How could he hit upon her track? The old woman--the last person who had seen her--was exhausted1 and pumped out, and had told next to nothing. Was there no one who could help him in this strait?--no one who could make some suggestion as to the best mode of discovering the fugitive2? Yes!--a sudden brilliant thought struck him--the man who had discovered him when, as he thought, he lay so closely hid,--the detective, Inspector3 Stellfox.
He had given a handsome present to the inspector when he came into his kingdom--how long ago it seemed!--and he had seen him several times since on public occasions,--at the Opera, at Chiswick Flower-shows, at the Derby, and similar popular resorts. He had the inspector's address somewhere,--at some police-station down in the City; and he went to his desk, and turned over a heterogeneous4 collection of papers, and found it. Then he sent Banks down to the station-house; and that evening Inspector Stellfox was shown into Sir Charles's study, and placed by him in possession of the facts.
The inspector went to work in his own special way. It was a peculiar5 job, he said, and not too easy to work out; but he had hopes. He went back to the station-house, and communicated as much as he chose to tell to two of his best men. Then all three went to work. They found out the cabman who had taken Mrs. Hammond to the South-Eastern Railway; they found the porter who had taken the boxes off the cab, and the luggage-labeller who had marked them; they found the tick-clerk who had registered them "in transit," and whose book showed not merely the number of pounds' weight, but the name in which they were entered. They were booked for Cologne,--one could not in those days register any farther,--and for Cologne Sir Charles started immediately. There he picked up the trace. Two French ladies had arrived by the Ostend train, and gone--not to any of the grand hotels bordering the Rhine, but to a second-rate house, yet quiet and thoroughly6 respectable for all that--the Brüsseler Hof, kept for the last thirty years by Anton Schumacher. Were they recollected8 there? Of course they were. Anton Schumacher's eldest9 son Franz had been rather fetched by the trim appearance of the younger lady, and had gone down with them to the boat, and seen them on board the K?nigin Victoria, and recommended them specially10 to the care of the conducteur, who was a great friend of his. Where did they take tickets for? Why, at his advice, they took them for Cassel, on the left bank of the river. They were going, as he understood, to Baden-Baden, and he had advised them to sleep at Barth's--a right clean comfortable hotel in Cassel--and then post on to Frankfurt, where they could spend the afternoon and the night, and so get on right pleasantly to Baden the next day.
To Baden! Sir Charles Mitford's heart sunk within him as he heard the words. Baden! That was where Laura had been so talked about for her desperate carrying on with Tchernigow nearly three years ago. And she was gone there now, and Tchernigow had disappeared from London!
Doubtless they had arranged it all between them, and he was thrown overboard and sold. His mind was at once made up: he would follow her there or to the end of the earth; what did it matter to him? He told Banks to pack a small travelling valise; he called at Bligh's on his way to the station and gave him certain instructions, and he was off. Not a word of farewell to Georgie; not a look of kindness; not a kiss of love for that poor child lying broad awake and listening to his footsteps as he stole through the house at early morning! What could he have said to her?--he, going in search of his paramour, who had thrown him over,--what could he have said to the wife whom he had so cruelly treated, so recklessly betrayed?
So Sir Charles Mitford, after long and tedious days of travel, arrived at Baden, as we have seen; and the first person he encountered, ere he had scarcely put foot in the hall of the Badischer Hof, was Mr. Aldermaston. He had known him in London, and was perfectly11 aware of his qualification for news. There was no reticence12 in Sir Charles Mitford now; no coming delicately to the subject; no beating about the bush: all that had vanished long since. Besides, if there had been any delicacy13 remaining, Mr. Aldermaston was scarcely the kind of man for whom it would have been employed. So Sir Charles said at once, and hurriedly:
"How do, Aldermaston? Been here long?"
"Ah, Sir Charles, how do you do? Just arrived, I see. Yes; I've been here--O, three weeks about."
"Then can you tell me? Is Mrs. Hammond here?"
"There's no such name in the Fremdenblatt-- the Gazette des étrangers, you know." His little eyes twinkled so, that even Mitford's dull comprehension was aroused.
"But for all that, she's here. Tell me, for God's sake!"
"Well, there's a French lady here--says she's French that's to say,--called Madame Poitevin, who might be Mrs. Hammond's twin sister."
"Ah!" Mitford gave a long sigh of relief. "I suppose she's attracted the usual amount of attention among all the people here, eh?"
"She would have, doubtless, had she ever courted it. But the truth is, she has never left her hotel."
"Never left her hotel!" echoed Mitford, obviously delighted. "Which is her hotel? where is she staying?"
"At the Russie, lower down the town."
"Yes; must be dull for her," said little Aldermaston, looking up to see the effect his words had on his companion; "lives in strict seclusion15."
"Does she indeed? Poor girl! poor Laura!"
"Yes,--only one person permitted to see her; only one who is allowed to mingle16 his tears with hers."
"One person! and who is that?"
"A friend of hers,--Prince Tchernigow."
"Damnation!" screamed Mitford; "is he here? That cursed Russian with his sallow face has always been hanging about her; and is he here now?"
"O yes, he's here now; has been here for the last month, and has seen her twice every day since she arrived. I happen to know that," said Mr. Aldermaston, "from private sources of information."
"He has, has he? Curse him!" said Mitford, white with rage.
"O yes, he has; and curse him if you like to me," said Mr. Aldermaston. "He's no friend of mine; and if he were, I don't know that I've any right to object because a gentleman curses him. But I don't think I'd curse him too strongly to Mrs. Hammond when you see her."
"Why not?"
"Well, simply because he's going to be married to her to-morrow morning."
"To be married to her! You lie, sir!--you lie!"
"I say, look here, Mr.--Sir Charles Mitford; there is a point which must not be passed;--thus far shalt thou go, you know, and that sort of thing;--and you must not tell a gentleman he lies--'pon my soul you mustn't!"
"I beg your pardon; I scarcely know what I'm saying. To be married to-morrow morning!--to be married!"
"O yes; it's all right; it's not what you said, you know, but as true as possible. I know it for a fact, because I was at the post-office just now, and I saw letters addressed to the Russian ambassador, and to Mr. Koch, our consul17 at Frankfurt; and Malmedie told me that the prince's man has been over here to order a carriage and relays for the morning."
"What did you say the name was under which she was passing?"
"Madame Poitevin. But why?"
"Nothing-no matter; now the H?tel de Russie!--all right;" and he started off up the street.
"C'est lui! mon, Dieu, madame! c'est lui!" That was all Mademoiselle Marcelline had time to utter as she opened the door of Mrs. Hammond's rooms to a hasty knock, and a tall figure strode past her. Mademoiselle Marcelline, even in the fading evening light, recognized the well-known form of Sir Charles Mitford; but her exclamation18 caused Mrs. Hammond to think it was Prince Tchernigow of whom she spoke19, and to impute20 Marcelline's evident terror to the fact that she had not then put the finishing touches to her toilette or her coiffure.
When she saw who was her visitor, she made up her mind instantaneously to the line of conduct to be pursued, and said:
"May I ask the meaning, Sir Charles Mitford, of this strange intrusion into a lady's private rooms?"
He stopped still, and winced21 under her cold words as though cut by a whip. When he regained22 his voice, he said:
"Laura! Laura! what does this mean?"
"That is what I call upon you to, explain. You come unannounced into my rooms, and then ask me what it means. You have been dining, Sir Charles Mitford!"
"Ah, I know what you're up to, then; but you're not right--I'll swear you're not right. Not one drop of anything have I had for God knows how many hours. But I'm faint, weary, and heart-broken. Tell me, tell me, you heartless devil, is this true that I've heard?" He alternated from maudlin23 sentimentality to fierce rage, and it was difficult to say under which aspect he was most detestable.
"Let go my hand," said she, trying to snatch her wrist from his clutch; "let go my hand, or I'll call for assistance! How can I tell whether what you've heard is true or not, when you've not had sense enough to tell me what it is?"
She spoke in a deadly cold metallic24 voice; and what she said roused him to a pitch of fury. Ever since she had first discovered that he occasionally resorted to the brandy-bottle, she had taunted26 him with covert27 allusions28 to his drinking, well aware that nothing rendered him so savage29.
"Curse you!" he said, "that's your old taunt25. Did you not hear me say that nothing had passed my lips for hours? Now, answer me one question, or rather first hear me speak. I know all."
"Prince Tchernigow is in Baden."
"And what of that?"
"He visits you daily--twice a day."
"And what of that? Why should he not? What is that to you?"
"Oh, Laura!--Oh, my darling Laura! What is it to me, she asks? I, who worship her shadow, who would put my neck down for her to tread upon!--Then he does visit you?"
"He does visit me. Does that answer content you? You deny that you have been drinking, Sir Charles Mitford, and yet you go on with this senseless rodomontade!"
"Then let him look out for himself, Laura Hammond!--that's all I have to say;--let him look out for himself."
"He is perfectly able to do that, if there were occasion. But there is no occasion now!" She took her cue from Dollamore's hint. "I'm not your wife, Sir Charles Mitford, for you to bully31 and threaten. You have no hold over me. And if you had, I am not a puny32 white-faced snivelling school-girl, to be put down by big words and black looks!"
"You are not my wife!" he repeated. "No, God knows you speak truth in that, at all events! You are not my wife."
His voice fell, and the tone in which he uttered these words was very low. Did a thought come over him of the "white-faced snivelling school-girl" who was his wife, and whom he had quitted without one word of adieu? Did the white face rise up in judgment33 before him then, as it would rise up in judgment on a certain grand day? He passed his hand across his eyes and sat silent.
"No, I am not your wife," she continued, "thank God! I never would have been your wife. And now listen, for this is the last time you and I will ever be alone together; yes--I swear it--the last time! What we have been to each other--the nature of the tie between us--you know as well as I. But what prompted me to permit the establishment of such a tie, you do not know, and so I will tell you. Revenge, Sir Charles Mitford, revenge!--that was the sole spur that urged me on to allow my name to be coupled with yours--to allow you to think that you had a hold over me, body and soul. You imagined I cared for you! That poor piece of propriety34 in England was jealous of me!--jealous of my having robbed her of her pet-lamb, her innocent Southdown! I cared for you then as much as I care for you now--no, I wrong you, I eared for you a little more then, just a little more, because you were useful to me. Now my need for such a tool is ended, and--I cast you off!"
She stood up as ho said these words, and made a motion with her hand, corresponding to the speech, as though throwing him away. He looked at her in astonishment--then his face darkened, and he said:
"Do you dare to tell me this?"
"I dare anything," she replied, "as you might have learnt ere this. Do you recollect7 the night in the fir-plantation, when your friend Captain Bligh came out in search of you, and we stood together within an arm's length of him? What did I dare then?"
"Not so much as you dare now, if you did but know!" said Mitford. "You knew then that, had the worst come to the worst, you had a man at your feet who was prepared to brave all for you; who would have scorned the world and all that the world could say; who would have taken you far away out of the chance of its venom35 and the breath of its scandal, and devoted36 his life to securing your happiness. Your reputation was even then beginning to be tainted37; your name had even then been buzzed about, and you would have gained--ay, gained--rather than lost by the fortunate accident which would have made one man your slave for ever!"
"I had no idea you had such a talent for eloquence," said she calmly. "Even in your maddest access of passion--for you are, I suppose, the 'one man' who was prepared to do such mighty38 things--you never warmed up to say so many sensible words consecutively39! But suppose you are arguing on wrong premises40? Suppose there is a man who is prepared to do all that that hypothetical 'one man' would have dared? Prepared--ay, and able--to do more! More, for that 'one man' was married, and could only have placed me virtuously41 in the eyes of the world after long and tedious legal ceremonies. Suppose that there is now a man able and willing--nay more, dying--to make me his wife, what then?"
"Then," said Sir Charles, "I go back to what I said before--let him look to himself--let him look to himself!"
"He is perfectly ready to do so, Sir Charles Mitford," said a low deep voice.
Both turned, and both saw Prince Tchernigow standing42 in the doorway43. Laura gave a great start, and rushed to his side. He put his arm calmly round her, and said:
"Do not disturb yourself, Laura; there is no occasion for fright."
"Ah!" said Mitford, with a deep inhalation of his breath, "I have found you at last, have I? You are here, Prince Tchernigow! So much the better! Let me tell you, sir, that--"
"Even Sir Charles Mitford will recollect," said Tchernigow, "that one chooses one's language in the presence of ladies!" Then, in a lower tones "I shall be at the rooms in half an hour."
Mitford nodded sulkily and took up his hat. Then, with a low bow to Mrs. Hammond, he left the room.
An hour had passed, and the space in front of the Kürsaal was thronged44 as usual. At a table by himself sat Sir Charles Mitford, drinking brandy-and-water, and ever and anon casting eager glances round him. His eyes were bloodshot, his hand shook as he conveyed the glass to his lips, and his whole face was puckered45 and livid. The aspect of his face brightened as he saw Prince Tchernigow approaching him. Tchernigow was alone, and was making his way with the utmost deliberation to the table at which he saw Mitford seated. He came up, took off his hat with a grave bow, and remained standing. Mitford swallowed what remained of his drink, and stood up beside him.
"You were waiting for me, M. Mitford?" said Tchernigow. "I am sorry to have detained you; but it was unavoidable. You used words just now--in a moment of anger doubtless--which you are already probably sorry for."
"They were words which I used intentionally46 and with deliberation," said Mitford. "I spoke of some man--then to me unnamed--who had come between me and Mrs. Hammond--"
"I scarcely understand the meaning of the phrase 'come between,' M. Mitford. It is doubtless my ignorance of your language to which I must ascribe it. But how could any one 'come between' a married man and a widow--granting, of course, that the married man is a man of honour?"
Mitford ground his teeth, but was silent.
"And supposing always," continued Tchernigow, "that there was some one sufficiently47 interested in the widow to object to any 'coming between'?--some one who had proposed himself in marriage to her, and who intended to make her his wife?"
The truth flashed across Mitford in an instant. He was beaten on all sides; but there was yet a chance of revenge.
"And suppose there were such a fool," he said,--"which, I very much doubt,--the words I used I would use again, and if need were, I would cram48 them down his throat!"
"Eh bien, M. Mitford!" said Tchernigow, changing his language, but ever keeping his quiet tone,--"eh bien! M. Mitford, décidément vous êtes un lache!"
A crash, a gathering49 of a little crowd, and the waiter-who was so like Bouffé--raised Prince Tchernigow from the ground, with a little blood oozing50 from a spot beneath his temple. "He had stumbled over a chair," he said; "but it was nothing."
In deep consultation51 with his stick, Lord Dollamore was lounging round the outer ring at the roulette-table, when Sir Charles Mitford, with a flushed face and dishevelled hair, with rumpled52 wristbands and shirt-collar awry53, made his way to him, and begged for a few minutes' conversation apart.
Shrugging his shoulders, and obviously unwilling54, Dollamore stepped aside with him into an embrasure of the window, and then Mitford said:
"I am in a mess, and I want your help."
"In what way?"
"I have had a row with Tchernigow--you can guess about what; he insulted me, and I struck him. He'll have me out of course, and I want you to act for me."
Lord Dollamore paused for an instant, and took the stick's advice. Then he said:
"Look here, Si Charles Mitford: in the least offensive way possible, I want to tell you that I can't do this."
"You refuse me?
"I do. We were acquaintances years ago, when you were quite a boy; and when you came to your title you renewed the acquaintance. I did not object then; and had things continued as they were then, I would willingly have stood by you now. But they are not as they were then; they are entirely55 changed, and all for the worse. You have been going to the bad rapidly for the last twelve months; and, in short, have compromised yourself in a manner which renders it impossible for me to be mixed up in any affair of yours."
"I understand you perfectly, Lord Dollamore," said Mitford, in a voice hoarse56 with rage, "The next request I make to you--and it shall be very shortly too--will be that you will stand not by me, but before me!"
"In that case," said Dollamore, with a bow,--"in that case, Sir Charles Mitford, you will not have to complain of a refusal on my part."
Mitford said nothing, but he was cut to the quick. He had noticed--he could not, even with his blunted feelings and defiant57 temper, avoid noticing--that men's manners towards him had lately much changed; that acquaintances plunged58 up by-streets as they saw him coming, or buried themselves in the sheets of newspapers when he entered the club-room; but he had never been directly insulted before. He would revenge himself on Dollamore before he left Baden; meanwhile there was business on hand, and who should he ask to be his second? Mr. Aldermaston, of course; and he sought him at once. Mr. Aldermaston was only too delighted. To be second to a baronet in a duel59 with a prince, and then to have the story to tell afterwards, particularly if one of them killed the other--he didn't much care which--would set him up for life. Mr. Aldermaston agreed at once, and was put in communication with Prince Tchernigow's friend; and the meeting was arranged for sunrise in the Black Forest, just above the entrance to the Murgthal.
Prince Tchernigow called on Laura late in the afternoon on which these preliminaries were arranged. It is needless to say that he did not hint at them to her; indeed such care had he taken, that Laura had no idea Sir Charles Mitford had met the Prince since their first interview in Baden, though probably Mademoiselle Marcelline might have been better informed. But Tchernigow said on reflection it appeared to him better that she should go to Frankfurt that evening,--it would put a stop to any chance of talk, he said, and he would join her there at the Romischer Kaiser the next morning. Laura agreed, as she would have agreed to anything he might have proposed--so happy was she just then; and while the visitors were engaged at the late table-d'h?te, a carriage drew up at the side-door of the H?tel de Russie, and Mrs. Hammond and Mademoiselle Marcelline started for Frankfurt.
* * * * *
Lord Dollamore was in the habit of breakfasting late and substantially. The tables were generally laid for the first table-d'h?te before the easy-going Englishman came lounging into the salle-à-manger about ten o'clock, and sat down to his bifteck aux pommes and his half-bottle of Léoville. He was not a minute earlier than usual on the morning after he had refused to act for Mitford, though he felt certain the meeting had taken place. But he thought very little of it; he had seen so many duels60 amongst foreigners which never came to anything beyond an interchange of pistol-shots, or which were put an end to after the drawing of first blood by a sabre-scratch. It was not until the door was flung open, and Mr. Aldermaston, with his face ashy pale, with his travelling-clothes on and his courier's bag slung61 round him, rushed into the room, that Lord Dollamore felt that something really serious had happened, and said, "Good God, Aldermaston! what has gone wrong? Speak, man!"
"The worst!" said Aldermaston, whose voice had lost its crisp little society-tone, and who spoke in a hoarse low whisper,--"the worst! Mitford's hit!"
"Killed?"
"No, he's alive still; was at least when I left. We got him into a woodcutter's hut close at hand, and there's a German doctor with him; but, from all I can make out, there's no hope. I must be off over the frontier, or I shall get in a mess myself. Send me a line to the Grand Laboureur at Antwerp, and let me know all, will you? Goodbye."
The scene which he had witnessed seemed to have had the effect of causing Aldermaston to age visibly. His whiskers were lank62, his hair dishevelled, the hand which clasped Dollamore's was cold and clammy; and as he hurried from the room it would have been difficult to recognize in him the usual bright chirpy little news-purveyor.
As soon as he was gone Lord Dollamore ordered a carriage to be got ready, and sent round to the H?tel d'Angleterre to Mr. Keene, the eminent63 London surgeon, who had arrived two days before, and who, on hearing what had happened, at once consented to accompany Dollamore to where the wounded man was lying. As they proceeded in the carriage, they exchanged very few remarks. Mr. Keene whiled away the time by the perusal64 of the new number of the Lancet, which had reached him by that morning's post, and which contained some delightfully-interesting descriptions of difficult operations; and Dollamore was immersed in reflections suggested by the nature of the errand on which he was then journeying. He had always had a poor opinion of life in general; and what he had witnessed lately had not tended to raise it. His prophecies regarding Mitford had been more speedily and more entirely fulfilled than he had expected. Mitford had gone to the bad utterly65 and speedily; and Lady Mitford had had to run the gauntlet in the fullest acceptation of the phrase,--had afforded a topic for the blasting tongues of all the scandal-mongers in London, from no fault of her own, poor child, but from the baseness and brutality66 of her husband.
These thoughts occupied him till the carriage arrived at a Point beyond which it was impossible for it to proceed further. The man who had driven Mitford and Aldermaston over in the morning, and who had accompanied Dollamore's carriage as guide to the spot, preceded Lord Dollamore and Mr. Keene over rough ruts and among intertwining trees, until at length they reached the hut. Dollamore pushed the door open and looked in, and saw a figure half-dressed, and with the front of its shirt soaked with blood, lying on a heap of straw in one corner of the wretched hovel; a peasant woman standing in the other corner, with two children huddled67 round her knees; and by the prostrate68 figure knelt a placid-looking man in black clothes,--a German doctor. He held up his hand in warning, as the door creaked; but Mitford's eyes, turned that way, had fallen on Dollamore, and he tried to beckon69 him to approach. Dollamore entered, and knelt down beside him. Mitford lips were moving rapidly; but Dollamore could distinguish not a word. The dying man evidently comprehended this. With the last remnant of strength he raised himself until his mouth touched Dollamore's ear, and whispered:
"Georgie--forgive--" and fell back dead.
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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heterogeneous
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peculiar
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thoroughly
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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eldest
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specially
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perfectly
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reticence
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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feigned
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seclusion
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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consul
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exclamation
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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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impute
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winced
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regained
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maudlin
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metallic
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taunt
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taunted
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covert
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allusions
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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consecutively
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| adv.连续地 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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virtuously
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| 合乎道德地，善良地 | |
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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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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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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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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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duels
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| n.两男子的决斗( duel的名词复数 )；竞争，斗争 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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beckon
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| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
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