In less than a half hour we were watching the entrance of the coach by the side of Madame Le Mois. We were all three seated on the green bench.
Faintly at first, and presently gaining in distinctness, came the fall of horses' hoofs11 and the rumble12 of wheels along the highway. A little cavalcade13 was soon passing beneath the archway. First there dashed in two horsemen, who had sprung to the ground almost as soon as their steeds' hoofs struck the paved court-yard. Then there swept by a jaunty14 dog cart, driven by a mannish figure radiantly robed in white. Swiftly following came the dash and jingle15 of four coach-horses, bathed in sweat, rolling the vehicle into the court as if its weight were a thing of air. All save one among the gay party seated on the high seats, were too busy with themselves and their chatter16, to take heed17 of their surroundings. A lady beneath her deep parasol was busily engaged in a gay traffic of talk with the groups of men peopling the back seats of the coach. One of the men, however, was craning his neck beyond the heads of his companions; he was running his eye rapidly up and down the long inn facade18. Finally his glance rested on us; and then, with a rush, a deep red mounted the man's cheek, as he tore off his derby to wave it, as if in a triumph of discovery. Renard had been true to his promise. He had come to see his friends and to test the famous Sauterne. He flung himself down from his lofty perch19 to take his seat, entirely20 as a matter of course, beside us on the green bench.
"What luck, hey?—greatest luck in the world, finding you in, like this. I've been in no end of a tremble, fearing you'd gone to Caen, or Falaise, or somewhere, and that I shouldn't see you after all. Well, how are you? How goes it? What do you think of old Dives and Monsieur Paul, and the rest of it? I see you're settled; you took the palace chamber. Trust American women—they know the best, and get it."
"But these people, who are they, and how did you—?" We were unfeignedly glad to see him, but curiosity is a passion not to be trifled with—after a month in the provinces.
"Oh—the De Troisacs? Old friends of mine—known them years. Jolly lot. Charming fellow, De Troisac—only good Frenchman I've ever known. They're just off their yacht; saw them all yesterday at the Trouville Casino. Said they were running down here for breakfast to-day, asked me, and I came, of course." He laughed as he added: "I said I should come, you remember, to get some of that Sauterne. A man will go any distance for a good bottle of wine, you know."
Meanwhile, in the court-yard, the party on the coach, by means of ladders and the helping21 of the grooms23, were scrambling24 down from their seats. Renard's friend, the Comte de Troisac, was easily picked out from the group of men. He was the elder of the party—stoutish, with frank eyes and a smiling mouth; he was bustling26 about from the gaunt grooms to the ladder, and from ladder to the coach-seat, giving his commands right and left, and executing most of them himself. A tall, slim woman, with drooping27 eyelids28, and an air of extreme elegance29 and of cultivated fatigue30, was also easily recognizable as the countess. It took two grooms, two of the gentlemen guests, and her husband to assist her to the ground. Her passage down the steps of the ladder had been long enough, however, to enable her to display a series of pretty poses, each one more effective than the others. When one has an instep of ideal elevation31, what is the use of being born a Frenchwoman, unless one knows how to make use of opportunity?
From the dog-cart, that had rattled32 in across the cobbles with a dash and a spurt33, there came quite a different accent and pose. The whitish personage, whom we had mistakenly supposed to be a man, wore petticoats; the male attire34 only held as far as the waist of the lady. The stiff white shirt-front, the knotted tie—a faultless male knot—the loose driving-jacket, with its sprig of white geranium, and the round straw-hat worn in mannish fashion, close to the level brows, was a costume that would have deceived either sex. Below the jacket flowed the straight lines of a straight skirt, that no further conjectures35 should be rendered necessary. This lady had a highbred air of singular distinction, accentuated36 by a tremendously knowing look. She was at once elegant and rakish; the gamin in her was obviously the touch of caviare to season the woman of fashion. The mixture made an extraordinarily37 attractive ensemble38. As she jumped to the ground, throwing her reins39 to a groom22, her jump was a master-stroke; it landed her squarely on her feet; even as she struck the ground her hands were thrust deeply into her pockets. The man seated beside her, who now leaped out after her, seemed timid and awkward by contrast with her alert precision. This couple moved at once toward the bench on which madame was seated. With the coming in of the coach and the cart she had risen, waddling40 forward to meet the party. Monsieur Paul was at the coach-wheels before the grooms had shot themselves down; De Troisac, with eager friendliness41, stretched forth42 a hand from the top of his seat, exclaiming, with gay heartiness43, "Ah, mon bon—comment ?a va?"
The mere44 was as eagerly greeted. Even the countess dismissed her indifference45 for the moment, as she held out her hand to Madame Le Mois.
"Dear Madame Le Mois—and it goes well with you? And the gout and the rheumatism46, they have ceased to torment47 you? Quelle bonne nouvelle! And here are the dear old cocks and the wounded bantam. The cockatoos—ah, there they are, still swinging in the air! Comme c'est joli—et frais—et que ?a sent bon!"
Madame and Monsieur Paul were equally effusive48 in their inquiries49 and exclamations—it was clearly a meeting of old friends. Madame Le Mois' face was meanwhile a study. The huge surface was glistening50 with pleasure; she was unfeignedly glad to see these Parisians:—but there was no elation51 at this meeting on such easy terms with greatness. Her shrewdness was as alive as ever; she was about to make money out of the visit—they were to have of her best, but they must pay for it. Between her rapid fire of questionings as to the countess's health and the history of her travels, there was as rapid a shower of commands, sometimes shouted out, above all the hubbub52, to the cooks standing53 gaping54 in the kitchen doorway55, or whispered hoarsely56 to Ernestine and Marianne, who were flying about like wild pigeons, a little drunk with the novelty of this first breakfast of the season.
"Allons, mon enfant—cours—cours—get thy linen57, my child, and the silver candélabres. It is to be laid in the Marmousets, thou knowest. Paul will come presently. And the salads, pluck them and bring them in to me—cours—cours."
The great world was all very well, and it was well to be on friendly, even intimate terms, with it; but, Dieu! one's own bread is of importance too! And the countess, for all her delicacy58, was a bonne fourchette.
The countess and her friend, after a moment of standing in the court-yard, of patting the pelican59, of trying their blandishments on the flamingo60, of catching61 up the bantam, and filling the air with their purring, and caressing62, and incessant63 chatter, passed beneath the low door to the inner sanctum of madame. The two ladies were clearly bent64 on a few moments of unreserved gossip and that repairing of the toilet which is a religious act to women of fashion the world over.
In the court-yard the scene was still a brilliant one. The gayly painted coach was now deserted65. It stood, a chariot of state, as it were, awaiting royalty66; its yellow sides gleamed like topaz in the sun. The grooms were unharnessing the leaders, that were still bathed in the white of their sweat. The count's dove-colored flannels67 were a soft mass against the snow of the chef's apron68 and cap; the two were in deep consultation69 at the kitchen door. Monsieur Paul was showing, with all the absorption of the artist, his latest Jumièges carvings71 to the taller, more awkward of the gentlemen, to the one driven in by the mannish beauty.
The cockatoos had not ceased shrieking72 from the very beginning of the hubbub; nor had the squirrels stopped running along the bars of their cage, a-flutter with excitement. The peacocks trailed their trains between the coach-wheels, announcing, squawkingly, their delight at the advent73 of a larger audience. Above the cries of the fowls74 and the shrieks75 of the cocks, the chatter of human tongues, the subdued76 murmur77 of the ladies' voices coming through the open lattice, and the stamp of horses' hoofs, there swept above it all the light June breeze, rustling78 in the vines, shaking the thick branches against the wooden facades79.
The two ladies soon made their appearance in the sunlit court-yard. The murmur of their talk and their laughter reached us, along with the froufrou of their silken petticoats.
"You were not bored, chère enfant, driving Monsieur d'Agreste all that long distance?"
The countess was smiling tenderly into her companion's face. She had stopped her to readjust the geranium sprig that was drooping in her friend's cover-coat. The smile was the smile of a sympathizing angel, but what a touch of hidden malice80 there was in the notes of her caressing voice! As she repinned the boutonnière, she gave the dancing eyes, that were brimming with the mirth of the coming retort, the searching inquest of her glance.
"Bored! Dieu, que non!" The black little beauty threw back her throat, laughing, as she rolled her great eyes. "Bored—with all the tricks I was playing? Fernande! pity me, there was such a little time, and so much to do!"
"So little time—only fourteen kilos!" The countess compressed her lips; they were smiling no longer.
"Ah, but you see, I had so much to combat. You had a whole season, last summer, in which to play your game, your solemn game." Here the gay young widow rippled81 forth a pearly scale of treble laughter. "And I have had only a week, thus far!"
"Yes, but what time you make!"
And this time both ladies laughed, although, still, only one laughed well.
"Ah! those women—how they love each other," commented Renard, as he sat on the bench, swinging his legs, with his eyes following the two vanishing figures. "Only women who are intimate—Parisian intimates—can cut to the bone like that, with a surgeon's dexterity82."
He explained then that the handsome brunette was a widow, a certain Baronne d'Autun, noted83 for her hunting and her conquests; the last on the latter list was Monsieur d'Agreste, a former admirer of the countess; he was somewhat famous as a scientist and socialist84, so good a socialist as to refuse to wear his title of duke. The other two gentlemen of the party, who had joined them now, the two horsemen, were the Comtes de Mirant and de Fonbriant. These latter were two typical young swells85 of the Jockey Club model; their vacant, well-bred faces wore the correct degree of fashionable pallor, and their manners appeared to be also as perfect as their glances were insolent86.
Into these vacant faces the languid countess was breathing the inspiration of her smile. Enigmatic as was the latter, it was as simple as an infant's compared to the occult character of her glance. A wealth of complexities87 lay enfolded in the deep eyes, rimmed88 with their mystic darkened circlet—that circle in which the Parisienne frames her experience, and through which she pleads to have it enlarged!
A Frenchwoman and cosmetics90! Is there any other combination on this round earth more suggestive of the comedy of high life, of its elegance and of its perfidy91, of its finish and of its emptiness?
The men of the party wore costumes perilously92 suggestive of Opera Bouffe models. Their fingers were richly begemmed; their watch-chains were laden93 with seals and charms. Any one of the costumes was such as might have been chosen by a tenor94 in which to warble effectively to a soubrette on the boards of a provincial95 theatre; and it was worn by these fops of the Jockey Club with the air of its being the last word in nautical96 fashions. Better than their costumes were their voices; for what speech from human lips pearls itself off with such crispness and finish as the delicate French idiom from a Parisian tongue?
I never quite knew how it came about that we were added to this gay party of breakfasters. We found ourselves, however, after a high skirmish of preliminary presentations, among the number to take our places at the table.
In the Chambre des Marmousets, Monsieur Paul, we found, had set the feast with the taste of an artist and the science of an archaeologist. The table itself was long and narrow, a genuine fifteenth century table. Down the centre ran a strip of antique altar-lace; the sides were left bare, that the lustre97 of the dark wood might be seen. In the centre was a deep old Caen bowl, with grapes and fuchsias to make a mound98 of soft color. A pair of seventeenth-century candélabres twisted and coiled their silver branches about their rich repoussé columns; here and there on the yellow strip of lace were laid bunches of June roses, those only of the rarer and older varieties having been chosen, and each was tied with a Louis XV love-knot. Monsieur Paul was himself an omniscient99 figure at the feast; he was by turns officiating as butler, carving70, or serving from the side-tables; or he was crossing the court-yard with his careful, catlike tread, a bottle under each arm. He was also constantly appealed to by Monsieur d'Agreste or the count, to settle a dispute about the age of the china, or the original home of the various old chests scattered100 about the room.
"Paul, your stained glass shows up well in this light," the count called out, wiping his mustache over his soup-plate.
"Yes," answered Monsieur Paul, as he went on serving the sherry, pausing for a moment at the count's glass. "They always look well in full sunlight. It was a piece of pure luck, getting them. One can always count on getting hold of tapestries101 and carvings, but old glass is as rare as—"
"A pretty woman," interpolated the gay young widow, with the air of a connoisseur102.
"Outside of Paris—you should have added," gallantly103 contributed the count. Everyone went on eating after the light laughter had died away.
The countess had not assisted at this brief conversation; she was devoting her attention to receiving the devotion of the two young counts; one was on either side of her, and both gave every outward and visible sign of wearing her chains, and of wearing them with insistance. The real contest between them appeared to be, not so much which should make the conquest of the languid countess, as which should outflank the other in his compromising demeanor104. The countess, beneath her drooping lids, watched them with the indulgent indolence of a lioness, too luxuriously105 lazy to spring.
The countess, clearly, was not made for sunlight. In the courtyard her face had seemed chiefly remarkable106 as a triumph of cosmetic89 treatment; here, under this rich glow, the purity and delicacy of the features easily placed her among the beauties of the Parisian world. Her eyes, now that the languor107 of the lids was disappearing with the advent of the wines, were magnificent; her use of them was an open avowal108 of her own knowledge of their splendor109. The young widow across the table was also using her eyes, but in a very different fashion. She had now taken off her straw hat; the curly crop of a brown mane gave the brilliant face an added accent of vigor110. The chien de race was the dominant111 note now in the muscular, supple112 body, the keen-edged nostrils113, and the intent gaze of the liquid eyes. These latter were fixed114 with the fixity of a savage115 on Charm. She was giving, in a sweet sibilant murmur, the man seated next her—Monsieur d'Agreste, the man who refused to bear his title—her views of the girl.
"Those Americans, the Americans of the best type, are a race apart, I tell you; we have nothing like them; we condemn116 them because we don't understand them. They understand us—they read us—"
"Oh, they read our books—the worst of them."
"Yes, but they read the best too; and the worst don't seem to hurt them. I'll warrant that Mees Gay—that is her name, is it not?—has read Zola, for instance; and yet, see how simple and innocent—yes—innocent, she looks."
"Yes, the innocence117 of experience—which knows how to hide," said
Monsieur d'Agreste, with a slight shrug118.
"Mees Gay!" the countess cried out across the table, suddenly waking from her somnolence119; she had overheard the baroness120 in spite of the low tone in which the dialogue had been carried on; her voice was so mellifluously121 sweet, one instinctively122 scented123 a touch of hidden poison in it—"Mees Gay, there is a question being put at this side of the table you alone can answer. Pray pardon the impertinence of a personal question—but we hear that American young ladies read Zola; is it true?"
"I am afraid that we do read him," was Charm's frank answer. "I have read him—but my reading is all in the past tense now."
"Ah—you found him too highly seasoned?" one of the young counts asked, eagerly, with his nose in the air, as if scenting124 an indiscretion.
"No, I did not go far enough to get a taste of his horrors; I stopped at his first period."
"And what do you call his first period, dear mademoiselle?" The countess's voice was still freighted with honey. Her husband coughed and gave her a warning glance, and Renard was moving uneasily in his chair.
"Oh," Charm answered lightly, "his best period—when he didn't sell."
Everyone laughed. The little widow cried beneath her breath:
"Elle a de l'esprit, celle-là—-"
"Elle en a de trop," retorted the countess.
"Did you ever read Zola's 'Quatre Saisons?'" Renard asked, turning to the count, at the other end of the table.
No, the count had not read it—but he could read the story of a beautiful nature when he encountered one, and presently he allowed Charm to see how absorbing he found its perusal125.
"Ah, bien—et tout25 de même—Zola, yes, he writes terrible books; but he is a good man—a model husband and father," continued Monsieur d'Agreste, addressing the table.
"And Daudet—he adores his wife and children," added the count, as if with a determination to find only goodness in the world.
"I wonder how posterity126 will treat them? They'll judge their lives by their books, I presume."
"Yes, as we judge Rabelais or Voltaire—"
"Or the English Shakespeare by his 'Hamlet.'"
"Ah! what would not Voltaire have done with Hamlet!" The countess was beginning to wake again.
"And Molière? What of his 'Misanthrope127?' There is a finished, a human, a possible Hamlet! a Hamlet with flesh and blood," cried out the younger count on her right. "Even Mounet-Sully could do nothing with the English Hamlet."
"Ah, well, Mounet-Sully did all that was possible with the part. He made Hamlet at least a lover!"
"Ah, love! as if, even on the stage, one believed in that absurdity128 any longer!" was the countess's malicious129 comment.
"Then, if you have ceased to believe in love, why did you go so religiously to Monsieur Caro's lectures?" cried the baroness.
"Oh, that dear Caro! He treated the passions so delicately, he handled them as if they were curiosities. One went to hear his lecture on Love as one might go to hear a treatise130 on the peculiarities131 of an extinct species," was the countess's quiet rejoinder.
"One should believe in love, if only to prove one's unbelief in it," murmured the young count on her left.
"Ah, my dear comte, love, nowadays, like nature, should only be used for decoration, as a bit of stage setting, or as stage scenery."
"A moonlight night can be made endurable, sometimes," whispered the count.
"A clair de lune that ends in lune de miel, that is the true use to which to put the charms of Diana." It was Monsieur d'Agreste's turn now to murmur in the baroness's ear.
"Oh, honey, it becomes so cloying132 in time," interpolated the countess, who had overheard; she overheard everything. She gave a wearied glance at her husband, who was still talking vigorously to Charm and Renard. She went on softly: "It's like trying to do good. All goodness, even one's own, bores one in the end. At Basniège, for example, lovely as it is, ideally feudal133, and with all its towers as erect134 as you please, I find this modern virtue135, this craze for charity, as tiresome136 as all the rest of it. Once you've seen that all the old women have woollen stockings, and that each cottage has fagots enough for the winter, and your role of benefactress is at an end. In Paris, at least, charity is sometimes picturesque137; poverty there is tainted138 with vice139. If one believed in anything, it might be worth while to begin a mission; but as it is—"
"The gospel of life, according to you, dear comtesse, is that in modern life there is no real excitement except in studying the very best way to be rid of it," cried out Renard, from the bottom of the table.
"True; but suicide is such a coarse weapon," the lady answered, quite seriously; "so vulgar now, since the common people have begun to use it. Besides, it puts your adversary140, the world, in possession of your secret of discontent. No, no. Suicide, the invention of the nineteenth century, goes out with it. The only refined form of suicide is to bore one's self to death," and she smiled sweetly into the young man's eyes nearest her.
"Ah, comtesse, you should not have parted so early in life with all your illusions," was Monsieur d'Agreste's protest across the table.
"And, Monsieur d'Agreste, it isn't given to us all to go to the ends of the earth, as you do, in search of new ones! This friction141 of living doesn't wear on you as it does on the rest of us."
"Ah, the ends of the earth, they are very much like the middle and the beginning of things. Man is not so very different, wherever you find him. The only real difference lies in the manner of approaching him. The scientist, for example, finds him eternally fresh, novel, inspiring; he is a mine only as yet half-worked." Monsieur d'Agreste was beginning to wake up; his eyes, hitherto, alone had been alive; his hands had been busy, crunching142 his bread; but his tongue had been silent.
"Ah—h science! Science is only another anaesthetic—it merely helps to kill time. It is a hobby, like any other," was the countess's rejoinder.
"Perhaps," courteously143 returned Monsieur d'Agreste, with perfect sweetness of temper. "But at least, it is a hobby that kills no one else. And if of a hobby you can make a principle—"
"A principle?" The countess contracted her brows, as if she had heard a word that did not please her.
"Yes, dear lady; the wise man lays out his life as a gardener does a garden, on the principle of selection, of order, and with a view to the succession of the seasons. You all bemoan144 the dulness of life; you, in Paris, the torpor145 of ennui146 stifles147 you, you cry. On the contrary, I would wish the days were weeks, and the weeks months. And why? Simply because I have discovered the philosopher's stone. I have grasped the secret of my era. The comedy of rank is played out; the life of the trifler is at an end; all that went out with the Bourbons. Individualism is the new order. To-day a man exists simply by virtue of his own effort—he stands on his own feet. It is the era of the republican, of the individual—science is the true republic. For us who are displaced from the elevation our rank gave us, work is the watchword, and it is the only battle-cry left us now. He only is strong, and therefore happy, who perceives this truth, and who marches in step with the modern movement."
The serious turn given to the conversation had silenced all save the baroness. She had listened even more intently than the others to her friend's eloquence148, nodding her head assentingly to all that he said. His philosophic149 reflections produced as much effect on her vivacious150 excitability as they might on a restless Skye-terrier.
"Yes, yes—he's entirely right, is Monsieur d'Agreste; he has got to the bottom of things. One must keep in step with modernity—one must be fin9 de siècle. Comtesse, you should hunt; there is nothing like a fox or a boar to make life worth living. It's better, infinitely151 better, than a pursuit of hearts; a boar's more troublesome than a man."
"Unless you marry him," the countess interrupted, ending with a thrush-like laugh. When she laughed she seemed to have a bird in her throat.
"Oh, a man's heart, it's like the flag of a defenceless country—anyone may capture it."
The countess smiled with ineffable152 grace into the vacant, amorous-eyed faces on either side of her, rising as she smiled. We had reached dessert now; the coffee was being handed round. Everyone rose; but the countess made no move to pass out from the room. Both she and the baroness took from their pockets dainty cigarette-cases.
"Vous permettez?" asked the baroness, leaning over coquettishly to Monsieur d'Agreste's cigar. She accompanied her action with a charming glance, one in which all the woman in her was uppermost, and one which made Monsieur d'Agreste's pale cheeks flush like a boy's. He was a philosopher and a scientist; but all his science and philosophy had not saved him from the barbed shafts153 of a certain mischievous154 little god. He, also, was visibly hugging his chains.
The party had settled themselves in the low divans155 and in the Henri IV arm-chairs; a few here and there remained, still grouped about the table, with the freedom of pose and in the comfort of attitude smoking and coffee bring with them.
It was destined156, however, that the hour was to be a short one. One of the grooms obsequiously157 knocked at the door; he whispered in the count's ear, who advanced quickly toward him, the news that the coach was waiting; one of the leaders.
"Desolated158, my dear ladies—but my man tells me the coach is in readiness, and I have an impertinent leader who refuses to stand, when he is waiting, on anything more solid than his hind159 legs. Fernande, my dear, we must be on the move. Desolated, dear ladies—desolated—but it's only au revoir. We must arrange a meeting later, in Paris—"
The scene in the court-yard was once again gay with life and bristling160 with color. The coach and the dog-cart shone resplendent in the slanting161 sun's rays. In the brighter sunlight, the added glow in the eyes and the cheeks of the brilliantly costumed group, made both men and women seem younger and fresher than when they had appeared, two hours since. All were in high good humor—the wines and the talk had warmed the quick French blood. There was a merry scramble162 for the top coach-seats; the two young counts exchanged their seat in their saddles for the privilege of holding, one the countess's vinaigrette, and the other, her long-handled parasol. Renard was beside his friend De Troisac; the horn rang out, the horses started as if stung, dashing at their bits, and in another moment the great coach was being whirled beneath the archway.
"Au revoir—au revoir!" was cried down to us from the throne-like elevation. There was a pretty waving of hands—for even the countess's dislike melted into sweetness as she bade us farewell. There were answering cries from the shrieking cockatoos, from the peacocks who trailed their tails sadly in the dust, from the cooks and the peasant serving-women who had assembled to bid the distinguished163 guests adieu. There was also a sweeping164 bow from Monsieur Paul, and a grunt165 of contented166 dismissal from Madame Le Mois.
A moment after the departure of the coach the court yard was as still as a convent cloister167.
It was still enough to hear the click of madame's fingers, as she tapped her snuff-box.
"The count doesn't see any better than he did—toujours myope, lui" the old woman murmured to her son, with a pregnant wink168, as she took her snuff.
"C'est sa fa?on de tout voir, au contraire, ma mère," significantly returned Monsieur Paul, with his knowing smile.
The mother's shrug answered the smile, as both mother and son walked in different directions—across the sunlit court.
A LITTLE JOURNEY ALONG THE COAST.
CAEN, BAYEUX, ST. LO, COUTANCES.
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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fin
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| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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16
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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17
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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18
facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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19
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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20
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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21
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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22
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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23
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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24
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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25
tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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26
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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28
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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29
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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30
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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31
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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32
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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33
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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34
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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35
conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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36
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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37
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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38
ensemble
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| n.合奏(唱)组；全套服装；整体，总效果 | |
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39
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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40
waddling
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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41
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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42
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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43
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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44
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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45
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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46
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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47
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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48
effusive
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| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
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49
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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50
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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51
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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52
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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53
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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54
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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55
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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56
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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57
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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58
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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59
pelican
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| n.鹈鹕，伽蓝鸟 | |
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60
flamingo
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| n.红鹳，火烈鸟 | |
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61
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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62
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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63
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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64
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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65
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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66
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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67
flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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68
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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69
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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70
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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71
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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72
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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73
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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74
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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75
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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76
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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77
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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78
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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79
facades
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| n.（房屋的）正面( facade的名词复数 )；假象，外观 | |
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80
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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81
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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82
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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83
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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84
socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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85
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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86
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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87
complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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88
rimmed
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| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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89
cosmetic
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| n.化妆品；adj.化妆用的；装门面的；装饰性的 | |
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90
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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91
perfidy
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| n.背信弃义，不忠贞 | |
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92
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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93
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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94
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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95
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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96
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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97
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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98
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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99
omniscient
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| adj.无所不知的；博识的 | |
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100
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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101
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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103
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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104
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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105
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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106
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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107
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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108
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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109
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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110
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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111
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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112
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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113
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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114
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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115
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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116
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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117
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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118
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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119
somnolence
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| n.想睡，梦幻；欲寐；嗜睡；嗜眠 | |
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120
baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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121
mellifluously
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| adj.声音甜美的，悦耳的 | |
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122
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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123
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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124
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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125
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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126
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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127
misanthrope
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| n.恨人类的人；厌世者 | |
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128
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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129
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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130
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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131
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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132
cloying
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| adj.甜得发腻的 | |
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133
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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134
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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135
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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136
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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137
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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138
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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139
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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140
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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141
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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142
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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143
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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144
bemoan
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| v.悲叹，哀泣，痛哭；惋惜，不满于 | |
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145
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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146
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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147
stifles
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的第三人称单数 )； 镇压，遏制 | |
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148
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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149
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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150
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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151
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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152
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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153
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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154
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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155
divans
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| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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156
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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157
obsequiously
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158
desolated
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| adj.荒凉的，荒废的 | |
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159
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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160
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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161
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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162
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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163
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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164
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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165
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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166
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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167
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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168
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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