The old man made his appearance with great alacrity2. After handing the cup of chocolate to his mistress, he ventured to use the privilege of talking, to which his long and faithful services entitled him, and paid the old lady a compliment. “I am rejoiced to see madame looking so young and in such good spirits this morning,” he said, with a low bow and a mild, deferential3 smile.
“I think I have some reason for being in good spirits on the day when my son’s marriage-contract is to be signed,” said Madame Danville, with a gracious nod of the head. “Ha, Dubois, I shall live yet to see him with a patent of nobility in his hand. The mob has done its worst; the end of this infamous4 revolution is not far off; our order will have its turn again soon, and then who will have such a chance at court as my son? He is noble already through his mother, he will then be noble also through his wife. Yes, yes; let that coarse-mannered, passionate5, old soldier-father of hers be as unnaturally6 republican as he pleases, he has inherited a name which will help my son to a peerage! The Vicomte D’Anville (D with an apostrophe, Dubois, you understand?), the Vicomte D’Anville—how prettily7 it sounds!”
“Charmingly, madame—charmingly. Ah! this second marriage of my young master’s begins under much better auspices8 than the first.”
The remark was an unfortunate one. Madame Danville frowned portentously9, and rose in a great hurry from her chair.
“Are your wits failing you, you old fool?” she exclaimed, indignantly. “What do you mean by referring to such a subject as that, on this day, of all others? You are always harping10 on those two wretched people who were guillotined, as if you thought I could have saved their lives. Were you not present when my son and I met, after the time of the Terror? Did you not hear my first words to him, when he told me of the catastrophe11? Were they not ‘Charles, I love you; but if I thought you had let those two unfortunates, who risked themselves to save me, die without risking your life in return to save them, I would break my heart rather than ever look at you or speak to you again!’ Did I not say that? And did he not answer, ‘Mother, my life was risked for them. I proved my devotion by exposing myself to arrest—I was imprisoned12 for my exertions13—and then I could do no more!’ Did you not stand by and hear him give that answer, overwhelmed while he spoke14 by generous emotion? Do you not know that he really was imprisoned in the Temple? Do you dare to think that we are to blame after that? I owe you much, Dubois, but if you are to take liberties with me—”
“Oh, madame! I beg pardon a thousand times. I was thoughtless—only thoughtless—”
“Silence! Is my coach at the door? Very well. Get ready to accompany me. Your master will not have time to return here. He will meet me, for the signing of the contract, at General Berthelin’s house at two precisely15. Stop! Are there many people in the street? I can’t be stared at by the mob as I go to my carriage.”
Dubois hobbled penitently16 to the window and looked out, while his mistress walked to the door.
“The street is almost empty, madame,” he said. “Only a man with a woman on his arm, stopping and admiring your carriage. They seem like decent people, as well as I can tell without my spectacles. Not mob, I should say, madame; certainly not mob!”
“Very well. Attend me downstairs; and bring some loose silver with you, in case those two decent people should be fit objects for charity. No orders for the coachman, except that he is to go straight to the general’s house.”
The party assembled at General Berthelin’s to witness the signature of the marriage-contract, comprised, besides the persons immediately interested in the ceremony of the day, some young ladies, friends of the bride, and a few officers, who had been comrades of her father’s in past years. The guests were distributed, rather unequally, in two handsome apartments opening into each other—one called in the house the drawing-room, and the other the library. In the drawing-room were assembled the notary17, with the contract ready, the bride, the young ladies, and the majority of General Berthelin’s friends. In the library, the remainder of the military guests were amusing themselves at a billiard-table until the signing of the contract should take place, while Danville and his future father-in-law walked up and down the room together, the first listening absently, the last talking with all his accustomed energy, and with more than his accustomed allowance of barrack-room expletives. The general had taken it into his head to explain some of the clauses in the marriage-contract to the bridegroom, who, though far better acquainted with their full scope and meaning than his father-in-law, was obliged to listen for civility’s sake. While the old soldier was still in the midst of his long and confused harangue19, a clock struck on the library mantel-piece.
“Two o’clock!” exclaimed Danville, glad of any pretext20 for interrupting the talk about the contract. “Two o’clock; and my mother not here yet! What can be delaying her?”
“Nothing,” cried the general. “When did you ever know a woman punctual, my lad? If we wait for your mother—and she’s such a rabid aristocrat21 that she would never forgive us for not waiting—we shan’t sign the contract yet this half-hour. Never mind! let’s go on with what we were talking about. Where the devil was I when that cursed clock struck and interrupted us? Now then, Black Eyes, what’s the matter?”
This last question was addressed to Mademoiselle Berthelin, who at that moment hastily entered the library from the drawing-room. She was a tall and rather masculine-looking girl, with superb black eyes, dark hair growing low on her forehead, and something of her father’s decision and bluntness in her manner of speaking.
“A stranger in the other room, papa, who wants to see you. I suppose the servants showed him upstairs, thinking he was one of the guests. Ought I to have had him shown down again?”
“A nice question! How should I know? Wait till I have seen him, miss, and then I’ll tell you!” With these words the general turned on his heel, and went into the drawing-room.
His daughter would have followed him, but Danville caught her by the hand.
“Can you be hard-hearted enough to leave me here alone?” he asked.
“What is to become of all my bosom22 friends in the next room, you selfish man, if I stop here with you?” retorted mademoiselle, struggling to free herself.
“Call them in here,” said Danville gayly, making himself master of her other hand.
She laughed, and drew him away toward the drawing-room.
“Come,” she cried, “and let all the ladies see what a tyrant23 I am going to marry. Come, and show them what an obstinate24, unreasonable25, wearisome—”
Her voice suddenly failed her; she shuddered26, and turned faint. Danville’s hand had in one instant grown cold as death in hers; the momentary27 touch of his fingers, as she felt their grasp loosen, struck some mysterious chill through her from head to foot. She glanced round at him affrightedly, and saw his eyes looking straight into the drawing-room. They were fixed28 in a strange, unwavering, awful stare, while, from the rest of his face, all expression, all character, all recognizable play and movement of feature, had utterly29 gone. It was a breathless, lifeless mask—a white blank. With a cry of terror, she looked where he seemed to be looking; and could see nothing but the stranger standing30 in the middle of the drawing-room. Before she could ask a question—before she could speak even a single word—her father came to her, caught Danville by the arm, and pushed her roughly back into the library.
“Go there, and take the women with you,” he said, in a quick, fierce whisper. “Into the library!” he continued, turning to the ladies, and raising his voice. “Into the library, all of you, along with my daughter.”
The women, terrified by his manner, obeyed him in the greatest confusion. As they hurried past him into the library, he signed to the notary to follow; and then closed the door of communication between the two rooms.
“Stop where you are!” he cried, addressing the old officers, who had risen from their chairs. “Stay, I insist on it! Whatever happens, Jacques Berthelin has done nothing to be ashamed of in the presence of his old friends and companions. You have seen the beginning, now stay and see the end.”
While he spoke, he walked into the middle of the room. He had never quitted his hold of Danville’s arm; step by step they advanced together to the place where Trudaine was standing.
“You have come into my house, and asked me for my daughter in marriage—and I have given her to you,” said the general, addressing Danville, quietly. “You told me that your first wife and her brother were guillotined three years ago in the time of the Terror—and I believed you. Now look at that man—look him straight in the face. He has announced himself to me as the brother of your wife, and he asserts that his sister is alive at this moment. One of you two has deceived me. Which is it?”
Danville tried to speak, but no sound passed his lips; tried to wrench31 his arm from the grasp that was on it, but could not stir the old soldier’s steady hand.
“Are you afraid? are you a coward? Can’t you look him in the face?” asked the general, tightening32 his hold sternly.
“Stop! stop!” interposed one of the old officers, coming forward. “Give him time. This may be a case of strange accidental resemblance, which would be enough, under the circumstances, to discompose any man. You will excuse me, citizen,” he continued, turning to Trudaine; “but you are a stranger. You have given us no proof of your identity.”
“There is the proof,” said Trudaine, pointing to Danville’s face.
“Yes, yes,” pursued the other; “he looks pale and startled enough, certainly. But I say again, let us not be too hasty; there are strange cases on record of accidental resemblances, and this may be one of them!”
As he repeated those words, Danville looked at him with a faint, cringing33 gratitude34, stealing slowly over the blank terror of his face. He bowed his head, murmured something, and gesticulated confusedly with the hand that he was free to use.
“Look!” cried the old officer; “look, Berthelin; he denies the man’s identity.”
“Do you hear that?” said the general, appealing to Trudaine. “Have you proofs to confute him? If you have, produce them instantly.”
Before the answer could be given the door leading into the drawing-room from the staircase was violently flung open, and Madame Danville—her hair in disorder36, her face in its colorless terror looking like the very counterpart of her son’s—appeared on the threshold, with the old man Dubois and a group of amazed and startled servants behind her.
“For God’s sake, don’t sign! for God’s sake, come away!” she cried. “I have seen your wife—in the spirit, or in the flesh, I know not which—but I have seen her. Charles! Charles! as true as Heaven is above us, I have seen your wife!”
“You have seen her in the flesh, living and breathing as you see her brother yonder,” said a firm, quiet voice, from among the servants on the landing outside.
“Let that man enter, whoever he is!” cried the general.
Lomaque passed Madame Danville on the threshold. She trembled as he brushed by her; then, supporting herself by the wall, followed him a few paces into the room. She looked first at her son—after that, at Trudaine—after that back again at her son. Something in her presence silenced every one. There fell a sudden stillness over all the assembly—a stillness so deep that the eager, frightened whispering, and sharp rustling37 of dresses among the women in the library, became audible from the other side of the closed door.
“Charles,” she said, slowly advancing; “why do you look—” She stopped, and fixed her eyes again on her son more earnestly than before; then turned them suddenly on Trudaine. “You are looking at my son, sir,” she said, “and I see contempt in your face. By what right do you insult a man whose grateful sense of his mother’s obligations to you made him risk his life for the saving of yours and your sister’s? By what right have you kept the escape of my son’s wife from death by the guillotine—an escape which, for all I know to the contrary, his generous exertions were instrumental in effecting—a secret from my son? By what right, I demand to know, has your treacherous38 secrecy39 placed us in such a position as we now stand in before the master of this house?”
An expression of sorrow and pity passed over Trudaine’s face while she spoke. He retired40 a few steps, and gave her no answer. The general looked at him with eager curiosity, and, dropping his hold of Danville’s arm, seemed about to speak; but Lomaque stepped forward at the same time, and held up his hand to claim attention.
“I think I shall express the wishes of Citizen Trudaine,” he said, addressing Madame Danville, “if I recommend this lady not to press for too public an answer to her questions.”
“Pray who are you, sir, who take it on yourself to advise me?” she retorted, haughtily41. “I have nothing to say to you, except that I repeat those questions, and that I insist on their being answered.”
“Who is this man?” asked the general, addressing Trudaine, and pointing to Lomaque.
“A man unworthy of credit,” cried Danville, speaking audibly for the first time, and darting42 a look of deadly hatred43 at Lomaque. “An agent of police under Robespierre.”
“And in that capacity capable of answering questions which refer to the transactions of Robespierre’s tribunals,” remarked the ex-chief agent, with his old official self-possession.
“True!” exclaimed the general; “the man is right—let him be heard.”
“There is no help for it,” said Lomaque, looking at Trudaine; “leave it to me—it is fittest that I should speak. I was present,” he continued, in a louder voice, “at the trial of Citizen Trudaine and his sister. They were brought to the bar through the denunciation of Citizen Danville. Till the confession45 of the male prisoner exposed the fact, I can answer for Danville’s not being aware of the real nature of the offenses46 charged against Trudaine and his sister. When it became known that they had been secretly helping47 this lady to escape from France, and when Danville’s own head was consequently in danger, I myself heard him save it by a false assertion that he had been aware of Trudaine’s conspiracy48 from the first—”
“Do you mean to say,” interrupted the general, “that he proclaimed himself in open court as having knowingly denounced the man who was on trial for saving his mother?”
“I do,” answered Lomaque. (A murmur35 of horror and indignation rose from all the strangers present at that reply.) “The reports of the Tribunal are existing to prove the truth of what I say,” he went on. “As to the escape of Citizen Trudaine and the wife of Danville from the guillotine, it was the work of political circumstances, which there are persons living to speak to if necessary; and of a little stratagem49 of mine, which need not be referred to now. And, last, with reference to the concealment50 which followed the escape, I beg to inform you that it was abandoned the moment we knew of what was going on here; and that it was only persevered51 in up to this time, as a natural measure of precaution on the part of Citizen Trudaine. From a similar motive52 we now abstain53 from exposing his sister to the shock and the peril54 of being present here. What man with an atom of feeling would risk letting her even look again on such a husband as that?”
He glanced round him, and pointed55 to Danville, as he put the question. Before a word could be spoken by any one else in the room, a low wailing56 cry of “My mistress! my dear, dear mistress!” directed all eyes first on the old man Dubois, then on Madame Danville.
She had been leaning against the wall, before Lomaque began to speak; but she stood perfectly57 upright now. She neither spoke nor moved. Not one of the light gaudy58 ribbons flaunting59 on her disordered head-dress so much as trembled. The old servant Dubois was crouched60 on his knees at her side, kissing her cold right hand, chafing61 it in his, reiterating62 his faint, mournful cry, “Oh! my mistress! my dear, dear mistress!” but she did not appear to know that he was near her. It was only when her son advanced a step or two toward her that she seemed to awaken63 suddenly from that death-trance of mental pain. Then she slowly raised the hand that was free, and waved him back from her. He stopped in obedience64 to the gesture, and endeavored to speak. She waved her hand again, and the deathly stillness of her face began to grow troubled. Her lips moved a little—she spoke.
“Oblige me, sir, for the last time, by keeping silence. You and I have henceforth nothing to say to each other. I am the daughter of a race of nobles, and the widow of a man of honor. You are a traitor65 and a false witness—a thing from which all true men and true women turn with contempt. I renounce66 you! Publicly, in the presence of these gentlemen, I say it—I have no son.”
She turned her back on him; and, bowing to the other persons in the room with the old formal courtesy of by-gone times, walked slowly and steadily67 to the door. Stopping there, she looked back; and then the artificial courage of the moment failed her. With a faint, suppressed cry she clutched at the hand of the old servant, who still kept faithfully at her side; he caught her in his arms, and her head sank on his shoulder.
“Help him!” cried the general to the servants near the door. “Help him to take her into the next room!”
The old man looked up suspiciously from his mistress to the persons who were assisting him to support her. With a strange, sudden jealousy68 he shook his hand at them. “Home,” he cried; “she shall go home, and I will take care of her. Away! you there—nobody holds her head but Dubois. Downstairs! downstairs to her carriage! She has nobody but me now, and I say that she shall be taken home.”
As the door closed, General Berthelin approached Trudaine, who had stood silent and apart, from the time when Lomaque first appeared in the drawing-room.
“I wish to ask your pardon,” said the old soldier, “because I have wronged you by a moment of unjust suspicion. For my daughter’s sake, I bitterly regret that we did not see each other long ago; but I thank you, nevertheless, for coming here, even at the eleventh hour.”
While he was speaking, one of his friends came up, and touching69 him on the shoulder, said: “Berthelin, is that scoundrel to be allowed to go?”
The general turned on his heel directly, and beckoned70 contemptuously to Danville to follow him to the door. When they were well out of ear-shot, he spoke these words:
“You have been exposed as a villain71 by your brother-in-law, and renounced72 as a liar18 by your mother. They have done their duty by you, and now it only remains73 for me to do mine. When a man enters the house of another under false pretenses74, and compromises the reputation of his daughter, we old army men have a very expeditious75 way of making him answer for it. It is just three o’clock now; at five you will find me and one of my friends—”
He stopped, and looked round cautiously—then whispered the rest in Danville’s ear—threw open the door, and pointed downstairs.
“Our work here is done,” said Lomaque, laying his hand on Trudaine’s arm. “Let us give Danville time to get clear of the house, and then leave it too.”
“My sister! where is she?” asked Trudaine, eagerly.
“Make your mind easy about her. I will tell you more when we get out.”
“You will excuse me, I know,” said General Berthelin, speaking to all the persons present, with his hand on the library door, “if I leave you. I have bad news to break to my daughter, and private business after that to settle with a friend.”
He saluted76 the company, with his usual bluff77 nod of the head, and entered the library. A few minutes afterward78, Trudaine and Lomaque left the house.
“You will find your sister waiting for you in our apartment at the hotel,” said the latter. “She knows nothing, absolutely nothing, of what has passed.”
“But the recognition?” asked Trudaine, amazedly. “His mother saw her. Surely she—”
“I managed it so that she should be seen, and should not see. Our former experience of Danville suggested to me the propriety79 of making the experiment, and my old police-office practice came in useful in carrying it out. I saw the carriage standing at the door, and waited till the old lady came down. I walked your sister away as she got in, and walked her back again past the window as the carriage drove off. A moment did it, and it turned out as useful as I thought it would. Enough of that! Go back now to your sister. Keep indoors till the night mail starts for Rouen. I have had two places taken for you on speculation80. Go! resume possession of your house, and leave me here to transact44 the business which my employer has intrusted to me, and to see how matters end with Danville and his mother. I will make time somehow to come and bid you good-by at Rouen, though it should be only for a single day. Bah! no thanks. Give us your hand. I was ashamed to take it eight years ago—I can give it a hearty81 shake now! There is your way; here is mine. Leave me to my business in silks and satins, and go you back to your sister, and help her to pack up for the night mail.”
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1
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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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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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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portentously
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harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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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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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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penitently
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notary
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| n.公证人，公证员 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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harangue
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| n.慷慨冗长的训话，言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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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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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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46
offenses
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| n.进攻( offense的名词复数 )；（球队的）前锋；进攻方法；攻势 | |
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47
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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stratagem
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| n.诡计，计谋 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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abstain
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| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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reiterating
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的现在分词 ) | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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pretenses
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| n.借口（pretense的复数形式） | |
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expeditious
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| adj.迅速的，敏捷的 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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