The cat on his knee rose, arched her back, yawned, and looked up at him.
"What shall it be? A roast chicken with salad? No? Possibly you prefer beef? Of course,—and I shall try an egg and some white bread. Now for the wines. Milk for you? Good. I shall take a little water, fresh from the wood," with a motion toward the bucket in the sink.
He put on his hat and left the room. The cat followed to the door, and after he had closed it behind him, she settled down, smelling at the cracks, and cocking one ear at every creak from the crazy old building.
The door below opened and shut. The cat looked serious, for a moment doubtful, and her ears flattened1 in nervous expectation. Presently she rose with a jerk of her tail and started on a noiseless tour of the studio. She sneezed at a pot of turpentine, hastily retreating to the table, which she presently mounted, and having satisfied her curiosity concerning a roll of red modelling wax, returned to the door and sat down with her eyes on the crack over the threshold. Then she lifted her voice in a thin plaint.
When Severn returned he looked grave, but the cat, joyous2 and demonstrative, marched around him, rubbing her gaunt body against his legs, driving her head enthusiastically into his hand, and purring until her voice mounted to a squeal3.
He placed a bit of meat, wrapped in brown paper, upon the table, and with a penknife cut it into shreds4. The milk he took from a bottle which had served for medicine, and poured it into the saucer on the hearth5.
He cooked his egg and ate it with a slice of bread, watching her busy with the shredded7 meat, and when he had finished, and had filled and emptied a cup of water from the bucket in the sink, he sat down, taking her into his lap, where she at once curled up and began her toilet. He began to speak again, touching8 her caressingly9 at times by way of emphasis.
"Cat, I have found out where your mistress lives. It is not very far away;—it is here, under this same leaky roof, but in the north wing which I had supposed was uninhabited. My janitor10 tells me this. By chance, he is almost sober this evening. The butcher on the rue11 de Seine, where I bought your meat, knows you, and old Cabane the baker12 identified you with needless sarcasm14. They tell me hard tales of your mistress which I shall not believe. They say she is idle and vain and pleasure-loving; they say she is hare-brained and reckless. The little sculptor15 on the ground floor, who was buying rolls from old Cabane, spoke16 to me to-night for the first time, although we have always bowed to each other. He said she was very good and very beautiful. He has only seen her once, and does not know her name. I thanked him;—I don't know why I thanked him so warmly. Cabane said, 'Into this cursed Street of the Four Winds, the four winds blow all things evil.' The sculptor looked confused, but when he went out with his rolls, he said to me, 'I am sure, Monsieur, that she is as good as she is beautiful.'"
The cat had finished her toilet, and now, springing softly to the floor, went to the door and sniffed17. He knelt beside her, and unclasping the garter held it for a moment in his hands. After a while he said: "There is a name engraved18 upon the silver clasp beneath the buckle19. It is a pretty name, Sylvia Elven. Sylvia is a woman's name, Elven is the name of a town. In Paris, in this quarter, above all, in this Street of the Four Winds, names are worn and put away as the fashions change with the seasons. I know the little town of Elven, for there I met Fate face to face and Fate was unkind. But do you know that in Elven Fate had another name, and that name was Sylvia?"
He replaced the garter and stood up looking down at the cat crouched before the closed door.
"The name of Elven has a charm for me. It tells me of meadows and clear rivers. The name of Sylvia troubles me like perfume from dead flowers."
The cat mewed.
"Yes, yes," he said soothingly20, "I will take you back. Your Sylvia is not my Sylvia; the world is wide and Elven is not unknown. Yet in the darkness and filth21 of poorer Paris, in the sad shadows of this ancient house, these names are very pleasant to me."
He lifted her in his arms and strode through the silent corridors to the stairs. Down five flights and into the moonlit court, past the little sculptor's den13, and then again in at the gate of the north wing and up the worm-eaten stairs he passed, until he came to a closed door. When he had stood knocking for a long time, something moved behind the door; it opened and he went in. The room was dark. As he crossed the threshold, the cat sprang from his arms into the shadows. He listened but heard nothing. The silence was oppressive and he struck a match. At his elbow stood a table and on the table a candle in a gilded22 candlestick. This he lighted, then looked around. The chamber23 was vast, the hangings heavy with embroidery24. Over the fireplace towered a carved mantel, grey with the ashes of dead fires. In a recess25 by the deep-set windows stood a bed, from which the bedclothes, soft and fine as lace, trailed to the polished floor. He lifted the candle above his head. A handkerchief lay at his feet. It was faintly perfumed. He turned toward the windows. In front of them was a canapé and over it were flung, pell-mell, a gown of silk, a heap of lace-like garments, white and delicate as spiders' meshes26, long, crumpled27 gloves, and, on the floor beneath, the stockings, the little pointed28 shoes, and one garter of rosy29 silk, quaintly30 flowered and fitted with a silver clasp. Wondering, he stepped forward and drew the heavy curtains from the bed. For a moment the candle flared31 in his hand; then his eyes met two other eyes, wide open, smiling, and the candle-flame flashed over hair heavy as gold.
She was pale, but not as white as he; her eyes were untroubled as a child's; but he stared, trembling from head to foot, while the candle flickered32 in his hand.
At last he whispered: "Sylvia, it is I."
Again he said, "It is I."
Then, knowing that she was dead, he kissed her on the mouth. And through the long watches of the night the cat purred on his knee, tightening33 and relaxing her padded claws, until the sky paled above the Street of the Four Winds.
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1 flattened | |
[医](水)平扁的,弄平的 | |
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2 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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3 squeal | |
v.发出长而尖的声音;n.长而尖的声音 | |
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4 shreds | |
v.撕碎,切碎( shred的第三人称单数 );用撕毁机撕毁(文件) | |
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5 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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6 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 shredded | |
shred的过去式和过去分词 | |
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8 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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9 caressingly | |
爱抚地,亲切地 | |
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10 janitor | |
n.看门人,管门人 | |
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11 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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12 baker | |
n.面包师 | |
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13 den | |
n.兽穴;秘密地方;安静的小房间,私室 | |
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14 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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15 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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16 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 | |
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17 sniffed | |
v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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18 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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19 buckle | |
n.扣子,带扣;v.把...扣住,由于压力而弯曲 | |
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20 soothingly | |
adv.抚慰地,安慰地;镇痛地 | |
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21 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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22 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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23 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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24 embroidery | |
n.绣花,刺绣;绣制品 | |
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25 recess | |
n.短期休息,壁凹(墙上装架子,柜子等凹处) | |
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26 meshes | |
网孔( mesh的名词复数 ); 网状物; 陷阱; 困境 | |
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27 crumpled | |
adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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28 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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29 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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30 quaintly | |
adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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31 Flared | |
adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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32 flickered | |
(通常指灯光)闪烁,摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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