The count was punctual, and the two men introduced themselves. Harry had expected to see a handsome foreigner, with black hair, polished whiskers, and probably a hook nose,—forty years of age or thereabouts, but so got up as to look not much more than thirty. But his guest was by no means a man of that stamp. Excepting that the count's age was altogether uncertain, no correctness of guess on that matter being possible by means of his appearance, Harry's preconceived notion was wrong in every point. He was a fair man, with a broad fair face, and very light blue eyes; his forehead was low, but broad; he wore no whiskers, but bore on his lip a heavy moustache which was not grey, but perfectly5 white—white it was with years of course, but yet it gave no sign of age to his face. He was well made, active, and somewhat broad in the shoulders, though rather below the middle height. But for a certain ease of manner which he possessed6, accompanied by something of restlessness in his eye, any one would have taken him for an Englishman. And his speech hardly betrayed that he was not English. Harry, knowing that he was a foreigner, noticed now and again some little acquired distinctness of speech which is hardly natural to a native; but otherwise there was nothing in his tongue to betray him.
"I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble," he said, shaking hands with Harry. Clavering declared that he had incurred7 no trouble, and declared also that he would be only too happy to have taken any trouble in obeying a behest from his friend Lady Ongar. Had he been a Pole as was the count, he would not have forgotten to add that he would have been equally willing to exert himself with the view of making the count's acquaintance; but being simply a young Englishman, he was much too awkward for any such courtesy as that. The count observed the omission8, smiled, and bowed. Then he spoke9 of the weather, and said that London was a magnificent city. Oh, yes, he knew London well,—had known it these twenty years;—had been for fifteen years a member of the Travellers';—he liked everything English, except hunting. English hunting he had found to be dull work. But he liked shooting for an hour or two. He could not rival, he said, the intense energy of an Englishman, who would work all day with his guns harder than ploughmen with their ploughs. Englishmen sported, he said, as though more than their bread,—as though their honour, their wives, their souls, depended on it. It was very fine! He often wished that he was an Englishman. Then he shrugged10 his shoulders.
Harry was very anxious to commence a conversation about Lady Ongar, but he did not know how at first to introduce her name. Count Pateroff had come to him at Lady Ongar's request, and therefore, as he thought, the count should have been the first to mention her. But the count seemed to be enjoying his dinner without any thought either of Lady Ongar or of her late husband. At this time he had been down to Ongar Park, on that mission which had been, as we know, futile11; but he said no word of that to Harry. He seemed to enjoy his dinner thoroughly12, and made himself very agreeable. When the wine was discussed he told Harry that a certain vintage of Moselle was very famous at the Beaufort. Harry ordered the wine of course, and was delighted to give his guest the best of everything; but he was a little annoyed at finding that the stranger knew his club better than he knew it himself. Slowly the count ate his dinner, enjoying every morsel13 that he took with that thoughtful, conscious pleasure which young men never attain14 in eating and drinking, and which men as they grow older so often forget to acquire. But the count never forgot any of his own capacities for pleasure, and in all things made the most of his own resources. To be rich is not to have one or ten thousand a year, but to be able to get out of that one or ten thousand all that every pound, and every shilling, and every penny will give you. After this fashion the count was a rich man.
"You don't sit after dinner here, I suppose," said the count, when he had completed an elaborate washing of his mouth and moustache. "I like this club because we who are strangers have so charming a room for our smoking. It is the best club in London for men who do not belong to it."
It occurred to Harry that in the smoking-room there could be no privacy. Three or four men had already spoken to the count, showing that he was well known, giving notice, as it were, that Pateroff would become a public man when once he was placed in a public circle. To have given a dinner to the count, and to have spoken no word to him about Lady Ongar, would be by no means satisfactory to Harry's feelings, though, as it appeared, it might be sufficiently15 satisfactory to the guest. Harry therefore suggested one bottle of claret. The count agreed, expressing an opinion that the 51 Lafitte was unexceptional. The 51 Lafitte was ordered, and Harry, as he filled his glass, considered the way in which his subject should be introduced.
"You knew Lord Ongar, I think, abroad?"
"Lord Ongar,—abroad! Oh, yes, very well; and for many years here in London; and at Vienna; and very early in life at St. Petersburg. I knew Lord Ongar first in Russia when he was attached to the embassy as Frederic Courton. His father, Lord Courton, was then alive, as was also his grandfather. He was a nice, good-looking lad then."
"As regards his being nice, he seems to have changed a good deal before he died." This the count noticed by simply shrugging his shoulders and smiling as he sipped16 his wine. "By all that I can hear he became a horrid17 brute18 when he married," said Harry, energetically.
"He was not pleasant when he was ill at Florence," said the count.
"She must have had a terrible time with him," said Harry.
The count put up his hands, again shrugged his shoulders, and then shook his head. "She knew he was no longer an Adonis when he married her."
"An Adonis! No; she did not expect an Adonis; but she thought he would have something of the honour and feelings of a man."
"She found it uncomfortable, no doubt. He did too much of this, you know," said the count, raising his glass to his lips; "and he didn't do it with 51 Lafitte. That was Ongar's fault. All the world knew it for the last ten years. No one knew it better than Hugh Clavering."
"But—" said Harry, and then he stopped. He hardly knew what it was that he wished to learn from the man, though he certainly did wish to learn something. He had thought that the count would himself have talked about Lady Ongar and those Florentine days, but this he did not seem disposed to do. "Shall we have our cigars now?" said Count Pateroff.
"One moment, if you don't mind."
"Certainly, certainly. There is no hurry."
"You will take no more wine?"
"No more wine. I take my wine at dinner, as you saw."
"I want to ask you one special question,—about Lady Ongar."
"I will say anything in her favour that you please. I am always ready to say anything in the favour of any lady, and, if needs be, to swear it. But anything against any lady nobody ever heard me say."
Harry was sharp enough to perceive that any assertion made under such a stipulation19 was worse than nothing. It was as when a man, in denying the truth of a statement, does so with an assurance that on that subject he should consider himself justified20 in telling any number of lies. "I did not write the book,—but you have no right to ask the question; and I should say that I had not, even if I had." Pateroff was speaking of Lady Ongar in this way, and Harry hated him for doing so.
"I don't want you to say any good of her," said he, "or any evil."
"I certainly shall say no evil of her."
"But I think you know that she has been most cruelly treated."
"Well, there is about seven—thousand—pounds a year, I think! Seven—thousand—a year! Not francs, but pounds! We poor foreigners lose ourselves in amazement21 when we hear about your English fortunes. Seven thousand pounds a year for a lady all alone, and a beau-tiful house! A house so beautiful, they tell me!"
"What has that to do with it?" said Harry; whereupon the count again shrugged his shoulders. "What has that to do with it? Because the man was rich he was not justified in ill-treating his wife. Did he not bring false accusations22 against her, in order that he might rob her after his death of all that of which you think so much? Did he not bear false witness against her, to his own dishonour23?"
"Did he not bear false witness against her?"
"Did he not bear false witness against her?"
Click to ENLARGE
"She has got the money, I think,—and the beautiful house."
"But her name has been covered with lies."
"What can I do? Why do you ask me? I know nothing. Look here, Mr. Clavering, if you want to make any inquiry24 you had better go to my sister. I don't see what good it will do, but she will talk to you by the hour together, if you wish it. Let us smoke."
"Your sister?"
"Yes, my sister. Madame Gordeloup is her name. Has not Lady Ongar mentioned my sister? They are inseparables. My sister lives in Mount Street."
"With you?"
"No, not with me; I do not live in Mount Street. I have my address sometimes at her house."
"Madame Gordeloup?"
"Yes, Madame Gordeloup. She is Lady Ongar's friend. She will talk to you."
"Will you introduce me, Count Pateroff?"
"Oh, no; it is not necessary. You can go to Mount Street, and she will be delighted. There is the card. And now we will smoke." Harry felt that he could not, with good-breeding, detain the count any longer, and, therefore, rising from his chair, led the way into the smoking-room. When there, the man of the world separated himself from his young friend, of whose enthusiasm he had perhaps had enough, and was soon engaged in conversation with sundry25 other men of his own standing26. Harry soon perceived that his guest had no further need of his countenance27, and went home to Bloomsbury Square by no means satisfied with his new acquaintance.
On the next day he dined in Onslow Crescent with the Burtons, and when there he said nothing about Lady Ongar or Count Pateroff. He was not aware that he had any special reason for being silent on the subject, but he made up his mind that the Burtons were people so far removed in their sphere of life from Lady Ongar, that the subject would not be suitable in Onslow Crescent. It was his lot in life to be concerned with people of the two classes. He did not at all mean to say,—even to himself,—that he liked the Ongar class the better; but still, as such was his lot, he must take it as it came, and entertain both subjects of interest, without any commingling28 of them one with another. Of Lady Ongar and his early love he had spoken to Florence at some length, but he did not find it necessary in his letters to tell her anything of Count Pateroff and his dinner at the Beaufort. Nor did he mention the dinner to his dear friend Cecilia. On this occasion he made himself very happy in Onslow Crescent, playing with the children, chatting with his friend, and enduring, with a good grace, Theodore Burton's sarcasm30, when that ever-studious gentleman told him that he was only fit to go about tied to a woman's apron-string.
On the following day, about five o'clock, he called in Mount Street. He had doubted much as to this, thinking that at any rate he ought, in the first place, to write and ask permission. But at last he resolved that he would take the count at his word, and presenting himself at the door, he sent up his name. Madame Gordeloup was at home, and in a few moments he found himself in the room in which the lady was sitting, and recognized her whom he had seen with Lady Ongar in Bolton Street. She got up at once, having glanced at the name upon the card, and seemed to know all about him. She shook hands with him cordially, almost squeezing his hand, and bade him sit down near her on the sofa. "She was so glad to see him, for her dear Julie's sake. Julie, as of course he knew, was at 'Ongere' Park. Oh! so happy,"—which, by the by, he did not know,—"and would be up in the course of next week. So many things to do, of course, Mr. Clavering. The house, and the servants, and the park, and the beautiful things of a large country establishment! But it was delightful31, and Julie was quite happy!"
No people could be more unlike to each other than this brother and his sister. No human being could have taken Madame Gordeloup for an Englishwoman, though it might be difficult to judge, either from her language or her appearance, of the nationality to which she belonged. She spoke English with great fluency32, but every word uttered declared her not to be English. And when she was most fluent she was most incorrect in her language. She was small, eager, and quick, and appeared quite as anxious to talk as her brother had been to hold his tongue. She lived in a small room on the first floor of a small house; and it seemed to Harry that she lived alone. But he had not been long there before she had told him all her history, and explained to him most of her circumstances. That she kept back something is probable; but how many are there who can afford to tell everything?
Her husband was still living, but he was at St. Petersburg. He was a Frenchman by family, but had been born in Russia. He had been attached to the Russian embassy in London, but was now attached to diplomacy33 in general in Russia. She did not join him because she loved England,—oh, so much! And, perhaps, her husband might come back again some day. She did not say that she had not seen him for ten years, and was not quite sure whether he was dead or alive; but had she made a clean breast in all things, she might have done so. She said that she was a good deal still at the Russian embassy; but she did not say that she herself was a paid spy. Nor do I say so now, positively34; but that was the character given to her by many who knew her. She called her brother Edouard, as though Harry had known the count all his life; and always spoke of Lady Ongar as Julie. She uttered one or two little hints which seemed to imply that she knew everything that had passed between "Julie" and Harry Clavering in early days; and never mentioned Lord Ongar without some term of violent abuse.
"Horrid wretch35!" she said, pausing over all the r's in the name she had called him. "It began, you know, from the very first. Of course he had been a fool. An old roué is always a fool to marry. What does he get, you know, for his money? A pretty face. He's tired of that as soon as it's his own. Is it not so, Mr. Clavering? But other people ain't tired of it, and then he becomes jealous. But Lord Ongar was not jealous. He was not man enough to be jealous. Hor-r-rid wr-retch!" She then went on telling many things which, as he listened, almost made Harry Clavering's hair stand on end, and which must not be repeated here. She herself had met her brother in Paris, and had been with him when they encountered the Ongars in that capital. According to her showing, they had, all of them, been together nearly from that time to the day of Lord Ongar's death. But Harry soon learned to feel that he could not believe all that the little lady told him.
"Edouard was always with him. Poor Edouard!" she said. "There was some money matter between them about écarté. When that wr-retch got to be so bad, he did not like parting with his money,—not even when he had lost it! And Julie had been so good always! Julie and Edouard had done everything for the nasty wr-retch." Harry did not at all like this mingling29 of the name of Julie and Edouard, though it did not for a moment fill his mind with any suspicion as to Lady Ongar. It made him feel, however, that this woman was dangerous, and that her tongue might be very mischievous36 if she talked to others as she did to him. As he looked at her,—and being now in her own room she was not dressed with scrupulous37 care,—and as he listened to her, he could not conceive what Lady Ongar had seen in her that she should have made a friend of her. Her brother, the count, was undoubtedly38 a gentleman in his manners and way of life, but he did not know by what name to call this woman, who called Lady Ongar Julie. She was altogether unlike any ladies whom he had known.
"You know that Julie will be in town next week?"
"No; I did not know when she was to return."
"Oh, yes; she has business with those people in South Audley Street on Thursday. Poor dear! Those lawyers are so harassing39! But when people have seven—thousand—pounds a year, they must put up with lawyers." As she pronounced those talismanic40 words, which to her were almost celestial41, Harry perceived for the first time that there was some sort of resemblance between her and the count. He could see that they were brother and sister. "I shall go to her directly she comes, and of course I will tell her how good you have been to come to me. And Edouard has been dining with you? How good of you. He told me how charming you are,"—Harry was quite sure then that she was fibbing,—"and that it was so pleasant! Edouard is very much attached to Julie; very much. Though, of course, all that was mere42 nonsense; just lies told by that wicked lord. Bah! what did he know?" Harry by this time was beginning to wish that he had never found his way to Mount Street.
"Of course they were lies," he said roughly.
"Of course, mon cher. Those things always are lies, and so wicked! What good do they do?"
"Lies never do any good," said Harry.
To so wide a proposition as this madame was not prepared to give an unconditional43 assent44; she therefore shrugged her shoulders and once again looked like her brother.
"Ah!" she said. "Julie is a happy woman now. Seven—thousand—pounds a year! One does not know how to believe it; does one?"
"I never heard the amount of her income," said Harry.
"It is all that," said the Franco-Pole, energetically, "every franc of it, besides the house! I know it. She told me herself. Yes. What woman would risk that, you know; and his life, you may say, as good as gone? Of course they were lies."
"I don't think you understand her, Madame Gordeloup."
"Oh, yes; I know her, so well. And love her—oh, Mr. Clavering, I love her so dearly! Is she not charming? So beautiful you know, and grand. Such a will, too! That is what I like in a woman. Such a courage! She never flinched45 in those horrid days, never. And when he called her,—you know what,—she only looked at him, just looked at him, miserable46 object. Oh, it was beautiful!" And Madame Gordeloup, rising in her energy from her seat for the purpose, strove to throw upon Harry such another glance as the injured, insulted wife had thrown upon her foul-tongued, dying lord.
"She will marry," said Madame Gordeloup, changing her tone with a suddenness that made Harry start; "yes, she will marry of course. Your English widows always marry if they have money. They are wrong, and she will be wrong; but she will marry."
"I do not know how that may be," said Harry, looking foolish.
"I tell you I know she will marry, Mr. Clavering; I told Edouard so yesterday. He merely smiled. It would hardly do for him, she has so much will. Edouard has a will also."
"All men have, I suppose."
"Ah, yes; but there is a difference. A sum of money down, if a man is to marry, is better than a widow's dower. If she dies, you know, he looks so foolish. And she is grand and will want to spend everything. Is she much older than you, Mr. Clavering? Of course I know Julie's age, though perhaps you do not. What will you give me to tell?" And the woman leered at him with a smile which made Harry think that she was almost more than mortal. He found himself quite unable to cope with her in conversation, and soon after this got up to take his leave. "You will come again," she said. "Do. I like you so much. And when Julie is in town, we shall be able to see her together, and I will be your friend. Believe me."
Harry was very far from believing her, and did not in the least require her friendship. Her friendship indeed! How could any decent English man or woman wish for the friendship of such a creature as that? It was thus that he thought of her as he walked away from Mount Street, making heavy accusations, within his own breast, against Lady Ongar as he did so. Julia! He repeated the name over to himself a dozen times, thinking that the flavour of it was lost since it had been contaminated so often by that vile47 tongue. But what concern was it of his? Let her be Julia to whom she would, she could never be Julia again to him. But she was his friend—Lady Ongar, and he told himself plainly that his friend had been wrong in having permitted herself to hold any intimacy48 with such a woman as that. No doubt Lady Ongar had been subjected to very trying troubles in the last months of her husband's life, but no circumstances could justify49 her, if she continued to endorse50 the false cordiality of that horribly vulgar and evil-minded little woman. As regarded the grave charges brought against Lady Ongar, Harry still gave no credit to them, still looked upon them as calumnies51, in spite of the damning advocacy of Sophie and her brother; but he felt that she must have dabbled52 in very dirty water to have returned to England with such claimants on her friendship as these. He had not much admired the count, but the count's sister had been odious53 to him. "I will be your friend. Believe me." Harry Clavering stamped upon the pavement as he thought of the little Pole's offer to him. She be his friend! No, indeed;—not if there were no other friend for him in all London.
Sophie, too, had her thoughts about him. Sophie was very anxious in this matter, and was resolved to stick as close to her Julie as possible. "I will be his friend or his enemy;—let him choose." That had been Sophie's reflection on the matter when she was left alone.
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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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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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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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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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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thoroughly
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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brute
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stipulation
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| n.契约，规定，条文；条款说明 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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amazement
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accusations
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dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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inquiry
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sundry
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standing
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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commingling
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的现在分词 ) | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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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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mischievous
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scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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harassing
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| v.侵扰，骚扰( harass的现在分词 )；不断攻击（敌人） | |
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talismanic
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| adj.护身符的，避邪的 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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unconditional
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| adj.无条件的，无限制的，绝对的 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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47
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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48
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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49
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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50
endorse
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| vt.(支票、汇票等)背书，背署；批注；同意 | |
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51
calumnies
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| n.诬蔑，诽谤，中伤（的话）( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
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52
dabbled
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| v.涉猎( dabble的过去式和过去分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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53
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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