembling and without suffering.
Never had Roubaud been so exact and conscientious28. During the week of day duty, he was on the platform at five in the morning. He did not go up to breakfast until ten, and came down again an hour later, remaining there until five in the evening—eleven hours full of work. During the week of night duty, he had not even the brief rest afforded by a meal at home, for he supped in his office. He bore this hard servitude with a sort of satisfaction, seeming to take pleasure in it, entering into details, wishing to see to everything, to do everything, as if he found oblivion in fatigue29; the return of a well-balanced, normal life.
Séverine, for her part, almost always alone, a widow one week out of two, and who during the other week, only saw her husband at luncheon30 and dinner-time, displayed all the energy of a good housewife. She had been in the habit[Pg 171] of sitting down to embroidery31, detesting32 to put her hand to household work, which an old woman, called Mother Simon, came to do, from nine to twelve. But since she had recovered tranquillity at home, and felt certain of remaining there, she had been occupied with ideas of cleaning and arranging things; and she now only seated herself, after rummaging33 everywhere in the apartment. Both slept soundly. In their rare conversations at meal-times, as on the nights which they passed together, they never once alluded34 to the case, considering it at an end, and buried.
For Séverine, particularly, life once more became extremely pleasant. Her idleness returned. Again she abandoned the housework to Mother Simon, like a young lady brought up for no greater exertion35 than fine needlework. She had commenced an interminable task, consisting in embroidering36 an entire bedcover, which threatened to occupy her to the end of her days. She rose rather late, delighted to remain alone in bed, rocked by the trains leaving and coming in, which told her how the hours fled, as exactly as if her eyes had been on a clock.
In the early days of her married life, these violent sounds in the station—the whistling, the shocks of turn-tables, the rolls of thunder, the abrupt37 oscillations, like earthquakes, which made both her and the furniture totter—had driven her half crazy. Then, by degrees, she had become accustomed to them; the sonorous38 and vibrating railway station formed part of her existence; and, now, she liked it, finding tranquillity in all this bustle39 and uproar40.
Until lunch-time, she went from one room to another, talking to the charwoman, with her hands idle. Then, she passed the long afternoons, seated before the dining-room window, with her work generally on her lap, delighted at doing nothing. During the weeks when her husband came up at daylight, to go to bed, she heard him snoring until dark; and these had become her good weeks—those during[Pg 172] which she lived as formerly, before her marriage, having the whole bed to herself, enjoying her time after rising, as she thought proper, with the entire day before her, to do as she liked.
She rarely went out. All she could see of Havre, was the smoke of the neighbouring factories, whose great turbillions of black stained the sky above the zinc roof, which shut out the view at a few yards from her eyes.
The city was there, behind this perpetual wall; she always felt its presence, and her annoyance41 at being unable to see it had, in the end, subsided42. Five or six pots of wallflowers and verbenas, which she cultivated in the gutter43, gave her a small garden to enliven her solitude. At times she spoke of herself as of a recluse44 in the depths of a wood. Roubaud, in his moments of idleness, would get out of the window, then, passing to the end of the gutter, would ascend45 the zinc slope, seating himself on the top of the gable, overlooking the Cours Napoléon. There he smoked his pipe, in the open air, towering above the city that lay spread out at his feet, above the docks planted with tall masts, and the pale green sea, expanding as far as the eye could roam.
It seemed that the same somnolence46 had gained the other households, near the Roubauds. This corridor, where generally whistled such a terrible gale47 of gossip, was also wrapt in slumber48. When Philomène paid a visit to Madame Lebleu, barely a slight murmur49 could be heard. Both of them, surprised at the turn matters had taken, now spoke of the assistant station-master with disdainful commiseration50, convinced that his wife, to keep him in his post, had been up to her games at Paris.
He was now a man with a slur51 upon him, who would never free himself of certain suspicions. And, as the wife of the cashier felt convinced that, henceforth, her neighbours would not have the power to take her lodging from her,[Pg 173] she simply treated them with contempt, stiffening52 herself when she passed them, and neglecting to bow. This behaviour even estranged53 Philomène, who called on her less and less frequently. She considered her too proud, and no longer found amusement in her company.
Madame Lebleu, in order to have something to occupy her, continued to watch the intrigue54 between Mademoiselle Guichon and the station-master, M. Dabadie, but without ever surprising them. The almost imperceptible brush of his felt slippers55 along the corridor, could alone be heard. Everything having thus settled down, a month of supreme56 peacefulness ensued, similar to the great calm that follows great catastrophes57.
But one painful, anxious matter remained, to occasionally worry the Roubauds. There was a particular part of the parquetry in the dining-room, whereon their eyes never chanced to rest, without an uncomfortable feeling again troubling them. This spot was to the left of the window. There they had taken up and put in place again, a piece of the pattern in the oak flooring, to hide beneath it the watch, and the 10,000 frcs. (￡400) which they had taken from the body of Grandmorin, as well as a purse containing about 300 frcs. (￡12) in gold. Roubaud had only drawn58 the watch and money from the pockets of the victim, to convey the impression that the motive59 of the crime was robbery.
He was not a thief. He would sooner die of hunger within arms' reach of the treasure, as he said, than profit by a centime, or sell the watch. The money of this old man, to whom he had dealt out justice—money, stained with infamy60 and blood? No! no! it was not clean enough for an honest man to finger. And he did not even give a thought to the house at La Croix-de-Maufras, which he had accepted as a present. The act of plundering61 the victim, of carrying off those notes in the abomination of murder,[Pg 174] alone revolted him and aroused his conscience to the pitch of making him start back in fright at the idea of touching62 the ill-gotten gain.
Nevertheless, he had not had the courage to burn the notes; and then, one night, to go and cast watch and purse in the sea. If simple prudence63 urged him to act thus, inexorable instinct protested against the destruction. Unconsciously, he felt respect for such a large sum of money, and he could never have made up his mind to annihilate64 it. At the commencement, on the first night, he had thrust it under his pillow, considering no other place sufficiently65 secure. On the following days, he had exerted his ingenuity66 to discover hiding-places, changing them each morning, agitated67 at the least sound, in fear of the police arriving with a search-warrant. Never had he displayed so much imagination.
At last, at the end of artifices68, weary of trembling, he one day had the coolness to take the money and watch, hidden the previous evening under the parquetry; and, now, for nothing in the world would he put his hand there. It was like a charnel house, a hole pregnant with terror and death, where spectres awaited him. He even avoided, when moving about the room, to place his feet on that part of the floor. The idea of doing so, caused him an unpleasant sensation, made him fancy he would receive a slight shock in the legs.
When Séverine sat down before the window in the afternoon, she would draw back her chair so as not to be exactly over this skeleton which they kept under their floor. They never spoke of the matter to one another, endeavouring to think they would get accustomed to it; and, at length, they became irritable69 at remembering the thing again, at feeling it there at every hour, more and more importunate70, beneath the soles of their boots. And this uncomfortable sensation was all the more singular, as they in no way[Pg 175] suffered from the knife, the beautiful new knife purchased by the wife, and which the husband had stuck into the throat of the sweetheart. It had been simply washed, and lay in a drawer. Sometimes Mother Simon used it to cut the bread.
Amidst the peacefulness in which they were living, Roubaud had just introduced another cause of trouble, which was slowly gaining ground, by forcing Jacques to visit them. The duties of the engine-driver brought him three times a week to Havre. On Monday, from 10.35 in the morning, to 6.20 at night. On Thursday and Saturday, from 11.5 at night, to 6.40 in the morning. And on the first Monday after the journey Séverine had made to Paris, the assistant station-master displayed effusive71 affability towards him.
"Come, comrade," said he, "you cannot refuse to have a snack with us. The deuce! you were very obliging to my wife, and I owe you some thanks!"
Twice in a month, Jacques had thus accepted an invitation to lunch. It seemed that Roubaud, inconvenienced at the long silence that now prevailed when he met his wife at table, felt a relief as soon as he could place a guest between them. He at once recalled amusing anecdotes72, chatted and joked.
"Come as often as possible," said he; "you can see you are not in the way."
One Thursday night, as Jacques, who had washed himself, was thinking of going off to bed, he met the assistant station-master strolling round the dep?t; and, notwithstanding the late hour, the latter, disinclined to walk back alone, persuaded the young man to accompany him to the station. Once there he insisted on taking him to his rooms. Séverine was still up, and reading. They drank a glass or two together, and played cards until after midnight.
Henceforth the luncheons73 on Monday, and the little evening parties on Thursday and Saturday, became a habit.[Pg 176] It was Roubaud, himself, when the comrade once missed a day, who kept a look-out for him, and brought him home, reproaching him with his neglect. But he became more and more gloomy, and it was only in the company of his new friend that he was really in good spirits. This man, who had first of all so cruelly alarmed him, whom he should now have held in execration75 as the witness—the living vision of things he wished to forget—had, on the contrary, become necessary to him, perhaps for the simple reason that he knew what had occurred, and had not spoken. This position took the form of a powerful bond, a sort of complicity between them. The assistant station-master had often looked at the other in a knowing way, pressing his hand with a sudden burst of feeling, and with a violence that surpassed the simple expression of good fellowship.
But it was particularly at home that Jacques became a source of diversion. There, Séverine also welcomed him with gaiety, uttering an exclamation76 as soon as he entered, like a woman bestirred by a thrill of pleasure. She put aside everything—her embroidery, her book, escaping from the gloomy somnolence, in which she passed her time, in a torrent77 of words and laughter.
"Ah! how nice of you to have come! I heard the express, and thought of you," she would say.
When he lunched there, it was a fête. She had already learnt his tastes, and went out herself for fresh eggs. And she did this in a very nice way, like a good housewife who welcomes the friend of the family, without giving him any cause to attribute her actions to aught else than a desire to be agreeable, and divert herself.
"Come again on Monday, you know," said she. "We shall have cream."
Only, when at the end of the month, he had made himself at home there, the separation between the Roubauds became more pronounced. Jacques certainly assisted to bring about[Pg 177] this informal divorce by his presence, which drew them from the gloom into which they had fallen. He delivered both of them.
Roubaud had no remorse78. He had only been afraid of the consequences, before the case was shelved, and his greatest anxiety had been the dread79 of losing his place. At present, he felt no regret. Perhaps, though, had he to do the business over again, he would not make his wife take a part in it. Women lose their spirit at once. His wife was escaping from him, because he had placed on her shoulders, a load too heavy to bear. He would have remained the master, had he not descended80 with her to the terrifying and quarrelsome comradeship of crime.
But this was how things were, and it became imperative81 to put up with them; the more so, as he had to make a regular effort, to place himself again in the same frame of mind, as when, after the confession82, he had considered the murder necessary to his existence. It seemed to him, at that time, that if he had not killed this man, he would not have been able to live. At present, his jealous flame having died out, himself freed from the intolerable burn, assailed83 by a feeling of torpidity84, as if the blood of his heart had become thickened by all the blood he had spilt, the necessity for the murder did not appear to him so evident.
He had come to the pass of inquiring of himself, whether killing85 was really worth the trouble. This was not repentance86; it was at most a disillusion87, the idea that people often do things they would not own to, in order to become happy, without being any the more so. He, usually so talkative, fell into prolonged spells of silence, into confused reflections, from which he issued more gloomy than before. Every day, now, to avoid remaining face to face with his wife, after the meals, he went on the roof and seated himself on the gable. There, in the breeze from the offing, soothing88 himself in vague dreams, he smoked his pipe, gazing beyond the city[Pg 178] at the steamers disappearing on the horizon, bound to distant seas.
But one evening, Roubaud felt a revival89 of that savage90 jealousy91 of former times. He had been to find Jacques at the dep?t, and was bringing him up to his rooms to take a dram, when he met Henri Dauvergne, the headguard, coming down the staircase. The latter appeared confused, and explained that he had been to see Madame Roubaud on an errand confided92 to him by his sisters. The truth was that for some time past, he had been running after Séverine, to make love to her.
The assistant station-master violently addressed his wife at the door.
"What did that fellow come up again about?" he roughly inquired. "You know that he plagues me!"
"But, my dear, it was for a pattern of embroidery," she answered.
"Embroidery, indeed!" he rejoined. "I'll give him embroidery! Do you think I'm such a fool as not to understand what he comes here for? And as to you, take care!"
He advanced towards her, his fists clenched93, and she stepped back, white as a sheet, astonished at the violence of this anger, in the state of calm indifference94 for one another, in which they lived. But he was already recovering his self-possession, and, addressing his companion, he said:
"Whoever heard of such a thing? Fellows who tumble into your home with the idea that your wife will immediately fall into their arms, and that the husband, very much flattered, will shut his eyes! It makes my blood boil. Look here, if such a thing did happen, I would strangle my wife, oh! on the spot! And this young gentleman had better not show his face here again, or I'll settle his business for him. Isn't it disgusting?"
Jacques, who felt very uncomfortable at the scene, hardly knew how to look. Was this exaggerated anger intended for[Pg 179] him? Was the husband giving him a warning? He felt more at ease when the latter gaily96 resumed:
"As to you, I know you would very soon fling him out at the door. No matter. Séverine, bring us something to drink out of. Jacques, touch glasses with us."
He patted Jacques on the shoulder, and Séverine, who had also recovered, smiled at the two men. Then they all drank together, and passed a very pleasant hour.
It was thus that Roubaud brought his wife and comrade together, with an air of good friendship, and without seeming to think of the possible consequences. This outburst of jealousy became the very cause of a closer intimacy97, and of a great deal of secret tenderness, strengthened by outpourings of the heart, between Jacques and Séverine. For, having seen her again two days after this scene, he expressed his pity that she should have been the object of such brutal98 treatment; while she, with eyes bathed in tears, confessed, with an involuntary overflow99 of grief, what little happiness she met with in her home.
From that moment, they had found a subject of conversation for themselves alone, a complicity of friendship wherein they ended by understanding one another at a sign. At each visit, he questioned her with his eyes, to ascertain100 if she had met with any fresh cause for sadness. She answered in the same way, by a simple motion of the eyelids101. Moreover, their hands sought each other behind the back of the husband. Becoming bolder, they corresponded by long pressures, relating, at the tips of their warm fingers, the increasing interest the one took in the smallest incidents connected with the existence of the other.
Rarely did they have the good fortune to meet for a minute, in the absence of Roubaud. They always found him there, between them, in that melancholy102 dining-room; and they did nothing to escape him, never having had the thought to make an appointment at some distant corner of[Pg 180] the station. Up to then, it was a matter of real affection between them; they were led along by keen sympathy, and Roubaud caused them but slight inconvenience, as a glance, a pressure of the hand, sufficed for them to comprehend one another.
The first time Jacques whispered in the ear of Séverine, that he would wait for her on the following Thursday at midnight, behind the dep?t, she revolted, and violently withdrew her hand. It was her week of liberty, the week when her husband was engaged on night duty. But she was very much troubled at the thought of leaving her home, to go and meet this young man so far away, in the darkness of the station premises103. Never had she felt so confused. It resembled the fright of innocent maids with throbbing104 hearts. She did not give way at once. He had to beg and pray of her for more than a fortnight, before she consented, notwithstanding her own burning desire to take this nocturnal walk.
It was at the commencement of June. The evenings became intensely hot, and were but slightly refreshed by the sea breeze. Jacques had already waited for her three times, always in the hope that she would join him, notwithstanding her refusal. On this particular night, she had again said no. The sky was without a moon, and cloudy. Not a star shone through the dense105 haze106 that obscured everything. As he stood watching in the dark, he perceived her coming along at last, attired107 in black, and with silent tread. It was so sombre that she would have brushed against him without recognising him, had he not caught her in his arms and given her a kiss. She uttered a little cry, quivering. Then, laughingly, she left her lips on his. But that was all; she would never consent to sit down in one of the sheds surrounding them. They walked about, and chatted in low tones, pressing one to the other.
Just there, was a vast open space, occupied by the dep?t[Pg 181] and other buildings, all the land that is shut in by the Rue74 Verte and the Rue Fran?ois-Mazeline, both of which cut the line at level crossings: a sort of immense piece of waste ground, encumbered109 with shunting lines, reservoirs, water-cranes, buildings of all sorts—the two great engine-houses, the cottage of the Sauvagnats, surrounded by a tiny kitchen-garden, the workshops, the block where the drivers and firemen slept. And nothing was more easy than to escape observation, to lose oneself, as in the thick of a wood, among those deserted110 lanes with their inextricable maze108 of turnings. For an hour, they enjoyed delicious solitude, relieving their hearts in friendly words stored-up there so long. For she would only consent to speak of affection. She had told him, at once, that she would never be his, that it would be too wicked to tarnish111 this pure friendship, of which she felt so proud, being jealous of her own self-esteem. Then he accompanied her to the Rue Verte, where their lips joined in a long kiss, and she returned home.
At that same hour, in the office of the assistant station-masters, Roubaud began to doze112 in an old leather armchair, which he quitted twenty times in the course of the night, with aching limbs. Up to nine o'clock, he had to be present at the arrival and departure of the night trains. The tidal train engaged his particular attention: there were the man?uvres, the coupling, the way-bills to be closely scrutinised. Then, when the Paris express had arrived and had been shunted, he supped alone in the office at a corner of the table, off a slice of cold meat between a couple of pieces of bread, which he had brought down from his lodging. The last arrival, a slow train from Rouen, steamed in at half past twelve. The platforms then became quite silent. Only a few lamps remained alight, and the entire station lay at rest, in this quivering semi-obscurity.
Of all the staff there remained but a couple of foremen, and four or five porters, under the orders of the assistant[Pg 182] station-master. They slept like tops on the sloping plank113 platform in the quarters allotted114 to them; while Roubaud, obliged to rouse them at the least warning, could only doze with his ears open. Lest he should succumb115 to fatigue, towards daybreak, he set his alarum at five o'clock, at which hour he had to be on his feet, to be present at the arrival of the Paris train. But, occasionally, especially recently, he suffered from insomnia116, and turned about in his armchair without being able to close his eyes. Then he would get up and go out, take a look round, walk as far as the box of the pointsman, where he chatted an instant. And the vast black sky, the sovereign peacefulness of the night, ultimately calmed his fever.
In consequence of a struggle with marauders, he had been supplied with a revolver, which he carried loaded in his pocket. And he often walked about in this way, up to daybreak, stopping as soon as he perceived anything moving in the darkness, resuming his walk with a sort of vague feeling of regret at not having had to make use of his weapon. He felt relieved when the sky whitened, and drew the great pale phantom117 of the station from darkness. Now that day broke as early as three o'clock he went in, and, throwing himself into his armchair, slept like a dormouse, until his alarum brought him, with a start, to his feet.
Séverine met Jacques once a fortnight, on Thursday and Saturday. And, one night, when she had told him about the revolver, they both felt considerably118 alarmed. As a matter of fact, Roubaud never went so far as the dep?t. But this circumstance did not divest119 their walks of an aspect of danger, which added to their charm. Moreover, they had found a delightful120 nook, behind the cottage of the Sauvagnats, a sort of alley121, between some enormous heaps of coal, which formed the only street in a strange town of great, square, black-marble palaces. There, they were completely hidden.
This girl, who had killed, was his ideal. His cure seemed[Pg 183] to him more certain every day, because he had fondled her, his lips upon her lips, absorbing her very soul, without that furious envy having been aroused, to master her by slaughtering122 her.
And so these happy meetings followed one upon another. The two sweethearts never wearied for a moment of seeking one another, of strolling together in the obscurity, between the great heaps of coal that deepened the darkness around them.
One night in July, Jacques, to reach Havre at 11.5, the fixed123 time, had to urge on La Lison, as if the stifling heat had made the engine idle. From Rouen, a storm accompanied him on the left, following the valley of the Seine, with great brilliant flashes; and, from time to time, he turned round anxiously, for Séverine was to meet him that night. He feared that if this storm burst too soon, it would prevent her going out. And so, when he had succeeded in attaining124 the station before the rain, he felt impatient with the passengers, who seemed as if they would never finish leaving the carriages.
Roubaud was on the platform, glued there for the night.
"The deuce!" said he, laughing. "What a hurry you're in to get off to bed! Pleasant dreams!"
"Thanks," answered Jacques.
After driving back the train, he whistled, and made his way to the dep?t. The flaps of the immense door were open. La Lison penetrated125 the engine-house, a sort of gallery with double lines, about sixty yards long, and built to accommodate six locomotives. Within, it was very dark. Four gas-burners did not suffice to dispel126 the obscurity, which they seemed to deepen into four great moving shadows. But, at moments, the vivid flashes of lightning, set the glazed127 roof and the tall windows to right and left, ablaze128; and one then distinguished129, as in a flame of fire, the cracked walls, the timber black with smoke, all the tumble-down wretchedness[Pg 184] of this out-of-date building. Two locomotives were already there, cold and slumbering131.
Pecqueux at once began to put out the fire. He violently raked it, and, the live coal escaping from the cinder-box, fell into the pit below.
"I'm dying of hunger," said he. "I shall go and have a mouthful. Are you coming?"
Jacques did not reply. In spite of his hurry, he did not wish to leave La Lison before the lights had been extinguished, and the boiler132 emptied. This was a scruple133, the habit of a good driver, wherefrom he never departed. When he had time, he remained there until he had examined and wiped everything, with all the care that is taken to groom134 a favourite nag135.
It was only when the water ran gurgling into the pit, that he exclaimed:
"Hurry on, hurry on!"
A formidable flash of lightning interrupted him. This time, the tall windows stood out so distinctly against the flaming sky, that the very numerous broken panes136 of glass could have been counted. To the left, a thin sheet of iron, which had remained fixed in one of the vices137 serving for the repairs, resounded138 with the prolonged vibration139 of a bell. All the antiquated140 timber-work of the roof had cracked.
"The devil!" simply said the fireman.
The driver made a gesture of despair. This put an end to his appointment, and the more so, as a perfect deluge141 was now pouring down on the engine-house. The violence of the rain threatened to break the glazed roof. Up there some of the panes of glass must also have been broken, for big raindrops were falling on La Lison in clusters. A violent wind entered by the doors which had been left open, and anyone might have fancied that the body of the old structure was about to be swept away.
Pecqueux was getting to the end of his work on the locomotive.
[Pg 185]
"There!" said he; "we shall be able to see better to-morrow. I have no need to tidy it up any more to-night."
And, returning to his former idea, he added:
"I must get something to eat. It's raining too hard to go and stick oneself on one's mattress142."
The canteen, indeed, was at hand, against the dep?t itself; while the company had been obliged to rent a house—Rue Fran?ois-Mazeline—where beds had been provided for the drivers and firemen who passed the night at Havre. In such a deluge, they would have got drenched143 to the skin before arriving there.
Jacques had to make up his mind to follow Pecqueux, who had taken the small basket belonging to his chief, to save him the trouble of carrying it. He knew that this basket still contained two slices of cold veal144, some bread, and a bottle of wine that had hardly been touched; and it was simply this knowledge that made him feel hungry. The rain increased. Another clap of thunder had just shaken the engine-house. When the two men went away on the left, by the small door leading to the canteen, La Lison was already becoming cold. The engine slumbered145, abandoned, in the obscurity, lit up by the vivid flashes of lightning, with the heavy drops of rain falling on its flanks. Hard by, a water-crane, imperfectly turned off, continued dripping, and formed a pool that ran between the wheels of the locomotive into the pit.
But Jacques wished to wash before entering the canteen. Warm water and buckets were always to be found in an adjoining room. Drawing a piece of soap from his basket, he removed the dirt from his travel-begrimed hands and face; and, as he had taken the precaution to bring a second lot of clothes with him, in accordance with the advice given to the drivers, he was able to change his garments from head to foot, as he was accustomed to do, for that matter, each night on his arrival at Havre, when he had an appointment with[Pg 186] Séverine. Pecqueux was already waiting in the canteen, having only just dipped the tip of his nose, and the ends of his fingers, in the water.
This canteen simply consisted of a small, bare room painted yellow, where there was nothing but a stove to warm the food, and a table fixed in the ground, and covered with a sheet of zinc, by way of tablecloth146. A couple of forms completed the furniture. The men had to bring their own victuals147, and eat off a piece of paper with the points of their knives. Light entered the room through a large window.
"What a vile148 downpour!" exclaimed Jacques, planting himself before the panes of glass.
Pecqueux had settled himself on a form at the table.
"You are not going to eat then?" he inquired.
"No, mate. Finish my bread and meat, if you care for it. I've no appetite."
The other, without more ado, fell upon the veal, and emptied the bottle. He frequently met with similar luck, for his chief was a poor eater; and he loved him the better, in his canine-like fidelity149, for all the crumbs150 picked up in this way, behind him. With his mouth full, he resumed after a silence:
"The rain! What do we care about that, so long as we're under cover? Only, if it continues, I shall cut you, and be off next door."
He began laughing, for he made no secret of his mode of life; and, no doubt, had told the driver all about his intrigue with Philomène Sauvagnat.
Jacques muttered an oath, as he perceived the deluge of rain increase in violence, after showing signs of abating151.
Pecqueux, with the last mouthful of meat at the end of his knife, again gave a good-humoured laugh.
"You must have something to do then, to-night?" said he. "Well, they can't reproach us two with wearing out the mattresses152, over there, in the Rue Fran?ois-Mazeline."
Jacques quickly left the window.
[Pg 187]
"Why?" he inquired.
"Well, you're just like me. Since the spring, you never turn in till two or three o'clock in the morning," answered the other.
He seemed to know something. Perhaps he had caught them together. In each room the bedsteads were in couples: fireman and driver. The railway authorities sought to bind153 these men to one another as firmly as possible, on account of their work, which necessitated154 such a close understanding. And so, Jacques was not astonished that the fireman should have noticed the late hours he kept, particularly as he had formerly been so regular.
"I suffer from headache," remarked the driver, for want of something better to say; "and it does me good to walk out at night-time."
But the fireman was already excusing himself.
"Oh! you know," he broke in, "you are free to do as you please. What I said, was only by way of a joke. And if you should meet with any trouble one of these days, don't mind coming to me, because I'm ready to do anything you like."
Without explaining his meaning more clearly, Pecqueux grasped him by the hand, pressing it fit to crush it, so as to make him understand that he was at his service, body and soul. Then, crumpling155 up the greasy156 paper which the meat had been in, he threw it away, and placed the empty bottle in the basket, performing this little service like a careful servant accustomed to the broom and sponge. And, as the rain obstinately157 continued, although the thunder had ceased, he exclaimed:
"Well, I'm off, and leave you to your own business!"
"Oh!" said Jacques, "as there are no signs of it clearing up, I shall go and lie down on a camp bedstead!"
Beside the dep?t was a room with mattresses protected by canvas slips, where the men rested in their clothes when they[Pg 188] had only to wait three or four hours at Havre. So, as soon as Jacques saw the fireman disappear in the downpour of rain, he risked it in his turn, and ran to the drivers' quarters. But he did not lie down. He stood on the threshold of the wide-open door, stifled158 by the oppressive heat within, where another driver, stretched on his back, was snoring with his mouth wide open.
A few more minutes passed, and Jacques could not make up his mind to abandon all hope. In his exasperation159 against this disgusting rain, he felt an increasing wild desire to gain, in spite of all, the place where he and Séverine were to meet; so as at least to have the pleasure of being there himself, even if he no longer expected to find his sweetheart. With spasmodic precipitation, he at last dashed through the rain. He reached their favourite corner, and followed the dark alley formed by the heaps of coal. And, as the sharp rain whipped his face and blinded him, he went as far as the tool-house, where he and Séverine had already once found shelter. He seemed to think he would be less lonely there.
Jacques was entering the dense obscurity of this retreat when a couple of slender arms entwined him, and a pair of warm lips rested on his own. Séverine was there.
"Goodness gracious! is it you?" he exclaimed.
"Yes," she answered; "I saw the storm approaching, and ran here before the rain came down. What a time you have been!"
"You expected me then?"
"Oh! yes. I waited, waited——"
They had seated themselves on a pile of empty sacks, listening to the pouring rain beating, with increased violence, on the roof. The last train from Paris, which was just coming in, passed by, roaring, whistling, rocking the ground. All at once Jacques rose. On seating himself a few moments before, he had by chance found the handle of a hammer beneath his hand, and he was now deluged160 with intense joy.[Pg 189] It was all over then! He had not grasped that hammer and smashed the skull161 of his sweetheart. She was his own, without a battle, without that instinctive162 craving163 to fling her lifeless on her back, like a prey164 torn from others.
He no longer thirsted to avenge165 those very ancient offences, whose exact details escaped his memory, that rancour stored up from male to male since the first deceptions166 in the depths of caverns167. No. This girl had cured him, because he saw she was different from the others, violent in her weakness, reeking168 with human gore169, which encircled her in a sort of cuirass of horror. She predominated over him, he, who had never dared do as she had done.
Séverine was also lost in reflections. Her heart had been pining after love—absolute, constant love; and it was frightful cruelty that these recent events should have cast her, haggard and anxious, into such abominations. Fate had dragged her in mire170 and blood with such violence that her beautiful blue eyes, though still na?ve, had preserved a look of terror-stricken expansion beneath her tragic171 crest172 of raven173 hair.
"Oh! my darling, carry me off, keep me with you!" she exclaimed; "your desires shall be mine."
"No, no, my treasure," replied Jacques, who had again seated himself beside her, "you are mistress. I am only here to love and obey you."
The hours passed. The rain had ceased some time. The station was plunged174 in absolute silence, troubled only by a distant and indistinct moan rising from the sea. Suddenly a pistol-shot brought them to their feet with a start. Day was about to break. A pale spot whitened the sky above the mouth of the Seine. What could be the meaning of that shot? Their imprudence, this folly175 of remaining together so late, made them, in swift imagination, picture to themselves the husband pursuing them with a revolver.
"Don't venture out!" exclaimed Jacques. "Wait! I'll go and see!"
[Pg 190]
Jacques had prudently176 advanced to the door, and there, in the dense darkness that still prevailed, he could hear men advancing at the double. He recognised the voice of Roubaud, urging forward the watchmen, shouting to them that the thieves were three in number, that he had distinctly seen them stealing coal. For some weeks not a night had passed without hallucinations of the same kind about imaginary brigands177. On this occasion, he had fired haphazard178 into the gloom.
"Quick! quick!" exclaimed the young man; "let us be off! They will come and search this place. Run as fast as you can!"
She fell into his arms. They stifled one another, lips to lips. Then Séverine tripped lightly through the dep?t, protected by the high wall, while he quietly disappeared among the heaps of coal. And it was only just time, for Roubaud, as he had foreseen, insisted on searching the tool-house. He vowed179 the thieves must be there. The lanterns of the watchmen danced on a level with the ground. There were words, and in the end they all turned back towards the station, irritated at this fruitless chase; while Jacques, with his mind at ease, at last determined180 to make his way to the Rue Fran?ois-Mazeline and go to bed.
The meetings between him and Séverine continued throughout the summer. Nor were they interrupted when the cold weather came at the commencement of October. She arrived wrapped in an ample cloak, and, to be screened from the frigid181 air outside, they barricaded182 themselves in the tool-house by means of an iron bar that they had found there. In this little retreat they were at home. The November hurricanes could roar, and tear the slates183 from the roofs, without inconveniencing them.
Jacques no longer had any doubt that he was cured of his frightful hereditary184 complaint, for since he had known Séverine he had never been troubled by thoughts of murder. Occasionally[Pg 191] he suddenly remembered what she had done—that assassination185, avowed186 by her eyes alone, on the bench in the Batignolles Square; but he had no inclination187 to learn the details. She, on the contrary, seemed more and more tormented188 by the desire to reveal everything. At times he felt her bursting with her secret; and, in anxiety, he would at once close her mouth with a kiss, sealing up the avowal189. Why place this stranger between them? Could they affirm that it would not interfere190 with their happiness? He suspected danger, and felt his old shiver return at the bare idea of raking up this sanguinary story. And she, no doubt, guessed his thoughts.
Roubaud, since the summer, had grown stouter191, and in proportion as his wife recovered her gaiety and the bloom of her twenty years, he grew older and seemed more overcast192. In four months he had greatly changed, as she often said. He continued to cordially grasp the hand of Jacques, inviting193 him to the lodging, never happy but when he had him at his table. Only this diversion no longer sufficed. He frequently took himself off as soon as he had swallowed the last mouthful, sometimes leaving his comrade with his wife, pretending he was stifling, and required fresh air.
The truth was that he now frequented a small café on the Cours Napoléon, where he met M. Cauche, the commissary of police attached to the station. He drank but little, merely a few small glasses of rum; but he had acquired a taste for gambling194, which was turning to a passion. He only recovered energy, and forgot the past, when the cards were in his hand, and he found himself engrossed195 in an interminable series of games at piquet. M. Cauche, a frightful gambler, had suggested having something on the game, and they had made the stake five francs.
From that moment, Roubaud, astonished not to have found himself out before, was burning with a thirst for gain, with that scorching196 fever brought on by money won which[Pg 192] ravages197 a man to the point of making him stake his position, even his life, on a throw of the dice198. So far his work had not suffered. He escaped as soon as free, returning home at three or four o'clock in the morning, on nights when he was off duty. His wife never complained. She only reproached him with coming back more sullen199 than before; for he was pursued by extraordinary bad luck, and ultimately got into debt.
The first quarrel broke out between Séverine and Roubaud one evening. Without hating him as yet, she had reached the point of enduring him with difficulty, for she felt that he weighed on her existence. She would have been so bright, so happy, had he not burdened her with his presence. She experienced no remorse at deceiving him. Was it not his own fault? Had he not almost thrust her to the brink200 of the precipice201? In the slow process of their disunion, to cure themselves of the uneasiness that upset them, both found consolation202 after their own hearts. As he had taken to gambling, she could very well have a sweetheart.
But what angered her more than anything, what she would not accept without revolt, was the inconvenience to which they were subjected by the continual losses of her husband. Since the five-franc pieces of the family flew to the café on the Cours Napoléon, she at times did not know how to pay her washerwoman, and was deprived of all sorts of delicacies203 and little toilet comforts.
On this particular evening, it was about the purchase of a pair of boots which she really required, that they began quarrelling. He, on the point of going out, not finding a knife on the table wherewith to cut himself a piece of bread, had taken the big knife, the weapon lying in a drawer of the sideboard. She kept her eyes on him while he refused the fifteen francs for the boots, not having them, not knowing where to get them; and she obstinately repeated her demand, forcing him to renew his refusal, which, little by little, took a tone of exasperation.
[Pg 193]
All at once she pointed204 out to him with her finger, the place in the parquetry where the spectres slumbered, telling him there was money there, and that she wanted some. He turned very pale, and let go the knife, which fell into the drawer. At first she thought he was going to beat her, for he approached her, stammering205 that the money there might rot, that he would sooner cut off his hand than touch it again. And with fists clenched he threatened to knock her down if she dared, in his absence, to raise the piece of parquetry and steal even a centime. Never! never! It was dead and buried.
She also had lost her colour, feeling faint at the idea of rummaging in that place. No; let poverty come, both would die of hunger close by the treasure. And, in fact, neither of them referred to the subject again, even on days when more than usually pinched. If they happened to place a foot on the spot, they felt such a sharp burning pain that they ended by giving it a wide berth206.
Then, other disputes arose, in regard to La Croix-de-Maufras. Why did they not sell the house? And they mutually accused one another of having done nothing that should have been done, to hasten the sale. He always violently refused to attend to the matter, and on the rare occasions when Séverine wrote to Misard on the subject, it was only to receive vague replies: no inquiries had been made by anyone, the fruit had come to nothing, the vegetables would not grow for want of water.
Little by little, the tranquillity that had settled upon the couple after the crisis, became troubled in this manner, and seemed swept away in a terrible return of wrath207. All the germs of unrest, the hidden money, the sweetheart introduced on the scene, had developed, parting them and irritating one against the other. And, in this increasing agitation208, life was about to become a pandemonium209.
As if by a fatal counter-shock, everything was going wrong[Pg 194] in the vicinity of the Roubauds. A fresh gust95 of tittle-tattle and discussions whistled down the corridor. Philomène had just violently broken off all connection with Madame Lebleu, in consequence of a calumny210 of the latter, who accused the former of selling her a fowl211 that had died of sickness. But the real reason of the rupture212 was the better understanding that prevailed between Philomène and Séverine. Pecqueux having one night met Madame Roubaud arm in arm with Jacques, Séverine at once put aside her former scruples213 and made advances to the secret wife of the fireman; and Philomène, very much flattered at this connection with a lady, who without contestation was considered the adornment214 and distinction of the railway station, had just turned against the wife of the cashier, that old wretch130, as she called her, who was capable of setting mountains at variance215.
Philomène now declared that all the fault lay with Madame Lebleu, telling everybody that the lodging looking on the street belonged to the Roubauds, and that it was an abomination not to give it them. Matters, therefore, began to look very bad for Madame Lebleu, and the more so, as her obstinacy216 in watching Mademoiselle Guichon, in order to surprise her with the station-master, threatened also to cause her serious trouble. She still failed to catch them, but she had the imprudence to get caught herself, her ear on the alert, stuck to the keyhole. And M. Dabadie, exasperated217 at being spied upon in this manner, had intimated to the assistant station-master, Moulin, that if Roubaud again claimed the lodging, he was ready to countersign218 the letter. Moulin, who, although as a rule, little given to gossip, having repeated this remark, the lodgers219 had nearly come to blows, from door to door, all along the corridor, so high ran the excitement that had been thus revived.
Amidst these disturbances220, which became more and more frequent, Séverine had but one quiet day in the week, the Friday. In October she had placidly221 displayed the audacity[Pg 195] to invent a pretext222 for frequently running up to Paris, the first that entered her head, a pain in the knee, which required the attention of a specialist. Each Friday, she left by the 6.40 express in the morning, which was driven by Jacques, and after passing the day with him at the capital, returned by the 6.30 express in the evening.
At first, she had thought it only right to give her husband news of her knee: it was better, it was worse, and so forth. Then, perceiving he turned a deaf ear to what she said, she had coolly ceased speaking to him on the subject. But ever and anon she would cast her eyes on him, wondering whether he knew. How was it that this ferociously223 jealous man, who, blinded by blood, had killed a fellow being in an idiotic224 rage, how was it that he had reached the point of permitting her to have a sweetheart? She could not believe it, she simply thought he must be getting stupid.
One icy cold night in December, Séverine was sitting up very late for her husband. The next morning, a Friday, she was to take the express before daybreak; and on such evenings as these, she had the habit of getting a very nice gown ready, and preparing her other garments, so as to be rapidly dressed, immediately she jumped out of bed.
At last, she retired225 to rest, and ended by falling off to sleep about one o'clock. Roubaud had not returned home. Already, on two occasions, he had only made his appearance at early dawn, his increasing passion for play being such that he could not tear himself away from the café, where a small room at the back was gradually being transformed into a gambling hell. They now played for high stakes at écarté.
Happy to be alone, in a pleasant frame of mind at the prospect226 of a delightful day on the morrow, the young woman slumbered soundly, in the gentle warmth of the bedclothes. But, as three o'clock was about to strike, she was awakened227 by a singular noise. First of all she did not understand, she fancied she must be dreaming and went to sleep again.[Pg 196] Then came a dull sound, as of someone pushing against something, followed by cracking of wood, as if somebody was trying to force open a door. A sharp rent, more violent than the other sounds, brought her to a sitting posture228 in bed. She was frightened to death; someone was certainly trying to burst the lock in the corridor. For a minute or two she dared not move, but listened with drumming ears. Then she had the courage to get up, and look. She walked noiselessly across the room with bare feet, and gently set the door ajar, so chilled with cold that she turned quite pale, and the sight that met her eyes in the dining-room, riveted229 her to the spot in surprise and horror.
Roubaud, grovelling230 on the ground, raising himself on his elbows, had just torn away the dreaded231 piece of parquetry with the assistance of a chisel232. A candle, set down beside him, afforded light while casting his enormous shadow on the ceiling. And at that moment, with his face bent233 over the hole which cut the parquetry with a black slit234, he was peering with dilated235 eyes within. His cheeks were flushed, and he wore his assassin-like expression. Brutally236 he plunged his hand into the aperture237, and, in his trembling agitation, finding nothing, he had to bring the candle nearer. Then at the bottom of the hole appeared the purse, notes, and watch.
Séverine uttered an involuntary cry, and Roubaud turned round, terrified. At first he failed to recognise her, and seeing her there, all in white, with a look of horror on her countenance238, no doubt took her for a spectre.
"What are you doing there?" she demanded.
Then, understanding, avoiding to answer, he only gave a sullen growl239. But he still looked at her, inconvenienced by her presence, wishing to send her back to bed. And not a reasonable word came to his lips. He simply felt inclined to box her ears, as she stood there shivering in her night-dress.
"So," she continued, "you refuse me a pair of boots, and you take the money for yourself because you have lost."
[Pg 197]
This remark at once enraged240 him. Was she going to spoil his life again, to set herself in front of his pleasures—this woman whom he no longer cared for? Again he rummaged241 in the hole, but only took from it the purse containing the 300 frcs. in gold. And when he had fixed the piece of parquetry in its place with his heel, he went and flung these words in her face, through his set teeth:
"Go to the deuce! I shall act as I choose. Am I asking you what you are going to do, by-and-by, at Paris?"
Then, with a furious shrug242 of the shoulders, he returned to the café, leaving the candle on the floor.
Séverine picked it up, and went back to bed, cold as ice. But, unable to get to sleep again, she kept the candle alight, waiting, with her eyes wide open, until the time came for the departure of the express, and gradually growing burning hot. It was now certain that there had been a progressive disorganisation, like an infiltration243 of the crime, which was decomposing244 this man, and which had worn out every bond between them. Roubaud knew.
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1
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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4
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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5
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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6
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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8
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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13
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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15
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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18
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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formerly
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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detesting
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的现在分词 ) | |
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rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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39
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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40
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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41
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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42
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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43
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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44
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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45
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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46
somnolence
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| n.想睡，梦幻；欲寐；嗜睡；嗜眠 | |
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47
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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48
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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49
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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50
commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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51
slur
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| v.含糊地说；诋毁；连唱；n.诋毁；含糊的发音 | |
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52
stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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53
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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54
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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55
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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56
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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57
catastrophes
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| n.灾祸( catastrophe的名词复数 )；灾难；不幸事件；困难 | |
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58
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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59
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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60
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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61
plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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62
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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63
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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64
annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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65
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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66
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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67
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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68
artifices
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| n.灵巧( artifice的名词复数 )；诡计；巧妙办法；虚伪行为 | |
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69
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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70
importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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71
effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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72
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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73
luncheons
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| n.午餐，午宴( luncheon的名词复数 ) | |
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74
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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75
execration
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| n.诅咒，念咒，憎恶 | |
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76
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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77
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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78
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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79
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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80
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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81
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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82
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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83
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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84
torpidity
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| n.麻痹 | |
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85
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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86
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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87
disillusion
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| vt.使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭 | |
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88
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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89
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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90
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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91
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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92
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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93
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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95
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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96
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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97
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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98
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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99
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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100
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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101
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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102
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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103
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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104
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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105
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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106
haze
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|
| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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107
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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108
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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109
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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111
tarnish
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| n.晦暗，污点；vt.使失去光泽；玷污 | |
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112
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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113
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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114
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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116
insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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117
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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118
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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119
divest
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| v.脱去，剥除 | |
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120
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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121
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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122
slaughtering
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的现在分词 ) | |
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123
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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124
attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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125
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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126
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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127
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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128
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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129
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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130
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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131
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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132
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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133
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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134
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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135
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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136
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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137
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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138
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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139
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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140
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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141
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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142
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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143
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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144
veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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145
slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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146
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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147
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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148
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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149
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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150
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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151
abating
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| 减少( abate的现在分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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152
mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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153
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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154
necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
crumpling
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| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
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156
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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157
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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158
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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159
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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160
deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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161
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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162
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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163
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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164
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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165
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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166
deceptions
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| 欺骗( deception的名词复数 )； 骗术，诡计 | |
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167
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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168
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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169
gore
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| n.凝血，血污；v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破；缝以补裆；顶 | |
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170
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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171
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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172
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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173
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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174
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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175
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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176
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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177
brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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178
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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179
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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180
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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181
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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182
barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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183
slates
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| （旧时学生用以写字的）石板( slate的名词复数 )； 板岩； 石板瓦； 石板色 | |
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184
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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185
assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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186
avowed
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| adj.公开声明的，承认的v.公开声明，承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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187
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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188
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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189
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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190
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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191
stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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192
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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193
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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194
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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195
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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196
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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197
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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198
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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199
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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200
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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201
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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202
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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203
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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204
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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205
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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206
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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207
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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208
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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209
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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210
calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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211
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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212
rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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213
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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214
adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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215
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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216
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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217
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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218
countersign
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| v.副署，会签 | |
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219
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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220
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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221
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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222
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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223
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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224
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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225
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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226
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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227
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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228
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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229
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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230
grovelling
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| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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231
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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232
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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233
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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234
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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235
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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236
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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237
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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238
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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239
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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240
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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241
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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242
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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243
infiltration
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| n.渗透；下渗；渗滤；入渗 | |
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244
decomposing
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| 腐烂( decompose的现在分词 )； （使）分解； 分解（某物质、光线等） | |
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