Stripped, dusty, neglected, they were yet the rooms which Gaston had inhabited, and she wandered there too miserable4, too self-reproachful even for weeping. Mort! the word with its hollow vowel5 seemed to go echoing through the emptiness that had once been so different. No chance now of reconciliation6; no chance of that ultimate meeting somewhere, somehow, to the hope of which, in spite of herself, she knew at last that she had been desperately7 clinging—which had even, perhaps unknown to her, been the determining factor in her acceptance of the post at Mirabel. Whatever unsubstantial edifice8 she had been rearing was all in ruins now, and neither in pride and resentment9, nor in the love that forgives everything, could they meet again on earth.
Now she knew the truth: she had always loved him, she always would. And since, in its own surroundings, there was not a single possession of his remaining, she went to the Galerie de Psyché, and, under the paintings of that wife of fable10 who also lost her mate, she knelt down by Gaston’s beautiful escritoire, and bowing her head upon it, kissed the place on the tortoiseshell where his hand had used to rest. He was dead—so what did it matter that he had long ceased to love her? He was dead; he was hers now; she could love for both.
It was neither a cleaning nor a visiting day, and Valentine could not be too thankful that, with these tidings fresh upon her heart, she would not be obliged to act just yet the intolerable part she had so lightly taken up. But, to her utter dismay, she heard, about two o’clock in the afternoon, voices on the steps leading down to her room, and then the sound of the entrance door opening, which showed that the arrivals must include her master Camain, who now used the key he had had, it appeared, all the time. And when Valentine went out unwillingly11 into the passage she found him in the midst of a whole cortège of visitors, mostly feminine. Hanging on to his arm was a pretty, plump woman of about thirty-five, whom she recognised at once from the frequent prints of her in Paris. It was Rose Dufour, the actress of the Ambigu-Comique.
A violent gust13 of repulsion went through the Duchesse de Trélan. True, she had never been able to believe that her husband had really admired Mlle Dufour, but nine or ten years ago rumour14 had certainly linked their names for a space, and to see her in person to-day, of all days . . .
“Ha, here is our good friend, Mme Vidal!” said Camain, advancing. “Rose, if you wish to leave your wrap in her care——” And without waiting for permission he removed from the nymph’s very scantily15 attired17 shoulders a handsome pelisse of violet satin edged with ermine.
“Good God, Camain, do you want me to die of cold in your old tomb of a chateau!” exclaimed she, snatching at it.
“Well, it is true that you will not be suffocated18 without it. You might almost as well have nothing on,” observed her admirer frankly19, looking at her transparent20 white muslin gown of classic cut, worn slightly damp, according to the insane fashion of the day, to make it cling. Even Mlle Dufour’s arms were bare to the shoulder, for the actress was not of those who had to endure the accusation21 launched at the wearers of sleeves, that they feared to show those members. And her mythological22 garb23, slit24 for a considerable distance up the side, revealed the golden fastenings of the buskin clambering half-way up her leg, where a gilded25 acorn26 clasped them. For that reason, presumably, she was not wearing, like one of her companions, a jewelled thong27 around her ankle. But upon her fair coiffure—probably a wig28, for which the rage was extreme—rose a confection of lilac crêpe, adorned29 with two rows of pearls and surmounted30 by a rose and a pansy.
Valentine had turned her back, pretending to be busy. For nothing on earth would she touch any of that creature’s belongings31! However, the dispute about the pelisse resolved itself into the lady’s decreeing that her swain should carry it over his arm, lest she should wish to resume it, and presently the whole party, laughing and talking, swept up the stairway to the ground floor. Mme de Trélan, conscious of jangled nerves, would fain have stayed behind, but Camain insisted on her accompanying them, as was indeed her duty. He did not present her to his mistress, but his affability stopped short only of that mark of distinction.
In the great Salle Verte, for which they presently made, he acted showman, while many remarks were passed on its size and decorations, and surmises32 made as to what scenes (“orgies,” one of the male members of the party termed them) had occurred in it.
“And there is an inner room, somewhat curious,” said the Deputy. “It was designed, I believe, to be a sort of retreat for the prince—since the chateau, as I daresay you know, was originally built for King Fran?ois I. It is worth looking at, Mesdames.” So the company obediently followed him along the Salle Verte.
Valentine was conscious of a violent wish that they should not enter the sallette. Till this moment she had been too much absorbed in the thought of her dead husband to give much consideration to the Comte de Brencourt and his doings. Now, although she knew that he had not attacked the masonry33, and although he would surely not be so rash as to attempt anything in daylight, she had a premonition of disaster. But Camain waved his hand towards the door, and there was nothing for it but to open it.
However, to Mme de Trélan’s great relief—for she had somehow, against her better sense, expected to see de Brencourt standing34 where she had found him last night—the sallette was empty. And the company were called on by the Deputy to admire the cheminée royale, with its carving35 of Apollo and Daphne, and its nymph and pipe-playing satyr on either side, but some of the ladies, unversed in mythological lore36, despite their present attire16, were intrigued37 by the main subject, and among these was the Citoyenne Dufour.
“What on earth is happening to that woman, Camain?” she demanded. “Her arms are sprouting38 at the ends. And who is the man?”
“That, ma belle,” responded her admirer, “is the nymph Daphne, turning into a laurel to escape the attentions of the god Apollo—a pretty prudery not likely, I fancy, to find many imitators in these days, eh, ladies?”
Violent protests from the ladies of the party.
“Oh, oh, Citizen Deputy, you have left some fleur-de-lys on the wall!” observed one of them. “Is that to be on the safe side—in case a Bourbon should return?”
“Fleur-de-lys? Nonsense!” returned M. Camain, putting up his spy-glass to look at the poor scorched39 remnant of tapestry40 hanging there. “Those things you see round that bit of border are . . . humming-birds, heraldic humming-birds!”
Much laughter greeted this sally. “And what is this queer long beast over the hearth41?” demanded another voice.
“With a crown on its head, too! Oh fie!”
“It is not, at any rate,” said one of the two youngish men of the party, in the extraordinary lisp cultivated by the would-be fashionable, “the strange fowl42 to whose nest some one has set fire just as she was going to lay, which we saw in the Salle Verte!”
So it went on, the flow of humour; and after visiting most of the apartments on the first floor, where M. Camain tripped badly as an expositor of the story of Psyche43, and where Valentine’s own apartments, though arousing much interest, were voted horribly old-fashioned in decoration, they came to the second, to the door of the locked gallery with the china and portraits. Mme de Trélan had hoped that she might have been spared that—for how should she look upon that portrait in primrose44 satin to-day?—and sick at heart as never before, she had contrived46 to trail behind. She heard Camain’s voice explaining what was in the room while he waited for her to unlock the door. Then she realised that the key, being a special one, was not on the concierge47’s bunch, and that she had in consequence forgotten to bring it with her. She came forward and said so. “But I will go and fetch it instantly, Monsieur le Député.”
“Do, pray,—though I regret to put you to the trouble,” said her employer. “Meanwhile, ladies, come out on to this balcony, and you will see——”
Valentine hastened down the nearest stairs. Better to get it over as soon as possible, the visit to that room, for it had to be gone through with, and she had no one but herself to thank for that fact.
She had come down a minor48 staircase which deposited her at some distance from her own quarters, and having arrived on the basement floor she began to run, for she was still as light-footed as a girl, and she had a constitutional dislike, for all her upbringing, to keeping people waiting. And thus, round a corner, she almost collided with a man hastening in the opposite direction. A second of stupefaction, and she saw that it was the Comte de Brencourt.
“I know!” returned he rather breathlessly. “They are after me—never mind what happened—a folly50 of my own. I am trying to get as far away from your rooms as possible.”
“But for God’s sake go back there!” said the Duchesse, seizing hold of his arm, and all but pushing him. “Go to my room—you will be safe there. They will not go in!”
“Never!” he exclaimed. “The last thing I should do—compromise you in this affair!” And breaking away from her he disappeared without another word, and was out of sight or hearing before she could even think of some spot in which he could hide. And since her quick wit told her that any delay in returning with the key might lead to Camain himself descending51 to investigate, she ran on to her little parlour, snatched it up and set off again with all haste. Terrible though it was to leave the Comte to his fate, or at least to his own devices—for she heard no sounds of pursuit yet—it was out of her power to help him now.
From what she caught, as she returned to the little group of persons on the second floor, it seemed that Camain had been singing her praises in her absence.
“I am afraid that you have hurried, Madame Vidal,” he said in a tone of concern as he took the key from her. She was indeed very obviously out of breath. “You should not have done so. These ladies seized the opportunity of taking a breath of air on the balcony, and having a peep from there at the park, which they tell me I ought to keep in better order.”
“Indeed, Monsieur le Député,” put in one of the critics in an affected52 voice, “you ought to be scolded! It seems, as far as one can judge from up here, to be in the state of the tangled53 wood which surrounded the castle of the Sleeping Beauty.” She pulled her gauze scarf about her with a still more affected air, acquired with a good deal of pains above her husband’s shop, and the five blue feathers in her turban quivered.
“Now that remark, Madame Constant,” said the Deputy, stooping and fitting the key into the lock, “gives me an opening, does it not, for a pretty speech about the Sleeping Beauty herself? However, Mme Vidal doesn’t like pretty speeches, so I won’t make it.” He opened the door, invited the ladies to enter, and after casting upon Valentine a glance which could only be described as ogling54, followed the bevy55, who had already fluttered in with exclamations—two of them also casting glances of another nature upon the concierge as they passed.
Mme de Trélan, every sense on the alert, remained outside. Dared she run down the stairs again, and could she do any good if she did? She had not long to hesitate, for in an instant Camain’s voice was heard summoning her within, and she obeyed, anxiety as to what was going forward downstairs swallowing for the moment every other feeling.
“You might show these gentlemen the pictures, Madame Vidal,” said her master, looking up from his favourite Sèvres. And as the three men of the party attached themselves to her, the Duchesse began to move slowly along the line of Trélans, starting as far as possible from her husband’s portrait. She heard, before beginning her own unwilling12 exposition, Camain saying, “You see this plate, ladies; I believe it was one of a service painted for the late Duchesse on her marriage.” And she guessed to what he was directing the attention of those fair and envious57 vulgarians, to the plate of green Sèvres with the alternate medallions of cherubs58 on clouds, baskets of flowers, and green wreaths, round the rim45 whose extreme edge was of dark blue hatched with gold.
“That must be the poor woman’s monogram59 in the middle, then,” said one of them, and Valentine knew that she was looking at the gold T in the centre, intertwined with a V of roses and forget-me-nots, and surmounted by a coronet. “T for Trélan, of course—I wonder what the V stood for?”
“I don’t know,” said Camain. “Victoire or Victorine, I expect. Do you know, Mademoiselle Dufour?”
“Why on earth should I?” asked Rose Dufour indifferently. “Let me look at it, Georges—I’ll take it in my own hands, thanks . . . Great God, how clumsy you are!” For the sound of a smash told that the late Duchesse de Trélan’s plate now existed only in fragments.
Through the ensuing recriminations between the Deputy and his innamorata, and the expressions of concern from everybody else in the room, including her own three prospective60 picture-gazers, Valentine’s ears were strained to catch other sounds. And as she still did not hear them she began to entertain a faint hope. The chateau was so large that a man might lead his pursuers a good dance and elude61 them in the end. Unfortunately M. de Brencourt was not familiar with its topography.
“If you say you dropped it because you were carrying my pelisse I’ll take the pelisse myself!” Mlle Dufour’s voice emerged again, sounding less good-humoured than usual. “No, I’m not going to carry it on my arm—Heaven forbid. You can put it on my shoulders, only don’t drop it also—Bon Dieu, what’s that?”
For a loud knock had come at the door, which stood ajar—a knock that sounded to Valentine like the summons of Fate. Moving a trifle, she was able to see the soldier outside, whose approaching footfalls the recent scene had drowned. A sensitive lady gave a little scream.
“Who’s there?” asked Camain, the violet satin held above Mlle Dufour’s bare shoulders. “Excuse me, ma mie!” He dropped the cloak upon its destination without much ceremony, and strode to the door, where the National Guard was seen to salute62 and to say something in a low voice.
“Tut, tut!” said the Deputy. “Well, I suppose I had better come down and ask him a few questions.”
“What is it, Georges?” asked the Dufour, who had glided63 to the door after him, the ermine slipping half off her shoulders.
“The guard have captured a man who has just made an entrance into the building, and they would like me to have a look at him before marching him off.”
“How interesting!” cried the actress. “What a coup64 de théatre! Do not go down to him, Georges! Let them bring him up here! This might have been arranged for us. What was he doing?”
Nobody could answer that question but Valentine, and she only in part. Camain hesitated a moment, but only a moment. “Very well,” he said. “Tell them to bring him up here,” he added to the National Guard.
A hot flame of indignation ran over the Duchesse. The Comte de Brencourt, a gentleman, was then to be made a show for the passing curiosity of a courtesan and her friends! But what had he been about, in daylight too? The same question no doubt was exercising the Deputy, for he turned round, his look seeking her out; and, being half a head taller than any one else in the room, he easily found her.
“Here is a pretty find to be made on your domain65, Madame Vidal!” he said. The voice sounded jocular, but she was not sure of the genuineness of that jocularity. She was saved the necessity of a reply by a remark from one of the ladies, winged by a malicious66 side-glance at her, the shabby, middle-aged67 caretaker; “Perhaps it is the Prince come after the Sleeping Beauty!”
Half ashamed, the men sniggered too. Valentine’s anger, lit in spite of her contempt, served usefully to steady her. “It is more likely, Monsieur le Député,” she said coldly, “that he has come after something in this room—there are valuables here, are there not?”
“At the moment, most certainly!” cut in one of the youngish men, bowing with a fatuous68 air in the direction of Rose and the others.
“But in the daytime!” said Camain musingly69. His eyes strayed to the jasper cup. “I’ll have the room made surer.”
“And I shall beg leave to give up the key,” said Valentine, her head high. Anything to foster the idea of ordinary theft.
“I shall not ask you——” Camain was beginning, when the tramp of feet in the corridor interrupted him. “Ah, here is our adventurer. Yes, bring him in, men.”
If the Comte de Brencourt felt the indignity70 of his position, he did not show it. His chief preoccupation, Valentine could not but feel, was to avoid looking at her. He had not been secured without a struggle, that was evident, for there was a cut on his forehead, and his neckcloth was wrenched71 half off. His arms were bound to his sides by a pipe-clayed cross-belt. Valentine could not keep her eyes off him, but the Comte himself looked nowhere but at Camain. And Camain, advancing a little, studied him for a moment, his hands behind his back, his rather prominent blue eyes suddenly grown searching.
The National Guard related a story to which no one in the room listened more fixedly73 than the concierge of Mirabel: how the sentry74—apparently neither Grégoire nor Jacques—happening to look round at the chateau not very long after the entry of the Deputy and his party, had seen a man getting in at one of the ground-floor windows, how he had summoned the guard and they, selecting the same window, as the quickest mode of entrance, had at last run the intruder to earth on the basement floor and, after a lively resistance, captured him.
“Very smart work, corporal,” said the Deputy. “But that window—what window was it?”
“We found ourselves when we got in, Citizen Deputy, in that room they call the ‘sallette.’?”
“The sallette!” echoed Camain in surprise, and Valentine suppressed an exclamation56. How nearly right her presentiments75 had been, then! But to enter by the window, in broad daylight, in view of the sentry; it sounded crazy!
“And what had he in his pockets?” went on the Deputy.
“These small tools, Citizen Deputy, a handkerchief, and a case with assignats; we have not counted them yet.”
(He must have had time to get rid of the plan, then.)
“Well, my fine fellow, and what have you to say for yourself?” The words were careless, but the tone was so different from anything which Mme de Trélan had yet heard him use, that, for the first time, she realised how Georges Camain might have been a Terrorist.
To this the prisoner was understood to mutter, in a strong patois76, that he hoped the citizen would not be too severe on a poor man, that the times were bitter hard—no work, no food—and he had thought he might light on something or other in Mirabel that nobody would miss . . .
His dishevelled appearance, the blood trickling77 down one cheek, and a certain amount of dirt that M. de Brencourt had somehow accumulated, went really a good way to obliterate78 the marks of race. Perhaps he would succeed in carrying it off that he was a common thief. The Deputy seemed inclined to believe it.
“I rather think, my man,” he said, with a smile which had in it nothing of amiable79, “that you have known the inside of a gaol80 already, from the look of you. However, we shall hear all about that later. You had better take him to the guard-house for the present,” he remarked to the corporal, “and make arrangements for having him conveyed to Paris.”
By the end of this little speech Valentine had realised where the captive’s eyes, which had already removed themselves from his inquisitor’s, were now fixed—on the portrait of her husband as a young man which faced him all the while.
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1
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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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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vowel
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| n.元音；元音字母 | |
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6
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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7
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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16
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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mythological
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| adj.神话的 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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acorn
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| n.橡实，橡子 | |
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thong
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| n.皮带；皮鞭；v.装皮带 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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34
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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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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41
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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42
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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psyche
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| n.精神；灵魂 | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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45
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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46
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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47
concierge
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| n.管理员；门房 | |
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48
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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49
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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51
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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52
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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54
ogling
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| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的现在分词 ) | |
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55
bevy
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| n.一群 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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cherubs
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| 小天使，胖娃娃( cherub的名词复数 ) | |
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monogram
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| n.字母组合 | |
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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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63
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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67
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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68
fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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75
presentiments
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| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
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patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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