“You were civil to me when your friend would have sent me contemptuously away,” she said. “And when I told you that I had dined at the Café de Paris only three weeks ago, and your friend laughed, you did not. You pretended that you believed it. That was polite of you. For we both knew that never once in all my life have I dined at the Café de Paris or any such swell2 restaurant in Paris. And it was kind of you. It made me ready to fancy that I had dined there and that does one a little good, eh? One feels better in one’s self. So I will be kind in my turn. You are interested in that little one,” and she jerked her head towards the table in the Bar, where Marguerite had rejoined the noisy group. “Yes, she has chic3, and she is pretty on her feet, and she has a personality, but—” Paul Ravenel leaned forward, his face hardening.
“Mademoiselle, I do not want to hear.”
“Oh, I am not going to crab4 her,” replied Henriette, and her petulant5 temper flamed up. “You think, I suppose, that women cannot admire a girl who is younger and prettier than themselves and cannot like her. That is foolish. I tell you we all like Marguerite Lambert. And I speak to you for your good and hers. But, of course, if you do not care to hear me—”
“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle,” said Paul. “I will listen to you very willingly.”
Henriette’s passions were no more than bubbles upon the surface of her good-humour. They burst very quickly and left no traces. The flush faded from her throat and forehead and no doubt from the painted cheeks as well, though that could not be discovered by mortal eye.
“Listen,” she said. “Your friend asked me what Marguerite Lambert was doing at the Villa6 Iris7, and I would not answer him. Why should I? It was clear what he meant, wasn’t it? Why was she, who might really have dined at the Café de Paris three weeks ago, already here at Casablanca, so near to the end of things?” Henriette’s face grew for a moment haggard with terror, as she formulated8 the problem. The last stage but one of the dreadful pilgrimage of her class! She herself was making that journey, and what lay beyond and so hideously9 close, loomed10 up when she thought of it, and appalled11 her.
“You are making too much of his question.”
But Henriette would have none of his consolation13.
“No, that is what he meant and what you meant, too?”
“I said nothing.”
“But the question was in your face. The question and a great deal of trouble. Why was Marguerite Lambert already at Casablanca?”
Paul did not contradict her again. She would not believe him if he did and he might lose the answer to the question.
“You made it still more difficult to understand,” he said frankly14. There was no good to be gained by beating about the bush with this woman who was disposed to help him. “For though you didn’t answer our question you added to it another perplexity. You said that she wouldn’t remain here long.”
Henriette nodded.
“That is right. The answer to both questions is the same. She drifted here so soon, and she will stay for so short a time, because she waits for the grand passion. Yes, the little fool!” but it was not in scorn that she styled Marguerite a little fool, but with a half-contemptuous tenderness, and perhaps a tiny spite of envy.
“The grand passion!” Paul repeated, wondering what in the world his companion meant.
“Yes. Oh, she is quite frank with the rest of us. We talk, you know, when we are dressing15, and after the café is closed, when we are changing back to our street clothes. Until the grand passion comes, nothing, nothing, nothing to any man. Look, they are dancing again, she and Petras Tetarnis, the Greek.”
So he was a Greek, the man with the yellow-buttoned boots and the heavy black moustache! Henriette watched them with the eye of a professional.
“Yes, she dances prettily16, that little one. But would you like a girl to dance with you just in that way—so unconcerned, so half-asleep, so utterly17 indifferent to you? And if you wanted her as Petras Tetarnis does, furiously, wouldn’t you be mad when she swam in your arms so lightly, with so correct a grace and not one look or smile or thought for you? So that if you spoke18 to her, she had to recall her thoughts from the end of the world before she could answer you? You would be wild with rage, eh? You would want to take that slim little white throat between your two big hands and squeeze and squeeze until some attention was paid to you, if it was only the attention of agony and fear. Am I not right?”
Paul’s face turned white. He leaned across the table and cried in a low, fierce voice:
“Was that what you meant, Henriette, when you said that she would not be here long? That the Greek would murder her?”
Henriette burst into a laugh.
“Oh, no, no, no, my friend. Petras Tetarnis is not the man to run such perils19. He has made much money, since the French have come to Casablanca. He is a prudent20 one. It would have to be a very dark night and a very empty street before Tetarnis risked his beautiful money and all the enjoyment21 he gets from it; and even then some one else would have to do the work. But he will use other ways.”
“What kind of ways?” asked Paul.
“He is always here. He is rich. Madame Delagrange makes much of him. Very likely he has lent her money, and if so, he will want his interest.”
“I see.”
“You were much moved, my friend, when I spoke of the big, coarse hands gripping that little throat.”
“Well, any man would be, and whoever the woman,” he protested, and Henriette smiled her disbelief.
“Would you have been so moved if it had been my throat which you thought to be in danger?” she asked shrewdly. “No! Let us be frank. You would have said, ‘It is Henriette’s business to look after herself. She is old enough, anyway’; and you would have forgotten me the next moment.” She turned her eyes again upon Marguerite Lambert.
“The grand passion. Oh, la, la, la! Until it comes nothing, oh, but nothing at all for any one—not half a heart beat! But when it does come, everything, at once, with both hands. The folly24!”
“The glorious imprudence!” replied Paul.
Henriette broke into a harsh laugh as she heard the softly spoken words and saw the light in Paul Ravenel’s eyes. It was the light of a great relief rather than of hope. The fear which had plagued him all through this evening had gone now. There was no need for the excuses. He had not to argue a defence for Marguerite Lambert.
“The glorious imprudence,” Henriette repeated with a sneer25. “Yes, so you say—you, the man who has everything to gain from the glorious imprudence and when he is tired of it, can drop it in the road behind him. But I tell you those are not good ideas for a girl who dances for her living, in the cafés. There is the patron behind the patron like Petras Tetarnis, who will make trouble if he doesn’t get what he wants, for there are rich patrons whom the patron does not wish to drive away. Or there are jealousies26 which may mean fighting and the police. No, my fine gentleman! Girls who are difficult, the Villa Irises27 are no place for them. That is why Marguerite Lambert at twenty is dancing in Casablanca and will not dance there long.”
“But if the great passion comes?” cried Paul.
“Then it must come quick! Believe me, very quick. Petras Tetarnis is growing troublesome. And if it comes! Shall I tell you what will happen? She will blow her brains out! Oh, you may start in your chair. But look at her where she sits! There is the mark of fate already upon her face. It is written, as they say in this country.”
So to Henriette as to Gerard de Montignac and to Paul Ravenel, that indefinable look of destiny in Marguerite was evident. Paul asked himself whether it was not simply the outward and visible sign of that passionate28 self-respect which had kept her untarnished against the rush and play of the great passion when it came. Or was the future really written there—a history of great joys perhaps and great sorrows certainly to be?
“So Marguerite lives on seven francs a day and—”
She got no further. Paul interrupted her with an exclamation29 of horror.
“Seven francs!”
“Yes. That is what our generous Madame Delagrange pays us each night and we provide our own dancing kit30 out of it. Oh, the little fool starves. That is certain—all the more certain because she will not let any of the clients here give her food.”
“But she let me,” cried Paul with a smile of pride.
“Yes, she let you to-night. But the others, never, never, lest—you understand? Lest they should make a claim.”
“Out of so small a service?” asked Paul incredulously.
Henriette smiled.
“You have been lucky in your world,” she said. “The clients of the Villa Iris are not so generous. They will make a claim out of anything, as, by the way, most men will, if the claim may get them what they want. So that little one, since she will give herself to none of them, is wise to starve. You are the only one from whom she has taken food. It is curious, eh? It is because of that and because you treat me like a human being that I, Henriette, who like the little fool, ramble31 on so seriously to you to-night.”
The plastered face softened32 into tenderness and the bird-like eyes shone and filled suddenly with tears.
“It is kind of you,” said Paul. If any one had said to him a couple of hours before that he would have felt himself intensely privileged because a little dancing girl of the Villa Iris had taken supper from him and from him alone, he would have laughed his informant to scorn. But it was so. Paul was radiant with pride. He saw himself as a very fine fellow, a much finer fellow than he had ever believed himself to be. The loneliness of his boyhood, a sudden blow crushing his pride and his dreams in the dust, and years thereafter informed with a strong purpose to regain33 his name and his place in his own country, had combined to defer34 but had not slain35 his youth. It was back with him now, all the more ardent36 and dangerous from the restraint which had held it in check. Paul Ravenel was a boy of nineteen on this evening in the fire of his passion, but with the will and the experience of his own years; and he was old enough to hide any plans which he might be forming and to seek all the knowledge he could get from Henriette.
“Why should she blow out her brains, as you say?” he asked, offering to Henriette a cigarette.
“Because that is what she will do,” replied Henriette as she lighted her cigarette. “I know my world. Listen! My father kept a little eating-house at Rouen, where I saw many types of men. He went bankrupt. I went to dance in Paris. Oh, I was nothing out of the way. I danced in a quadrille at the Casino de Paris for a little time, then at the Bal Tabarin. I went to Madrid and Barcelona where I danced at the Lion d’Or, the restaurant which has no doors, for it is open night and day. And in the end I came here. Well, I tell you this. Fine dreams are for rich people. For us, if we are wise, we bury them out of sight the moment they are born. We will not think of them. We will not allow them. The rich have much which makes disappointment bearable. For us—we blow our brains out.”
Whilst she spoke she kept darting37 little swift glances at her companion, as though she was practising on him some trivial diplomacy38. She believed, in truth, every word she said. But since her philosophy was not Marguerite’s, if this man could give the girl a year or two of happiness, it would be something, at all events. But Paul sat and listened carelessly and answered not at all.
“See!” she cried. “When you spin the racquet for the choice of courts at the tennis, it is ‘rough’ or ‘smooth,’ eh? Well, it is always rough with us and we lose the choice.”
She laughed at her trifle of a joke, and again her eyes glanced at Paul. But the clearer his purpose became to himself, the more impassive grew his face. Long ago he had learnt that lesson of defence. Henriette rose. She, at all events, was openly disappointed.
“So! I have talked to you long enough,” she said. The piano began once more its dreadful cacophany. “Ah, Marguerite is dancing with another of that band. He does not matter. You yourself will dance with her again to-night, isn’t it so?”
Paul shook his head.
“No,” and as he saw Henriette’s face cloud over, he added, “she herself bade me keep away.”
The cloud passed at once. That was good news. There was an understanding between them, then, already. Henriette beamed.
“I understand that,” she said in a whisper, “and I hope you understand it, too. Madame Delagrange is not very content that we dance much with the officers. She says they have no money.”
Paul laughed. He would have loved to have seen Gerard de Montignac’s face if that remark had been made before him and to have heard his reply.
“Not so much, certainly, as those gentlemen over there whom we have made rich. But enough, Mademoiselle Henriette, to thank a good friend.”
For a moment Henriette was puzzled. Then she looked down. Beside her empty glass lay a folded slip of paper. The broad band of purple told her the amount of the bank note. She leaned forward and spoke in a whisper.
“A thousand francs! It is a fortune to me! You understand that? I will take it, yes, with a thousand thanks, but it was not to get your money that I spoke to you.”
“I never thought it. If I had thought it, your surprise would have proved me wrong.”
Henriette gathered the note in the palm of her hand and making a movement as if to take her handkerchief, slipped it secretly into her bosom40. Another thought came to her.
“You are really rich then! You could make a little home, a little safe home, where there would be no clients or patrons or starving. Oh, that would be different!” she said in a wondering voice. “I take back what I said about the end her grand passion would lead her to.” Henriette glanced again towards Marguerite. “She is chic, eh? She has style, the little one? An air of good breeding. Whence does it come? How is it that she has kept it?” Paul could have answered that question had he wished to. She had kept it because of her immense pride and self-respect, she had probably got it to keep, from the same source. Henriette looked from the girl dancing to the officer at the table.
“A little home, eh. If it could be!” she pleaded. Paul gazed at her with a smile upon his lips and in his eyes, but he did not answer her, and she flung away.
“Oh, you are a box with the lid shut! Good-night, Monsieur!”
“Good-night, Mademoiselle Henriette.”
A few moments later Paul Ravenel followed Henriette into the Bar. He stopped before the counter where Madame Delagrange was vigorously wiping the wet rings made by the bottoms of the glasses from the light polished wood. She had always the duster in her hand, except when she was measuring out her drinks into the glasses, and very often then, and generally was at work with it.
“This is quite Maxim’s, Madam,” he said.
The flattery had little effect. Madame barely paused in her polishing and smiled sourly.
“In that case I must see about raising my prices, Monsieur,” said she. No, clearly she did not like the officers. Paul went on to the door. Marguerite, seated with the Levantines, never looked at him, but just as he was going out she raised her glass to her lips with a little nod of her head, as though she drank a health to some absent friend, and her slow smile dawned and trembled on her lips.
But the night was not yet over for Paul Ravenel. As he reached his house he heard his name called aloud and turning about saw his friend Gerard de Montignac hurrying towards him.
“There is news at last,” he said.
The town had been full of rumours41 for many days. Certain things were known. It was certain, for instance that the tribes of the Beni-M’Tir, the Ait-Youssi and the Gerouan had actually pitched their tents on the plain of Fez and in full revolt against Mulai Hafid the Sultan, were pressing the city close. It was known too that a flying column purposely small in order to set at rest the distrust of the German Press and the opposition42 of politicians in Paris, had been assembled at Kenitra for a swift march to relieve the capital. This had been delayed by bad weather which had turned the flat country beyond Kenitra into a marsh43.
But there had been for days a continual disembarkation of fresh troops at Casablanca which pointed39 to operations on a wider scale. On this night the truth was out.
“Come into the house and let me hear, Gerard,” said Paul, and opening his door he switched on the electric lights and led Gerard into a room.
“Meknes has risen too. A new Sultan, Mulai Zine, the brother of Mulai Hafid has been proclaimed Sultan there. It is no longer to be a flying column which will camp for a few days under the walls of Fez and return. It is to be a great expedition. The whole camp at Ain-Bourdja is ringing with it to-night. I ran down to tell you.”
“That was good of you, Gerard,” said Paul.
There was a great contrast visible now between the two officers, the one excited and eager, the other playing with the switch of the standard lamp upon his table, and lost in thought.
“I hear that my squadron is to go up in the first column under Colonel Brulard. You, of course, with your battalion44 will be wanted too.”
“I suppose so,” replied Paul slowly. “I should have liked to have finished this report before I go.”
“The report can wait,” cried Gerard, “France can’t.”
The two friends talked late into the night. Paul gradually threw off the reticence45 with which he had at first answered De Montignac. They fell to debating the strength of the different columns, the line of march, whether through the forest of Zemmour or over the plain of the Sebou and by the Col of Segota, and who would command.
“Brulard for the Advance Force,” said Gerard, “the General himself will follow.”
“And Gouraud?” asked Paul.
“Yes, yes, Gouraud. He couldn’t be left behind. It is said that he will have the supply column and follow a day or two behind Brulard.”
“We shall know more about it to-morrow,” said Paul, and Gerard looked at his watch.
“Do you know the time?” he said springing to his feet. “If we were in France now, we should see daylight.” He was in an emotional mood. He clapped his friend upon the shoulder. “We shall see one another again, my old one, before I start, no doubt. But if we don’t, and anything happens to either of us, well, it is good luck to the survivor46.”
He shook hands with Paul and Paul let him out of the house.
Paul went back to the room. The eagerness with which he had discussed the technical details of the expedition fell from him as soon as he was alone. He sat down at his table and remained there until dawn at last did break over the town. But he was not at work upon his report. He had pushed it from him and sat with his face between the palms of his hands.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
soda
|
|
| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
swell
|
|
| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
chic
|
|
| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
crab
|
|
| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
petulant
|
|
| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
iris
|
|
| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
formulated
|
|
| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
hideously
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
loomed
|
|
| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
appalled
|
|
| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
solace
|
|
| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
prettily
|
|
| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
perils
|
|
| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
prudent
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
jealousies
|
|
| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
irises
|
|
| n.虹( iris的名词复数 )；虹膜；虹彩；鸢尾（花） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
kit
|
|
| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
ramble
|
|
| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
regain
|
|
| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
defer
|
|
| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
slain
|
|
| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
diplomacy
|
|
| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
rumours
|
|
| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
marsh
|
|
| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
battalion
|
|
| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
reticence
|
|
| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
survivor
|
|
| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |