Catrina was restless, moving from chair to chair, from fire-place to window, with a lack of repose8 which would certainly have touched the nerves of a less lethargic9 person than the countess.
“My dear child!” that lady was exclaiming with lackadaisical10 horror, “we cannot go to Thors yet. The thought is too horrible. You never think of my health. Besides, the gloom of the everlasting11 snow is too painful. It makes me think of your poor mistaken father, who is probably shovelling12 it in Siberia. Here, at all events, one can avoid the window—one need not look at it.”
“The policy of shutting one’s eyes is a mistake,” said Catrina.
She had risen, and was standing13 by the window, her stunted14 form being framed, as it were, in a rosy glow of pink.
The countess heaved a little sigh and gazed idly at the fire. She did not understand Catrina. She was afraid of her. There was something rugged15 and dogged which the girl had inherited from her father—that Slavonic love of pain for its own sake—which makes Russian patriots16 and thinkers strange, incomprehensible beings.
“I question it, Catrina,” said the elder lady; “but perhaps it is a matter of health. Dr. Stantovitch told me, quite between ourselves, that if I had given way to my grief at the time of the trial he would not have held himself responsible for the consequences.”
“My dear child!” exclaimed the countess, “he attends all the noble ladies of Petersburg.”
“Precisely,” answered Catrina.
She was woman enough to enter into futile18 arguments with her mother, and man enough to despise herself for doing it.
“Why do you want to go back to Thors so soon?” murmured the elder lady, with a little sigh of despair. She knew she was playing a losing game very badly. She was mentally shuddering19 at the recollection of former sleigh-journeying from Tver to Thors.
“Because I am sure father would like us to be there this hard winter.”
“But your father is in Siberia,” put in the countess, which remark was ignored.
“Because if we do not go before the snow begins to melt we shall have to do the journey in carriages over bad roads, which is sure to knock you up. Because our place is at Thors, and no one wants us here. I hate Petersburg. It is no use living here unless one is rich and beautiful and popular. We are none of those things, so we are better at Thors.”
“But we have many nice friends here, dear. You will see, this afternoon. I expect quite a reception. By the way, I hope Kupfer has sent the little cakes. Your father used to be so fond of them. I wonder if we could send him a box to Siberia. He would enjoy them, poor man! He might give some to the prison people, and thus obtain a little alleviation20. Yes; the Comte de Chauxville said he would come on my first reception-day, and, of course, Paul and his wife must return my call. They will come to-day. I am anxious to see her. They say she is beautiful and dresses well.”
Catrina’s broad white teeth gleamed for a moment in the flickering21 firelight, as she clenched23 them over her lower lip.
“And therefore Paul’s happiness in life is assured,” she said, in a hard voice.
Catrina looked at her mother with a gleam of utter contempt in her eyes. That is one of the privileges of a great love, whether it bring happiness or misery—the contempt for all who have never known it.
While they remained thus the sound of sleigh-bells on the quiet English Quay made itself heard through the double windows. There was a clang of many tones, and the horses pulled up with a jerk. The color left Catrina’s face quite suddenly, as if wiped away, leaving her ghastly. She was going to see Paul and his wife.
Presently the door opened, and Etta came into the room with the indomitable assurance which characterized her movements and earned for her a host of feminine enemies.
“Mme. la Comtesse,” she said, with her most gracious smile, taking the limp hand offered to her by the Countess Lanovitch.
Catrina stood in the embrasure of the window, hating her.
Paul followed on his wife’s heels, scarcely concealing25 his boredom26. He was not a society man. Catrina came forward and exchanged a formal bow with Etta, who took in her plainness and the faults of her dress at one contemptuous glance. She smiled with the perfect pity of a good figure for no figure at all. Paul was shaking hands with the countess. When he took Catrina’s hand her fingers were icy, and twitched27 nervously28 within his grasp.
The countess was already babbling29 to Etta in French. The Princess Howard Alexis always began by informing Paul’s friends that she knew no Russian. For a moment Paul and Catrina were left, as it were, alone. When the countess was once fairly roused from her chronic30 lethargy her voice usually acquired a metallic31 ring which dominated any other conversation that might be going on in the room.
“I wish you happiness,” said Catrina, and no one heard her but Paul. She did not raise her eyes to his, but looked vaguely32 at his collar. Her voice was short and rather breathless, as if she had just emerged from deep water.
“Thank you,” answered Paul simply.
He turned and somewhat naturally looked at his wife. Catrina’s thoughts followed his. A man is at a disadvantage in the presence of the woman who loves him. She usually sees through him—a marked difference between masculine and feminine love. Catrina looked up sharply and caught his eyes resting on Etta.
“He does not love her—he does not love her!” was the thought that instantly leaped into her brain.
And if she had said it to him he would have contradicted her flatly and honestly, and in vain.
“Yes,” the countess was saying with lazy volubility; “Paul is one of our oldest friends. We are neighbors in the country, you know. He has always been in and out of our house like one of the family. My poor husband was very fond of him.”
“Is your husband dead, then?” asked Etta in a low voice, with a strange haste.
“No; he is only in Siberia. You have perhaps heard of his misfortune—Count Stipan Lanovitch.”
Etta nodded her head with the deepest sympathy.
“I feel for you, countess,” she said. “And yet you are so brave—and mademoiselle,” she said, turning to Catrina. “I hope we shall see more of each other in Tver.”
Catrina bowed jerkily and made no reply. Etta glanced at her sharply. Perhaps she saw more than Catrina knew.
“I suppose,” she said to the countess, with that inclusive manner which spreads the conversation out, “that Paul and Mlle. de Lanovitch were playmates?”
The reply lay with either of the ladies, but Catrina turned away.
“Yes,” answered the countess; “but Catrina is only twenty-four—ten years younger than Paul.”
“Indeed!” with a faint, cutting surprise.
Indeed Etta looked younger than Catrina. On a l'bge de son coeur, and if the heart be worn it transmits its weariness to the face, where such signs are ascribed to years. So the little stab was justified33 by Catrina’s appearance.
While the party assembled were thus exchanging social amenities34, a past master in such commerce joined them in the person of Claude de Chauxville.
He smiled his mechanical, heartless smile upon them all, but when he bowed over Etta’s hand his face was grave. He expressed no surprise at seeing Paul and Etta, though his manner betokened35 that emotion. There was no sign of this meeting having been a prearranged matter, brought about by himself through the easy and innocent instrumentality of the countess.
“And you are going to Tver, no doubt?” he said almost at once to Etta.
“Yes,” answered that lady, with a momentary36 hunted look in her eyes. It is strange how an obscure geographical37 name may force its way into our lives, never to be forgotten. Queen Mary of England struck a note of the human octave when she protested that the word “Calais” was graven on her heart. It seemed to Etta that “Tver” was written large wheresoever she turned, for the conscience looks through a glass and sees whatever may be written thereon overspreading every prospect38.
“The prince,” continued De Chauxville, turning to Paul, “is a great sportsman, I am told—a mighty39 hunter. I wonder why Englishmen always want to kill something.”
Paul smiled, without making an immediate40 answer. He was not the man to be led into the danger of repartee41 by such as De Chauxville.
“We have a few bears left,” he said.
“You are fortunate,” protested De Chauxville. “I shot one when I was younger. I was immensely afraid, and so was the bear. I have a great desire to try again.”
Etta glanced at Paul, who returned De Chauxville’s bland42 gaze with all the imperturbability43 of a prince.
The countess’s cackling voice broke in at this juncture44, as perhaps De Chauxville had intended it to do.
“Then why not come and shoot ours?” she said. “We have quite a number of them in the forests at Thors.”
“Ah, Mme. la Comtesse,” he answered, with outspread, deprecatory hands, “but that would be taking too great an advantage of your hospitality and your well-known kindness.”
He turned to Catrina, who received him with a half-concealed frown. The countess bridled45 and looked at her daughter with obvious maternal46 meaning, as one who was saying, “There—you bungled47 your prince, but I have procured48 you a baron49.”
“The abuse of hospitality is the last refuge of the needy,” continued De Chauxville oracularly. “But my temptation is strong; shall I yield to it, mademoiselle?”
Catrina smiled unwillingly50.
“I would rather leave it to your own conscience,” she said. “But I fail to see the danger you anticipate.”
“Then I accept, madame,” said De Chauxville, with the engaging frankness which ever had a false ring in it.
If the whole affair had been prearranged in Claude de Chauxville’s mind, it certainly succeeded more fully51 than is usually the case with human schemes. If, on the other hand, this invitation was the result of chance, Fortune had favored Claude de Chauxville beyond his deserts.
The little scene had played itself out before the eyes of Paul, who did not want it; of Etta, who desired it; and of Catrina, who did not exactly know what she wanted, with the precision of a stage-play carefully rehearsed.
Claude de Chauxville had unscrupulously made use of feminine vanity with all the skill that was his. A little glance toward Etta, as he accepted the invitation, conveyed to her the fact that she was the object of his clever little plot; that it was in order to be near her that he had forced the Countess Lanovitch to invite him to Thors; and Etta, with all her shrewdness, was promptly52 hoodwinked. Vanity is a handicap assigned to clever women by Fate, who handicaps us all without appeal. De Chauxville saw by a little flicker22 of the eyelids53 that he had not missed his mark. He had hit Etta where his knowledge of her told him she was unusually vulnerable. He had made one ally. The countess he looked upon with a wise contempt. She was easier game than Etta. Catrina he understood well enough. Her rugged simplicity54 had betrayed her secret to him before he had been five minutes in the room. Paul he despised as a man lacking finesse55 and esprit—a truly French form of contempt. For Frenchmen have yet to learn that such qualities have remarkably56 little to do with love.
Claude de Chauxville was one of those men—alas! too many—who owe their success in life almost entirely57 to some feminine influence or another. Whenever he came into direct opposition58 to men it was his instinct to retire from the field. Behind Paul’s back he despised him; before his face he cringed.
“Then, perhaps,” he said, when the princess was engaged in the usual farewells with the countess, and Paul was moving toward the door—“then, perhaps, prince, we may meet again before the spring—if the countess intends her invitation to be taken seriously.”
“Yes,” answered Paul; “I often shoot at Thors.”
“If you do not happen to come over, perhaps I may be allowed to call and pay my respects—or is the distance too great?”
“You can do it in an hour and a half with a quick horse, if the snow is good,” answered Paul.
“Au revoir,” said Paul, “if you wish it.”
And he turned to say good-by to Catrina.
As De Chauxville had arrived later than the other visitors, it was quite natural that he should remain after they had left, and it may be safely presumed that he took good care to pin the Countess Lanovitch down to her rash invitation.
“Why is that man coming to Tver?” said Paul, rather gruffly, when Etta and he were settled beneath the furs of the sleigh. “We do not want him there.”
“I expect,” replied Etta rather petulantly60, “that we shall be so horribly dull that even M. de Chauxville will be a welcome alleviation.”
Paul said nothing. He gave a little sign to the driver, and the horses leaped forward with a musical clash of their silver bells.
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收听单词发音
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1
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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rime
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| n.白霜；v.使蒙霜 | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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8
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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lackadaisical
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| adj.无精打采的，无兴趣的；adv.无精打采地，不决断地 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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shovelling
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| v.铲子( shovel的现在分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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13
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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stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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19
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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20
alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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28
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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29
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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30
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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42
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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imperturbability
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| n.冷静；沉着 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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45
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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46
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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47
bungled
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| v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的过去式和过去分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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48
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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49
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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50
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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51
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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52
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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53
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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54
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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finesse
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| n.精密技巧，灵巧，手腕 | |
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56
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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59
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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60
petulantly
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