The sun already gilded1 the towers of Notre Dame2, the clatter3 of workmen's sabots awoke sharp echoes in the street below, and across the way a blackbird in a pink almond tree was going into an ecstasy4 of trills.
He determined5 to awake Clifford for a brisk walk in the country, hoping later to beguile6 that gentleman into the American church for his soul's sake. He found Alfred the gimlet-eyed washing the asphalt walk which led to the studio.
"And Monsieur Clifford," began Hastings, somewhat astonished.
"Monsieur Clifford," said the concierge8 with fine irony9, "will be pleased to see you, as he retired10 early; in fact he has just come in."
Hastings hesitated while the concierge pronounced a fine eulogy11 on people who never stayed out all night and then came battering12 at the lodge13 gate during hours which even a gendarme14 held sacred to sleep. He also discoursed15 eloquently17 upon the beauties of temperance, and took an ostentatious draught18 from the fountain in the court.
"I do not think I will come in," said Hastings.
"Pardon, monsieur," growled19 the concierge, "perhaps it would be well to see Monsieur Clifford. He possibly needs aid. Me he drives forth20 with hair-brushes and boots. It is a mercy if he has not set fire to something with his candle."
Hastings hesitated for an instant, but swallowing his dislike of such a mission, walked slowly through the ivy-covered alley21 and across the inner garden to the studio. He knocked. Perfect silence. Then he knocked again, and this time something struck the door from within with a crash.
"That," said the concierge, "was a boot." He fitted his duplicate key into the lock and ushered22 Hastings in. Clifford, in disordered evening dress, sat on the rug in the middle of the room. He held in his hand a shoe, and did not appear astonished to see Hastings.
"Good-morning, do you use Pears' soap?" he inquired with a vague wave of his hand and a vaguer smile.
Hastings' heart sank. "For Heaven's sake," he said, "Clifford, go to bed."
Hastings blew out the candle, picked up Clifford's hat and cane24, and said, with an emotion he could not conceal25, "This is terrible, Clifford,—I—never knew you did this sort of thing."
"Well, I do," said Clifford.
"Where is Elliott?"
"Ole chap," returned Clifford, becoming maudlin26, "Providence27 which feeds—feeds—er—sparrows an' that sort of thing watcheth over the intemperate28 wanderer—"
"Where is Elliott?"
But Clifford only wagged his head and waved his arm about. "He's out there,—somewhere about." Then suddenly feeling a desire to see his missing chum, lifted up his voice and howled for him.
Hastings, thoroughly29 shocked, sat down on the lounge without a word. Presently, after shedding several scalding tears, Clifford brightened up and rose with great precaution.
"Ole chap," he observed, "do you want to see er—er miracle? Well, here goes. I'm goin' to begin."
"Er miracle," he repeated.
"I'm goin' to bed," he announced, "poor ole Clifford's goin' to bed, an' that's er miracle!"
And he did with a nice calculation of distance and equilibrium32 which would have rung enthusiastic yells of applause from Elliott had he been there to assist en connaisseur. But he was not. He had not yet reached the studio. He was on his way, however, and smiled with magnificent condescension33 on Hastings, who, half an hour later, found him reclining upon a bench in the Luxembourg. He permitted himself to be aroused, dusted and escorted to the gate. Here, however, he refused all further assistance, and bestowing34 a patronizing bow upon Hastings, steered35 a tolerably true course for the rue36 Vavin.
Hastings watched him out of sight, and then slowly retraced37 his steps toward the fountain. At first he felt gloomy and depressed38, but gradually the clear air of the morning lifted the pressure from his heart, and he sat down on the marble seat under the shadow of the winged god.
The air was fresh and sweet with perfume from the orange flowers. Everywhere pigeons were bathing, dashing the water over their iris-hued breasts, flashing in and out of the spray or nestling almost to the neck along the polished basin. The sparrows, too, were abroad in force, soaking their dust-coloured feathers in the limpid39 pool and chirping40 with might and main. Under the sycamores which surrounded the duck-pond opposite the fountain of Marie de Medici, the water-fowl cropped the herbage, or waddled41 in rows down the bank to embark42 on some solemn aimless cruise.
Butterflies, somewhat lame43 from a chilly44 night's repose45 under the lilac leaves, crawled over and over the white phlox, or took a rheumatic flight toward some sun-warmed shrub46. The bees were already busy among the heliotrope47, and one or two grey flies with brick-coloured eyes sat in a spot of sunlight beside the marble seat, or chased each other about, only to return again to the spot of sunshine and rub their fore-legs, exulting48.
The sentries49 paced briskly before the painted boxes, pausing at times to look toward the guard-house for their relief.
They came at last, with a shuffle50 of feet and click of bayonets, the word was passed, the relief fell out, and away they went, crunch51, crunch, across the gravel52.
A mellow53 chime floated from the clock-tower of the palace, the deep bell of St. Sulpice echoed the stroke. Hastings sat dreaming in the shadow of the god, and while he mused54 somebody came and sat down beside him. At first he did not raise his head. It was only when she spoke55 that he sprang up.
"You! At this hour?"
"I was restless, I could not sleep." Then in a low, happy voice—"And you! at this hour?"
"I—I slept, but the sun awoke me."
"I could not sleep," she said, and her eyes seemed, for a moment, touched with an indefinable shadow. Then, smiling, "I am so glad—I seemed to know you were coming. Don't laugh, I believe in dreams."
"Did you really dream of,—of my being here?"
"I think I was awake when I dreamed it," she admitted. Then for a time they were mute, acknowledging by silence the happiness of being together. And after all their silence was eloquent16, for faint smiles, and glances born of their thoughts, crossed and recrossed, until lips moved and words were formed, which seemed almost superfluous56. What they said was not very profound. Perhaps the most valuable jewel that fell from Hastings' lips bore direct reference to breakfast.
"I have not yet had my chocolate," she confessed, "but what a material man you are."
"Valentine," he said impulsively57, "I wish,—I do wish that you would,—just for this once,—give me the whole day,—just for this once."
"Oh dear," she smiled, "not only material, but selfish!"
"Not selfish, hungry," he said, looking at her.
"A cannibal too; oh dear!"
"Will you, Valentine?"
"But my chocolate—"
"Take it with me."
"But déjeuner—"
"Together, at St. Cloud."
"But I can't—"
"Together,—all day,—all day long; will you, Valentine?"
She was silent.
"Only for this once."
Again that indefinable shadow fell across her eyes, and when it was gone she sighed. "Yes,—together, only for this once."
"All day?" he said, doubting his happiness.
"All day," she smiled; "and oh, I am so hungry!"
"What a material young lady it is."
On the Boulevard St. Michel there is a Crémerie painted white and blue outside, and neat and clean as a whistle inside. The auburn-haired young woman who speaks French like a native, and rejoices in the name of Murphy, smiled at them as they entered, and tossing a fresh napkin over the zinc59 tête-à-tête table, whisked before them two cups of chocolate and a basket full of crisp, fresh croissons.
The primrose-coloured pats of butter, each stamped with a shamrock in relief, seemed saturated60 with the fragrance61 of Normandy pastures.
"How delicious!" they said in the same breath, and then laughed at the coincidence.
"With but a single thought," he began.
"So am I," he replied triumphant63, "that proves it."
Then they had a quarrel; she accusing him of behaviour unworthy of a child in arms, and he denying it, and bringing counter charges, until Mademoiselle Murphy laughed in sympathy, and the last croisson was eaten under a flag of truce64. Then they rose, and she took his arm with a bright nod to Mile. Murphy, who cried them a merry: "Bonjour, madame! bonjour, monsieur!" and watched them hail a passing cab and drive away. "Dieu! qu'il est beau," she sighed, adding after a moment, "Do they be married, I dunno,—ma foi ils ont bien l'air."
The cab swung around the rue de Medici, turned into the rue de Vaugirard, followed it to where it crosses the rue de Rennes, and taking that noisy thoroughfare, drew up before the Gare Montparnasse. They were just in time for a train and scampered65 up the stairway and out to the cars as the last note from the starting-gong rang through the arched station. The guard slammed the door of their compartment66, a whistle sounded, answered by a screech67 from the locomotive, and the long train glided68 from the station, faster, faster, and sped out into the morning sunshine. The summer wind blew in their faces from the open window, and sent the soft hair dancing on the girl's forehead.
"We have the compartment to ourselves," said Hastings.
She leaned against the cushioned window-seat, her eyes bright and wide open, her lips parted. The wind lifted her hat, and fluttered the ribbons under her chin. With a quick movement she untied69 them, and, drawing a long hat-pin from her hat, laid it down on the seat beside her. The train was flying.
The colour surged in her cheeks, and, with each quick-drawn breath, her breath rose and fell under the cluster of lilies at her throat. Trees, houses, ponds, danced past, cut by a mist of telegraph poles.
"Faster! faster!" she cried.
His eyes never left her, but hers, wide open, and blue as the summer sky, seemed fixed70 on something far ahead,—something which came no nearer, but fled before them as they fled.
Was it the horizon, cut now by the grim fortress71 on the hill, now by the cross of a country chapel72? Was it the summer moon, ghost-like, slipping through the vaguer blue above?
"Faster! faster!" she cried.
The car shook and shivered, and the fields streamed by like an emerald torrent74. He caught the excitement, and his faced glowed.
"Oh," she cried, and with an unconscious movement caught his hand, drawing him to the window beside her. "Look! lean out with me!"
He only saw her lips move; her voice was drowned in the roar of a trestle, but his hand closed in hers and he clung to the sill. The wind whistled in their ears. "Not so far out, Valentine, take care!" he gasped75.
Below, through the ties of the trestle, a broad river flashed into view and out again, as the train thundered along a tunnel, and away once more through the freshest of green fields. The wind roared about them. The girl was leaning far out from the window, and he caught her by the waist, crying, "Not too far!" but she only murmured, "Faster! faster! away out of the city, out of the land, faster, faster! away out of the world!"
"What are you saying all to yourself?" he said, but his voice was broken, and the wind whirled it back into his throat.
She heard him, and, turning from the window looked down at his arm about her. Then she raised her eyes to his. The car shook and the windows rattled76. They were dashing through a forest now, and the sun swept the dewy branches with running flashes of fire. He looked into her troubled eyes; he drew her to him and kissed the half-parted lips, and she cried out, a bitter, hopeless cry, "Not that—not that!"
But he held her close and strong, whispering words of honest love and passion, and when she sobbed—"Not that—not that—I have promised! You must—you must know—I am—not—worthy—" In the purity of his own heart her words were, to him, meaningless then, meaningless for ever after. Presently her voice ceased, and her head rested on his breast. He leaned against the window, his ears swept by the furious wind, his heart in a joyous77 tumult78. The forest was passed, and the sun slipped from behind the trees, flooding the earth again with brightness. She raised her eyes and looked out into the world from the window. Then she began to speak, but her voice was faint, and he bent79 his head close to hers and listened. "I cannot turn from you; I am too weak. You were long ago my master—master of my heart and soul. I have broken my word to one who trusted me, but I have told you all;—what matters the rest?" He smiled at her innocence80 and she worshipped his. She spoke again: "Take me or cast me away;—what matters it? Now with a word you can kill me, and it might be easier to die than to look upon happiness as great as mine."
He took her in his arms, "Hush81, what are you saying? Look,—look out at the sunlight, the meadows and the streams. We shall be very happy in so bright a world."
She turned to the sunlight. From the window, the world below seemed very fair to her.
Trembling with happiness, she sighed: "Is this the world? Then I have never known it."
"Nor have I, God forgive me," he murmured.
Perhaps it was our gentle Lady of the Fields who forgave them both.
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收听单词发音
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1
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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2
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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3
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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4
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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5
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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6
beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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7
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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8
concierge
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| n.管理员；门房 | |
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9
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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10
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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11
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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12
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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13
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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14
gendarme
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| n.宪兵 | |
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15
discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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16
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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17
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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18
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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19
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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20
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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21
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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22
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
pokes
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| v.伸出( poke的第三人称单数 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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24
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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25
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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26
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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27
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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28
intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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29
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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30
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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31
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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32
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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33
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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34
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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35
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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36
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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37
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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40
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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41
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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43
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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44
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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45
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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46
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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47
heliotrope
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| n.天芥菜；淡紫色 | |
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48
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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49
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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50
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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51
crunch
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| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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53
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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54
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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55
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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56
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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57
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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58
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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59
zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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61
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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64
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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65
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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67
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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68
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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69
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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70
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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71
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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72
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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73
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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74
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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75
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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