Neither Estella nor her father had a great liking1 for the city of Madrid, which indeed is at no time desirable. In the winter it is cold, in the summer exceedingly hot, and during the changes of the seasons of a treacherous2 weather difficult to surpass. The social atmosphere was no more genial3 at the period with which we deal. For it blew hot and cold, and treachery marked every change.
Although the Queen Regent seemed to be nearing at last a successful issue to her long and eventful struggle against Don Carlos, she had enemies nearer home whose movements were equally dangerous to the throne of the child queen.
‘I cannot afford to have an honest soldier so far removed from the capital,’ said Christina, who never laid aside the woman while playing the Queen, as Vincente kissed her hand on presenting himself at Court. The General smiled and shrugged4 his shoulders.
‘What did she say? What did she say?’ the intriguers whispered eagerly as the great soldier made his way towards the door, with the haste of one who was no courtier. But they received no answer.
The General had taken a suite5 of rooms in one of the hotels on the Puerta del Sol, and hurried thither6, well pleased do have escaped so easily from a palace where self-seeking—the grim spirit that haunts the abodes7 of royalty—had long reigned8 supreme9. There was, the servants told him, a visitor in the salon—one who had asked for the General, and on learning of his absence had insisted on being received by the se?orita.
‘That sounds like Conyngham,’ muttered the General, unbuckling his sword—for he had but one weapon, and wore it in the presence of the Queen and her enemies alike.
It was indeed Conyngham, whose gay laugh Vincente heard before he crossed the threshold of Estella’s drawing-room. The Englishman was in uniform, and stood with his back turned towards the door by which the General entered.
‘It is Se?or Conyngham,’ said Estella at once, in a quiet voice, ‘who has been wounded and six weeks in the hospital.’
‘Yes,’ said Conyngham. ‘But I am well again now! And I got my appointment while I was still in the Sisters’ care.’
He laughed, though his face was pale and thin, and approached the General with extended hand. The General had come to Madrid with the intention of refusing to take that hand, and those who knew him said that this soldier never swerved10 from his purpose. He looked for a moment into Conyngham’s eyes, and then shook hands with him. He did not disguise the hesitation11, which was apparent to both Estella and the Englishman.
‘How were you wounded?’ he asked.
‘I was stabbed in the back on the Toledo road, ten miles from here.’
‘Not by a robber—not for your money?’
‘No one ever hated me or cared for me on that account,’ laughed Conyngham.
‘Then who did it?’ asked General Vincente, unbuttoning his gloves.
Conyngham hesitated.
‘A man with whom I quarrelled on the road,’ he made reply; but it was no answer at all, as hearers and speaker alike recognised in a flash of thought.
‘He left me for dead on the road, but a carter picked me up and brought me to Madrid, to the hospital of the Hermanas, where I have been ever since.’
There were flowers on the table, and the General stooped over them with a delicate appreciation12 of their scent13. He was a great lover of flowers, and indeed had a sense of the beautiful quite out of keeping with the colour of his coat.
‘You must beware,’ he said, ‘now that you wear the Queen’s uniform. There is treachery abroad, I fear. Even I have had an anonymous14 letter of warning.’
‘I should like to know who wrote it,’ exclaimed Conyngham, with a sudden flash of anger in his eyes. The General laughed pleasantly.
‘So should I,’ he said. ‘Merely as a matter of curiosity.’
And he turned towards the door, which was opened at this moment by a servant.
‘A gentleman wishing to see me—an Englishman, as it would appear,’ he continued, looking at the card.
‘By the way,’ said Conyngham, as the General moved away, ‘I am instructed to inform you that I am attached to your staff as extra aide-de-camp during your stay in Madrid.’
The General nodded and left Estella and Conyngham alone in the drawing-room. Conyngham turned on Estella.
‘So that I have a right to be near you,’ he said, ‘which is all that I want.’
He spoke15 lightly enough, as was his habit; but Estella, who was wise in those matters that women know, preferred not to meet his eyes, which were grave and deep.
‘Such things are quickly said,’ Estella retorted.
‘Yes—and it takes a long time to prove them.’
The General had left his gloves on the table. Estella took them up and appeared to be interested in them. ‘Perhaps a lifetime,’ she suggested.
‘I ask no less, se?orita.’
‘Then you ask much.’
‘And I give all—though that is little enough.’
They spoke slowly—not bandying words but exchanging thoughts. Estella was grave. Conyngham’s attitude was that which he ever displayed to the world—namely, one of cheerful optimism, as behoved a strong man who had not yet known fear.
‘Is it too little, se?orita?’ he asked.
She was sitting at the table and would not look up—neither would she answer his question. He was standing16 quite close to her—upright in his bright uniform, his hand on his sword—and all her attention was fixed17 on the flowers which had called forth18 the General’s unspoken admiration19. She touched them with fingers hardly lighter20 than his.
‘Now that I think of it,’ said Conyngham after a pause, ‘what I give is nothing.’
Estella’s face wore a queer little smile, as of a deeper knowledge.
‘Nothing at all,’ continued the Englishman. ‘For I have nothing to give, and you know nothing of me.’
‘Three months ago,’ answered Estella, ‘we had never heard of you—and you had never seen me,’ she added, with a little laugh.
‘I have seen nothing else since,’ Conyngham replied deliberately22; ‘for I have gone about the world a blind man.’
‘In three months one cannot decide matters that affect a whole lifetime,’ said the girl.
‘This matter decided23 itself in three minutes, so far as I am concerned, se?orita, in the old palace at Ronda. It is a matter that time is powerless to affect one way or the other.’
‘With some people; but you are hasty and impetuous. My father said it of you—and he is never mistaken.’
‘Then you do not trust me, se?orita?’
Estella had turned away her face so that he could only see her mantilla and the folds of her golden hair gleaming through the black lace. She shrugged her shoulders.
‘It is not due to yourself, nor to all who know you in Spain, if I do,’ she said.
‘All who know me?’
‘Yes,’ she continued; ‘Father Concha, Se?ora Barenna, my father, and others at Ronda.’
‘Ah! And what leads them to mistrust me?’
‘Your own actions,’ replied Estella.
And Conyngham was too simple-minded, too inexperienced in such matters, to understand the ring of anxiety in her voice.
‘I do not much mind what the rest of the world thinks of me,’ he said; ‘I have never owed anything to the world nor asked anything from it. They are welcome to think what they like. But with you it is different. Is it possible, se?orita, to make you trust me?’
Estella did not answer at once. After a pause she gave an indifferent jerk of the head.
‘Perhaps,’ she said.
‘If it is possible, I will do it.’
‘It is quite easy,’ she answered, raising her head and looking out of the window with an air that seemed to indicate that her interests lay without and not in this room at all.
‘How can I do it?’
She gave a short, hard laugh, which to experienced ears would have betrayed her instantly.
‘By showing me the letter you wrote to Julia Barenna,’ she said.
‘I cannot do that.’
‘Will nothing else than the sight of that letter satisfy you, se?orita?’
Her profile was turned towards him—delicate and proud, with the perfect chiselling25 of outline that only comes with a long descent, and bespeaks26 the blood of gentle ancestors. For Estella Vincente had in her veins27 blood that was counted noble in Spain—the land of a bygone glory.
‘Nothing,’ she answered. ‘Though the question of my being satisfied is hardly of importance. You asked me to trust you, and you make it difficult by your actions. In return I ask a proof, that is all.’
‘Do you want to trust me?’
He had come a little closer to her, and was grave enough now.
‘Why do you ask that?’ she inquired in a low voice.
‘Do you want to trust me?’ he asked, and it is to be supposed that he was able to detect an infinitesimal acquiescent28 movement of her head.
‘Then, if that letter is in existence, you shall have it,’ he said. ‘You say that my actions have borne evidence against me. I shall trust to action and not to words to refute that evidence. But you must give me time—will you do that?’
‘You always ask something.’
‘Yes, se?orita, from you; but from no one else in the world.’
He gave a sudden laugh and walked to the window, where he stood looking at her.
‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘I shall be asking all my life from you. Perhaps that is why we were created, se?orita—I to ask, you to give. Perhaps that is happiness, Estella.’
She raised her eyes but did not meet his, looking past him through the open window. The hotel was situated29 at the lower end of the Puerta del Sol—the quiet end, and farthest removed from the hum of the market and the busy sounds of traffic. These only came in the form of a distant hum, like the continuous roar of surf upon an unseen shore. Below the windows a passing waterseller plied21 his trade, and his monotonous30 cry of ‘Agua-a-a! Agua-a-a!’ rose like a wail—like the voice of one crying in that human wilderness31 where solitude32 reigns33 as surely as in the desert.
For a moment Estella glanced at Conyngham gravely, and his eyes were no less serious. They were not the first, but only two out of many millions, to wonder what happiness is and where it hides in this busy world.
They had not spoken or moved when the door was again opened by a servant, who bowed towards Conyngham and then stood aside to allow ingress to one who followed on his heels. This was a tall man, white-haired, and white of face. Indeed, his cheeks had the dead pallor of paper, and seemed to be drawn34 over the cheekbones at such tension as gave to the skin a polish like that of fine marble. One sees many such faces in London streets, and they usually indicate suffering, either mental or physical.
The stranger came forward with a perfect lack of embarrassment35, which proved him to be a man of the world. His bow to Estella clearly indicated that his business lay with Conyngham. He was the incarnation of the Continental36 ideal of the polished cold Englishman, and had the air of a diplomate such as this country sends to foreign Courts to praise or blame, to declare friendship or war with the same calm suavity37 and imperturbable38 politeness.
‘I come from General Vincente,’ he said to Conyngham, ‘who will follow in a moment, when he has despatched some business which detains him. I have a letter to the General, and am, in fact, in need of his assistance.’
He broke off, turning to Estella, who was moving towards the door.
‘I was especially instructed,’ he said quickly to her, ‘to ask you not to leave us. You were, I believe, at school with my nieces in England, and when my business, which is of the briefest, is concluded, I have messages to deliver to you from Mary and Amy Mainwaring.’
Estella smiled a little and resumed her seat. Then the stranger turned to Conyngham.
‘The General told me,’ he went on in his cold voice, without a gleam of geniality39 or even of life in his eyes, ‘that if I followed the servant to the drawing-room I should find here an English aide-de-camp who is fully40 in his confidence, and upon whose good-nature and assistance I could rely.’
‘I am for the time General Vincente’s aide-de-camp, and I am an Englishman,’ answered Conyngham.
The stranger bowed.
‘I did not explain my business to General Vincente,’ said he, ‘who asked me to wait until he came, and then tell the story to you both at one time. In the meantime I was to introduce myself to you.’
Conyngham waited in silence.
‘My name is Sir John Pleydell,’ said the stranger quietly.
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收听单词发音
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1
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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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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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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4
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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abodes
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| 住所( abode的名词复数 )； 公寓； （在某地的）暂住； 逗留 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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13
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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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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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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17
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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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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20
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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21
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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chiselling
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| n.錾v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的现在分词 ) | |
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bespeaks
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| v.预定( bespeak的第三人称单数 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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suavity
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| n.温和；殷勤 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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39
geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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40
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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