When the great doors of the Legation had shut upon the two young men, they found themselves under the marquise where Beaufort's sleigh—a very elaborate and fantastic affair—awaited them. Covering themselves with the warm furs, they set off at a furious pace down the Champs Elysées to the Place Louis XV. It was both surprising and alarming to Calvert to note with what reckless rapidity Beaufort drove through the crowded boulevard, where pedestrians2 mingled3 perforce with carriages, sleighs, and chairs, there being no foot pavements, and with what smiling indifference4 he watched their efforts to get out of his horses' way.
"'Tis insufferable, my dear Calvert," he said, when his progress was stopped entirely5 by a crowd of people, who poured out of a small street abutting6 upon the boulevard, "'tis insufferable that this rabble7 cannot make way for a gentleman's carriage."
"I should think the rabble would find it insufferable that a gentleman's carriage should be driven so recklessly in this crowded thoroughfare, my dear Beaufort," returned Calvert, quietly, looking intently at that same rabble as it edged and shuffled8 and slipped its way along into the great street. At Calvert's remark, the young Frenchman shrugged9 his shoulders and shook his reins11 over his impatient horses until the chime of silver bells around their necks rang again. "As usual—in revolt against the powers that be," he laughed.
Calvert leaned forward. "What is it?" he said. "There seems to be some commotion12. They are carrying something."
'Twas as he had said. In the crowd of poor-looking people was a still closer knot of men, evidently carrying some heavy object.
"Qu'est ce qu'il y a, mon ami?" said Calvert, touching13 a man on the shoulder who had been pushed close to the sleigh. The man addressed looked around. He was poorly and thinly clothed, with only a ragged14 muffler knotted about his throat to keep off the stinging cold. From under his great shaggy eyebrows15 a pair of wild, sunken eyes gleamed ferociously16, but there was a smile upon his lips.
"'Tis nothing, M'sieur," he said, nonchalantly. "'Tis only a poor wretch17 who has died from the cold and they are taking him away. You see he could not get any charcoal18 this morning when he went to Monsieur Juigné. 'Tis best so." He turned away carelessly, and, forcing himself through the crowd, was soon lost to sight.
"There are many such," said Beaufort, gloomily, in answer to Calvert's look of inquiry19. "What will you have? The winter has been one of unexampled, of never-ending cold. The government, the curés, the nobles have done much for the poor wretches20, but it has been impossible to relieve the suffering. They have, at least, to be thankful that freezing is such an easy death, and when all is said, they are far better off dead than alive. But it is extremely disagreeable to see the shivering scarecrows on the streets, and they ought to be kept to the poorer quarters of the city." He had thrown off his look of gloom and spoke21 carelessly, though with an effort, as he struck the horses, which started again down the great avenue.
Calvert looked for an instant at Beaufort. "'Tis unlike you to speak so," he said, at length. Indeed, ever since the young man had come into the breakfast-room at the Legation, Calvert had been puzzled by some strange difference in his former friend. It was not that the young Frenchman was so much more elaborately and exquisitely22 dressed than in the days when Calvert had known him in America, or that he was older or of more assurance of manner. There was some subtle change in his very nature, in the whole impression he gave out, or so it seemed to Calvert. There was an air of flippancy23, of careless gayety, about Beaufort now very unlike the ingenuous24 candor25, the boyish simplicity26, of the Beaufort who had served as a volunteer under Rochambeau in the war of American independence.
"What will you have?" he asked again, nonchalantly. "Wait until you have been in Paris awhile and you will better understand our manner of speech. 'Tis a strange enough jargon27, God knows," he said, laughing in a disquieted29 fashion. "And France is not America."
"I see."
"And though the cold is doubtless unfortunate for the poor, the rich have enjoyed the winter greatly. Why, I have not had such sport since d'Azay and I used to go skating on your Schuylkill!" He flicked30 the horses again. "And as for the ladies!—they crowd to the pièces d'eau in the royal gardens. Those that can't skate are pushed about in chairs upon runners or drive all day in their sleighs. 'Tis something new, and, you know, Folly32 must be ever amused."
Even while he spoke numbers of elegantly mounted sleighs swept by, and to the fair occupants of many of them Beaufort bowed with easy grace. Here and there along the wide street great fires were burning, tended by curés in their long cassocks and crowded around by shivering men and women. The doors of the churches and hospitals stood open, and a continual stream of freezing wretches passed in to get warmed before proceeding34 on their way. Upon many houses were large signs bearing a notice to the effect that hot soup would be served free during certain hours, and a jostling, half-starved throng35 was standing36 at each door. There was a sort of terror of misery37 and despair over the whole scene, brilliant though it was, which affected38 Calvert painfully.
"Where are you going to take me?" he asked Beaufort, as the horses turned into the Place Louis XV.
"Where should I be taking you but to the incomparable Palais Royal, the capital of Paris as Paris is of France?" returned Beaufort, gayly. "'Tis a Parisian's first duty to a stranger. There you will see the world in little, hear all the latest news and the most scandalous gossip, find the best wines and coffee, read the latest pamphlets—and let me tell you, my dear Calvert, they come out daily by the dozens in these times—see the best-known men about town, and—but I forget. I am telling you of what the Palais Royal used to be. In these latter times it has changed greatly," he spoke gloomily now. "'Tis the gathering39-place of Orléans men in these days, and they are fast turning into a Hell what was once very nearly an earthly Paradise!"
"You seem to know the place well," said Mr. Calvert.
"No man of fashion but knows it," returned Beaufort, "though I think 'twill soon be deserted40 by all of us who love the King."
"You were not so fond of kings in America," said Calvert, smiling a little.
"I was young and hot-headed then. No, no, Calvert, I have learned many things since Yorktown. Nor do I regret what I then did, but"—he paused an instant—"I see trouble ahead for my country and my class. Shall I not stick to my King and my order? There will be plenty who will desert both. 'Tis not the fashion to be loyal now," he went on, bitterly. "Even d'Azay hath changed. He, like Lafayette and your great friend Mr. Jefferson and so many others, is all for the common people. Perhaps I am but a feather-headed fool, but it seems to me a dangerous policy, and I think, with your Shakespeare, that perhaps 'twere better 'to bear the ills we have'—how goes it? I can never remember verse."
As he finished speaking, he reined41 in his horses sharply, and looking about him, Calvert perceived that they had stopped before a building whose massive exterior42 was most imposing43. Alighting and throwing the reins to the groom44, Beaufort led Calvert under the arcades45 of the Palais Royal and into the grand courtyard, where were such crowds and such babel of noises as greatly astonished the young American. Shops lined the sides of the vast building—shops of every variety, filled with every kind of luxury known to that luxurious46 age; cafés whose reputation had spread throughout Europe, swarming47 with people, all seemingly under the influence of some strange agitation48; book-stalls teeming49 with brand-new publications and crowded with eager buyers; marionette50 shows; theatres; dancing-halls—all were there. Boys, bearing trays slung51 about their shoulders by leathern straps52 and heaped with little trick toys, moved continually among the throngs53, hawking54 their wares55 and explaining the operation of them. Streams of people passed continually through the velvet56 curtains hung before Herr Curtius's shop to see his marvellous waxworks57 within. Opposite this popular resort was the Théatre de Seraphim58, famed for its "ombres chinoises," and liberally patronized by the frequenters of the Palais Royal. A little farther along under the arcades was the stall where Mademoiselle la Pierre, the Prussian giantess, could be seen for a silver piece. Next to this place of amusement was a small salon59 containing a mechanical billiard-table, over which a billiard-ball, when adroitly60 struck, would roll, touching the door of a little gilded61 chateau62 and causing the images of celebrated63 personages to appear at each of the windows, to the huge delight of the easily amused crowds.
Cold as the afternoon was, the press of people was tremendous, and besides the numbers bent64 on amusement, throngs of men stood about under the wind-swept arcades, talking excitedly, some with frightened, furtive65 face and air, others boldly and recklessly.
As they passed along, Calvert noted66 with surprise that Beaufort seemed to have but few acquaintances among the crowds of gesticulating, excited men, and that the look of disquiet28 upon his face was intensifying67 each moment. When they reached the Café de l'école, the storm burst.
"'Tis an infernal shame," he said, angrily, sinking into a chair at a small table, and pointing Calvert to the one opposite him, "'tis an infernal shame that this pleasure palace should be made the hotbed of political intrigue68; that these brawling69, demented demagogues should be allowed to rant70 and rave31 here to an excited mob; that these disloyal, seditious pamphlets should be distributed and read and discussed beneath the windows of the King's own cousin! The King must be mad to permit this folly, which increases daily. Where will it end?" He looked at Calvert and clapped his hands together. A waiter came running up.
"What will you have, Calvert?—some of the best cognac and coffee?" he asked. "There is no better to be found in all France than here."
"'Twill suit me excellently," said Calvert, absently, thinking more of what Beaufort had told him of the tendencies of the times than of the coffee and cognac of the Café de l'école. As he spoke, the man, who had stood by passively awaiting his orders, suddenly started and looked at the young American attentively71.
"But—pardon, Messieurs," he stammered72, "is it possible that I see Monsieur Calvert at Paris?" Beaufort looked up in astonishment73 at the servant who had so far forgotten himself as to address two gentlemen without permission, and Calvert, turning to the man and studying his face for an instant, suddenly seized him by the hand cordially, and exclaimed, "My good Bertrand, is it indeed you?"
"Ah! Monsieur—what happiness! I had never thought to see Monsieur again!"
"Then you were destined74 to be greatly mistaken, Bertrand," returned Calvert, laughing, "for you are likely to see me often. I am to be here in Paris for an indefinite length of time, and as Monsieur de Beaufort tells me that the Café de l'école surpasses all others, I shall be here very frequently."
"And now," broke in Beaufort, addressing the man, who still stood beaming with delight and surprise upon Calvert, "go and get us our coffee and cognac." The man departed hastily and Beaufort turned to Calvert.
"Allow me to congratulate you upon finding an acquaintance in Paris so soon! May I ask who the gentleman is?"
"The gentleman was once a private in a company under Monsieur de Lafayette's orders before Yorktown, and is my very good friend," says Calvert, quietly, ignoring Beaufort's somewhat disdainful raillery. What he did not tell Beaufort was that Private Bertrand owed his life and much material aid to himself, and that the man was profoundly devoted75 and grateful. In Calvert's estimation it was but a simple service he had rendered the poor soldier—rescuing him from many dying and wounded comrades who had fallen in that first fierce onslaught upon the Yorktown redoubt. He had directed the surgeon to dress the man's wounds—he had been knocked on the head with a musket—and had eased the poor wretch's mind greatly by speaking to him in his own tongue, for most of the French soldiery under Rochambeau and Lafayette knew not a word of English. When Bertrand recovered, Calvert had sent him a small sum of money and a kind message, neither of which was the man likely to forget. Never, in the whole course of his pinched, oppressed young life in France, had kindness and consideration been shown him from those above him. Tyranny and abuse had been his lot and the lot of those all about him, and such a passionate76 devotion for the young American officer was kindled77 in his breast as would have greatly astonished its object had he known it. It was with an almost ludicrous air of solicitude78 that Bertrand placed the coffee before Calvert and poured out his cognac and then hung about, waiting anxiously for any sign or word from him.
"Is it not the best coffee in the world?" said Beaufort, sipping79 his complacently80 and looking about the crowded room for a familiar face. Apparently81 he found none, for, leaning across the table and speaking to Calvert quite loudly and in an insolent82 tone, he said, "'Tis a good thing the coffee is of the best, or, my word of honor, I would not come to a place which gentlemen seem to have abandoned and to which canaille flock." And with that he leaned back and looked about him with a fine nonchalance83. There was a little murmur84 of suppressed ejaculations and menaces from those nearest who had heard his words, but it soon subsided85 at the sight of Monsieur de Beaufort's handsome face and reckless air.
"There is also another charm about the Café de l'école, my dear Calvert," he said, speaking in a slightly lower tone and with an appreciative86 smile. "Monsieur Charpentier, our host, has a most undeniably pretty daughter. She is the caissière, fortunately, and may be seen—and admired—at any time. We will see her as we go out. And speaking of beauties," he continued, turning the stem of his wine-glass slowly around, "you have asked no word of Mademoiselle d'Azay—or, I should say, Madame la Marquise de St. André!"
"Ah!" said Calvert, politely, "is she married?"
"What a cold-blooded creature!" said Beaufort, laughing. "Let me tell you, Calvert, the marriage which you take so nonchalantly was the sensation of Paris. It was the talk of the town for weeks, and the strangest marriage—if marriage it can be called—ever heard of. 'Tis now three years since Mademoiselle Adrienne d'Azay finished her studies at the Couvent de Marmoutier ('tis an old abbaye on the banks of the Loire, Calvert, near Azay-le-Roi, the chateau of the d'Azay family) and came to dazzle all Paris under the chaperonage of her great aunt, the old Duchesse d'Azay. As you have seen her portrait—and, I dare say, remember its smallest detail—I will spare you the recital87 of those charms which captivated half the young gentlemen of our world on her first appearance at court. She became the rage, and, before six months had passed, Madame d'Azay had arranged a marriage with the rich old St. André. She would sell her own soul for riches, Calvert; judge, therefore, how willingly she would sell her niece's soul." He paused an instant and tapped impatiently on the table for another glass of cognac.
"It was a great match, I suppose," hazarded Calvert.
"Oh, yes; Monsieur de St. André was a man high in the confidence of both the King and Queen—and let me tell thee, 'tis no easy matter to please both the King and Queen—and a man of rank and fortune. 'Tis safe to say the Duchess was most concerned as to his fortune, which was enormous. He was a trifle old, however, for Mademoiselle d'Azay, he being near sixty-five, and she but eighteen."
"Gracious Heaven!" ejaculated Calvert. "What a cruel wrong to so young a creature! What a marriage!"
"Upon my word, I believe only the recital of wrong has power to stir that cold American blood of thine," said Beaufort, laughing again. "But do not excite yourself too much. After all 'twas scarcely a marriage, for, within an hour after the ceremony, the elderly bridegroom was alone in his travelling coach on his way to Madrid, sent thither88 at the instant and urgent command of the King on important private business connected with the Family Compact. From that journey he never returned alive, being attacked with a fatal fluxion of the lungs at a great public banquet given in his honor by Count Florida Blanca. His body was brought back to France, and his soi-disant widow mourned him decorously for a year. Since then she has been the gayest, as she is the fairest, creature in the great world of Paris."
"Is she, indeed, so beautiful?" asked Calvert, indifferently.
"She is truly incomparable," returned Beaufort, warmly. "And I promise thee, Ned," he went on, in his reckless fashion, "that that cool head of thine and that stony89 heart—if thou hast a heart, which I scarce believe—will be stirred at sight of Madame de St. André, or I know not the power of a lovely face—and no man knows better the power of a lovely face than I, who am moved by every one I see!" he added, laughing ruefully. "Besides her beauty and her fortune, there is a wayward brilliancy about her, a piquant90 charm in her state of widowed maid, that makes her fairly irresistible91. The Queen finds her charming and that Madame de Polignac is pleased to be jealous. 'Tis even said that d'Artois and d'Orléans, those archenemies, agree only in finding her enchanting92, and the rumor93 goes that 'twas d'Artois's influence that sent the elderly husband off post-haste to Madrid. A score of gentlemen dangle94 after her constantly, though apparently there is no one she prefers—unless," he hesitated, and Calvert noticed that he paled a little and spoke with an effort, "unless it be Monsieur le Baron95 de St. Aulaire."
"And who is Monsieur de St. Aulaire?" inquired Calvert.
"A most charming man and consummate96 villain," says Beaufort, with a gloomy smile. "The fine fleur of our aristocracy, a maker97 of tender rhymes, a singer of tender songs, a good swordsman, a brilliant wit, a perfect courtier, a lucky gambler—in a word, just that fortunate combination of noble and ignoble98 qualities most likely to fascinate Madame de St. André," and a shadow settled for a moment on the debonair99 face of Monsieur de Beaufort.
It did not need that shadow or that effort at light raillery to inform Calvert that Beaufort himself was an unsuccessful unit in the "score of gentlemen who dangled100 after" Madame de St. André, and he would have essayed to offer his friend some comfort had he known how. But the truth was that Calvert, never having experienced the anguish101 and delights of love, felt a natural hesitation102 in proffering103 either sympathy or advice to one so much wiser than himself.
While he was revolving104 some expression of interest (it was always his way to think well before speaking and to keep silent if his thoughts were not to his entire satisfaction), a sudden murmur, which rapidly developed into a deep roar as it drew nearer, was heard outside, and at the Café de l'école the shouting ceased and one man's voice, harsh, incisive105, agitated106, could be heard above all the others. Looking through the wide glass doors Calvert and Beaufort saw in the gathering dusk the possessor of that voice being raised hurriedly upon the shoulders of those who stood nearest him in the throng, and in that precarious107 position he remained for a few minutes haranguing108 the turbulent mass of people. Suddenly he sprang down, and, elbowing his way through the crowd, he entered the Café de l'école, followed by as many as could squeeze themselves into the already crowded room.
"What is it?" Beaufort demanded, languidly, of Bertrand. The man, by tiptoeing, was trying to see over the heads of the smokers109 and drinkers, who had risen to their feet and were applauding the orator110 who had just entered.
"It is Monsieur Danton who is come in. He is making his way to the caisse, doubtless to speak with Madame, his wife. Evidently Monsieur has just addressed a throng in the Gardens."
"Ah! then 'tis certainly time that we go, since Monsieur Danton invades the place. 'Tis a poverty-stricken young lawyer from Arcis-sur-Aube, my dear Calvert," said Beaufort, disdainfully, "who has but lately come to Paris and who, having no briefs to occupy his time, fills it to good advantage by wooing and marrying the pretty Charpentier. The pretty Charpentier has a pretty dot. I can't show you the dot, but come with me and I will show you the beauty."
He got up from the table followed by Calvert and, with his hand laid lightly on his silver dress sword, made his way easily through the surly crowd, who, seemingly impelled111 by some irresistible power and against their wish, opened a passage for him and the young stranger. As they drew near the comptoir, Calvert perceived for the first time, leaning against it, the man who had created such an excitement by his words and sudden entrance. He was a big, burly figure, with a head and face that had something of the bull in them. Indeed, they had come by that resemblance honestly, for a bull had tossed him, goring112 the lips and flattening113 the nose, and the marks were never to be effaced114. Smallpox115, too, had left its sign in the deeply scarred skin. Only the eyes remained to show one what might have been the original beauty of the face. They shone, brilliant and keen, from beneath great tufted eyebrows, above which waved a very lion's mane of rough, dark hair.
"A face to be remembered, this Monsieur Danton's," said Calvert to himself. And, indeed, it was. Years afterward116, when he saw it again and for the last time, every detail of that rugged10 countenance117 was as fresh in his memory as it was at that moment in the Café de l'école. As for Danton, all unconscious of the young American's scrutiny118, his gaze was bent upon the pretty, vivacious119 little beauty who sat behind the caisse, and had so lately become Madame Danton. As he looked, the harsh features softened120 and a sentimental121 expression came into the keen eyes. "'Tis the same conquered, slavish look the painter hath put into the lion's face when Ariadne is by," mused33 Calvert to himself.
Beaufort was counting out silver pieces slowly, and slowly dropping them on the caissière's desk. He looked at Calvert and nodded appreciatively, coolly toward Madame Danton.
"Quelle charmante tête," he said, lightly, nonchalantly.
The burly figure leaning on the comptoir straightened up as if stung into action; the softened eyes kindled with speechless wrath122 and flamed into the imperturbable123, debonair face of Monsieur de Beaufort. One of the silver pieces rolled upon the floor. Calvert stooped quickly for it. "Madame will permit me," he said, courteously124, and, lifting his hat, placed the coin upon the desk. Without another look or word he turned and, followed leisurely126 by Beaufort, made his way to the door.
"An insolent," said Danton, savagely127, to Madame, and gazing after
Beaufort's retreating back.
"Yes," returned Madame, grinding her pretty teeth with rage—"Monsieur le Vicomte de Beaufort is an insolent—and not for the first time."
"I shall remember Monsieur le Vicomte de Beaufort's insolence128 as well as
I shall remember the Englishman's politeness."
Bertrand edged nearer the herculean Monsieur Danton. "Pardon, M'sieur," he commenced, nervously129, "it is not an Englishman—it is an American—a young American officer—Monsieur Calvert—aide-decamp to Monsieur le Marquis de Lafayette, before Yorktown. A patriot130 of patriots131, Messieurs," he went on, turning to the listening throng about him; "a lover of freedom, a compassionate132 heart. He saved me from death, Messieurs, he gave me money, he sent me clothing, he saw that I was fed and cared for, Messieurs." He told his story with many gesticulations and much emphasis, interrupted now and then by huzzas for the young American.
Calvert would have been vastly astonished to know that the lifting of his hat and his courteous125 tone had contrived133 to make a popular hero of him; as much astonished, perhaps, as Beaufort to know that his careless, impertinent compliment to Madame Danton's charming head had sealed the fate of his own. But 'tis in this hap-hazard fashion that the destiny of mortals is decided134. We are but the victims of chance or mischance. Of all vainglorious135 philosophies, that of predestination is the vainest.
Outside, the night had fallen, and the shops, arcades, and gardens of the Palais Royal were ablaze136 with innumerable candles and illuminated137 Chinese lanterns. Before the entrance Monsieur de Beaufort's groom was walking his half-frozen and restless horses up and down the icy street.
Beaufort laid his hand on Calvert's arm. "Come," he said, gloomily, "the place is become insufferable. Let me take you back to the Legation." Springing in he turned his horses' heads once more toward the Place Louis XV. and the Champs Elysées, and, while he guided them through the crowded and badly lighted thoroughfare, Calvert had leisure to think upon the events of the last hour. It was with resentment138 and shame he reflected upon his friend's airy insolence to the pretty caissière of the Café de l'école. That it should have been offered in her husband's presence was a gratuitous139 aggravation140 of the offence. That it should have been offered her with such disdainful contempt for any objection on her part or her husband's, with such easy assurance that there could be no objections on their part, was another gratuitous aggravation of the offence. In that noble insolence Calvert read a sign of the times more legible than the clearest writing in the pamphlets flooding the book-stalls of the Palais Royal.
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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abutting
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| adj.邻接的v.（与…）邻接( abut的现在分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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commotion
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touching
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ragged
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eyebrows
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ferociously
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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charcoal
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inquiry
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wretches
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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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exquisitely
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flippancy
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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candor
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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jargon
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disquiet
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| n.担心，焦虑 | |
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disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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31
rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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32
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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34
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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35
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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36
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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37
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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38
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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39
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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40
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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41
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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42
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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43
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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44
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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45
arcades
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| n.商场( arcade的名词复数 )；拱形走道（两旁有商店或娱乐设施）；连拱廊；拱形建筑物 | |
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46
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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47
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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48
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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49
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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50
marionette
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| n.木偶 | |
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51
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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52
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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53
throngs
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| n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群，挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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55
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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56
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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waxworks
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| n.公共供水系统；蜡制品，蜡像( waxwork的名词复数 ) | |
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58
seraphim
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| n.六翼天使(seraph的复数)；六翼天使( seraph的名词复数 ) | |
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59
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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60
adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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61
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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62
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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63
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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67
intensifying
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的现在分词 )；增辉 | |
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68
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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69
brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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70
rant
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| v.咆哮；怒吼；n.大话；粗野的话 | |
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71
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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72
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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73
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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74
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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75
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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76
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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77
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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78
solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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79
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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80
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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81
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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82
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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83
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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84
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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85
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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86
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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87
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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88
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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89
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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90
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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91
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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92
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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93
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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94
dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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95
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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96
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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97
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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98
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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99
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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100
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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101
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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102
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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103
proffering
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的现在分词 ) | |
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104
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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105
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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106
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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107
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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108
haranguing
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| v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 ) | |
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109
smokers
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| 吸烟者( smoker的名词复数 ) | |
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110
orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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111
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
goring
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| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的现在分词 ) | |
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113
flattening
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| n. 修平 动词flatten的现在分词 | |
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114
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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115
smallpox
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| n.天花 | |
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116
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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117
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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118
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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119
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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120
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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121
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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122
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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123
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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124
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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125
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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126
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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127
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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128
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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129
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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130
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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131
patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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132
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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133
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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134
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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135
vainglorious
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| adj.自负的；夸大的 | |
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136
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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137
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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138
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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139
gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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140
aggravation
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| n.烦恼，恼火 | |
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