In the hotel halls and drawing-rooms there was a continual making and organising of plans, a calling up by telephone of other hotels, coach-hirers, and remote restaurants up above and tea-rooms, to summon friends and acquaintances together, to order carriages and bespeak13 teas for fifteen and twenty persons. Frau Mentzel, the exceedingly wealthy Hamburg Jewess—she herself was a Dutchwoman, her husband an American, and her sons had been born in different countries of the world—who was unable to live without a court of ten or fifteen persons at lunch or dinner, and who could not pass twenty-four hours without changing her dress four times, who threw her money out of the window and yet always talked about money, and quoted the price of her clothes and how much the flowers that adorned14 her table had cost; Frau Mentzel, courted by all the parasites15 of both sexes, telephoned to her friends from the "Stahlbad," where she was staying, and which at all hours of the day was filled with the noise of her train, to come at once, as she was setting out for the Fexthal glacier16 to take tea up there, and on every side the usual parasites said yes; but others, the smart people, whom Frau Mentzel would have liked to have had with her, fenced and adduced excuses of other outings and excursions.
Don Lucio Sabini answered Frau Mentzel at the telephone that he was unable to come since he was engaged for tea elsewhere, moreover the Fexthal glacier was unfortunately too far-off for him to go and look her up. The beautiful Madame Lawrence, from the "Palace," advised all her suitors and a lady friend or two that they were going in five or six carriages to Maloja, that they would leave at three, not later, so as to arrive at five at the Kursaal Maloja; but her lady friends were few, all more or less insignificant17 as to physiognomies, dresses and hats, in order that she should shine like a jewel among them. Vittorio Lante, who for an evening had attached himself to the court of the divinity of the year, excused himself from going to the Maloja; for with a group of friends he had been invited by Mrs. Clarke to tea at the Golf Club. Countess Fulvia Gioia telephoned from the "Victoria" to two of her friends to ask if they were disposed to walk with her to Pontresina and back, a walk through the woods of about three hours, but so pleasant and peaceful amidst the pines, along the white torrent18 that descends19 from the Bernina. Although her second youth was waning20, Countess Fulvia kept her beauty, preserving her health by living a life of action, ardour, and open air, passing July at the seaside, August in the mountains, the autumn in the country: so all her youthful fascination21 lasted, and that in homage22 to the last powerful and profound love which held her completely, to which she was bound by an indissoluble knot because it was the last. Of the two friends, the Duchesse de Langeais, a French woman of her own age, who treasured her beauty as a precious thing in the half-light, refused, fearing light, air, and fatigue23, lest they should all discover the invincible24 traces of age, and fearing lest certain weaknesses and troubles should be too apparent after such a walk. The other, Donna Carlotta Albano, an old lady, who welcomed without sorrow the end of beauty, youth, and love, as she set herself to love what remains25 after love is over, accepted.
From Sils Maria the Misses Ellen and Norah West telephoned their friend Mabel Clarke to ask if they could look in at the "Palace" about four o'clock to take her with them to tea at the "Belvoir," the restaurant half-way from Pontresina; but smiling at the telephone Mabel Clarke declared that mamma had invited some delightful26 young men to tea with them at the Golf Club, and that, even so near as they were to St. Moritz, it was quite impossible that day.
At the Grand Hotel the Spanish lady with the soft eyebrows27 painted black, and lips painted red, with cheeks disappearing beneath a stratum28 of veloutine Rachel, but in spite of this of a most alluring29 beauty, Donna Mercédès de Fuentes, was torturing herself and her husband, really to know where the high society of the Engadine would foregather at tea on that day, and where she could take a sister and her friend, who had arrived the day before from Madrid, to show them this high society. At each different news with which Francis Mornand, the chronicler of the Engadine, whimsically furnished her, Donna Mercédès de Fuentes, restless and agitated30, changed her mind, suffering in every fibre from her snobbishness31.
By two o'clock, and at three and four, the coming and going, the meeting and disappearing of the large stage-coaches drawn32 by four horses and full of gentlemen and ladies, of large brakes filled with smiling girls and young men, of landaus drawn by impatient horses, of victorias with solitary33 couples, became even more vertiginous34.
There was a running greeting from one carriage to another, a moment's halt to invite each other to set out together, and a prompt acceptance from someone who was jumping up into his carriage smiling. There was a general giving of appointments for dinner and for the evening, with a gay cry in French, in English, or in German; there was a cracking of whips, a tinkling35 of horses' bells, and sounding of coach horns, and over all a fluttering of the veils of every colour and shade which surrounded the ladies' heads.
The carriages descended36 towards Silvaplana, Sils, Fexthal, and the Maloja; they ascended37 towards Pontresina, the Roseg glacier, and the Morteratch glacier, towards Samaden and Celerina. The departure of the five or six carriages of Madame Lawrence towards the Maloja was impressive. She was in the first in a completely white costume with face and head enveloped38 in a close green veil, but so transparent39 that the large grey-blue eyes and the golden hair, strikingly combed into big tresses, were well discernible.
As for Frau Mentzel's party, her stage-coach and other equipages had ascended and descended three times from St. Moritz Bad to St. Moritz Dorf, with a great flourish of horns, to pick up people, but in reality to attract attention. However, it was all done so late that they would never reach the Fexthal glacier, and, at the most, the restaurant for tea. Still that sufficed.
Donna Mercédès de Fuentes, as she descended in her large landau towards the Maloja, experienced a heart-burning at seeing the equipage of Her Royal Highness, the reigning40 Princess of Salm, directed towards "Belvoir," where, it seemed, Her Royal Highness had invited ten or a dozen French, English, German, and Italian ladies, actually the ten or twelve noblest of the noble. Also the carriage of Her Royal Highness, the Grand Duchess of Gotha, was directed up above; but she was not going to tea. She was going to Celerina, as she did each day, to visit the great doctor who lived there. The Grand Duchess was ill, but to deceive herself into feeling better she went to the doctor daily. And Donna Mercédès de Fuentes registered a vow41 to herself that if ever she were ill in the Engadine, she would only allow herself to be healed by the doctor of the Grand Duchess at Celerina.
A great moral laziness had seized Lucio Sabini on that second portion of the day. Two or three telephone calls had invited him to go in gay and amiable42 society to two or three different places, and two or three easy excuses had served him to decline the invitations—the Roseg glacier, a boating party on the Lake of the Maloja, a visit to Friedrich Nietzsche's house at Sils Maria. All were excuses to meet once more, after a hundred times, people already known; to talk on the way, without ever looking where they were passing, of the incidental things of the day before, and of the days before that, and then to finish, not before the colossal43 wall of a glacier, not in a poetical44 crossing of a lonely lake amidst the lofty black mountains, not before a little garden of rose bushes, geraniums, and yellow marguerites, that the eyes of the poet of Zarathustra had seen born and perish, from May to September, at Sils Maria, but at tea-tables laden45 with toast, cakes and pastry46 and plates of confectionery at the restaurants half-way between the glaciers47, in the smart latterie, in the halls of large hotels, and vestibules of small hotels. "Glaciers, lakes, hills, large tracts48, villages," thought Lucio Sabini, in a bad temper; "all little excuses to wrap up in a large veil and drive in a carriage, speaking ill of worthy49 people and beautiful things—and to take tea!"
However, to conquer his attack of misanthropy, after lunch he went for a stroll along the road, to excuse himself again to those whose invitation he had refused, to greet some more sympathetic and elect acquaintance, and to watch some unknown faces passing, those solitary faces that attracted him powerfully. What a lot of people he had seen thus, climbing, descending50, and stopping half-way, and setting out again in the early hours of the afternoon, as he quietly came and went to the "Palace" and the "Badruth," stopping and chatting with everyone, foregathering with some friend just about to leave, commenting with irony51 and sometimes with bitterness on certain bizarre, clamorous52 and scandalous events. But still all this giddy worldliness had not excited him. Gradually he saw everyone he knew and did not know pass up and down; then a dominant53 thought, at first vague and uncertain, afterwards more insistent54, mastered him. At noon, on entering his hotel, at the porter's box, he had read a notice in German that the day before a lady's silver purse had been lost in the gardens near the tennis-court, and it was requested that the purse should be returned for a reward to the porter of the H?tel Kulm.
"An hotel for American and English women," he thought at once. "This Lilian will be a governess of fifty, with a maroon55 veil to her hat. She will give me a dollar for a reward in exchange for her purse." And he laughed at his little romance.
Moreover, when, through a singular and inexplicable motive56 of fastidiousness, he had refused all the invitations that would have carried him far-away from the H?tel Kulm, and had seen the great crowd set off gradually, excited by another experience and the life in the open air, but seated in carriages beneath rugs and veils; when he found himself alone, he was again conquered by the desire of finding and knowing her who had lost the silver purse. He thought himself sometimes puerile57 and sometimes downright grotesque58. But he believed in opportunity; so a little later he watched the simpler, modest, and unknown people set off on foot through the Alpine59 paths to the Meierei, to Waldschlossli, to Oberalpina or Unteralpina, all those who were fond of walking or could not afford to spend money on carriages, and he saw them disappear along the roads and lanes, beneath the trees, or across the tall grass. Towards four o'clock he observed that the broad roads and paths were becoming almost deserted61, and silence and peace to be enveloping62 St. Moritz Bad and St. Moritz Dorf. Then it was that slowly he took the path that leads from the central place of the Dorf, where the tram stops, to the Engadine "Kulm."
He thought: "Probably this Lilian is very ugly; but surely she has a beautiful soul. What does it matter? I shall be very polite to her for some minutes."
On arriving at the big door of the "Kulm" he entered slowly, to make inquiries63 from the porter, as if it were of no consequence.
"The person who has lost the silver purse," replied the porter at once, "is Miss Temple."
"Ah," said Lucio, "and is Miss Temple in the hotel?"
"No, she has gone out for a walk. You can leave the purse with me."
"No; I would rather return. Do you know where Miss Temple has gone?"
"She has gone out as usual with her friend, Miss Ford60. I believe they have gone towards Chasselas."
"Towards Chasselas? Two single ladies? Both young?" As a matter of fact he waited for the reply with secret trepidation64.
"One is young, the other is not."
And Lucio Sabini, like a boy, or a student, did not want to, and did not know how to, ask anything else. He turned his back, left the hotel, and stopping for a moment, he tried to remember the way that leads from the Dorf to Chasselas. It was a walk, at a good pace, of about three-quarters of an hour. He believed in opportunity. He set out; but he had not walked three minutes before he met a group of people, one of whom greeted him with a smile. Mrs. Clarke and Miss Mabel Clarke were climbing towards the Golf Club accompanied by various men. The graceful65 American girl, with her slender and flexible figure, was walking well in front, in a light grey dress, her little head crowned with a hat surrounded by roses, beneath which her chestnut66 hair surged in rebellious67 waves, breaking over the white forehead and covering the tips of the little pink ears. Beside her was Don Vittorio Lante della Scala, and the two were carrying on a friendly and lively conversation, as they looked and smiled at each other, Vittorio Lante with sweet and serious eyes, together with that quick virile68 smile that is a grace in an Italian face. Behind came Mrs. Clarke in a very fashionable and rich dress, certainly too rich to go to tea at the Golf Club. On her old lace cravat69 shone a solitary jewel, to wit, a small thread of gold from which were hanging, like drops, two enormous emeralds shaped like pears. On her head was the large hat with the feather that the more mature American women delight in at all hours of the day and night. Mrs. Clarke's countenance70 was, as usual, calm and inexpressive, with Mabel's fine features which had become gross and fat. Beside her was the Marquis de Jouy, a young Frenchman, very brilliant and witty72, full of pretensions73, whose fixed74 idea was to speak well of all countries save his own, and constantly to speak ill of France; thereby75 he thought himself most original. His latest caprice was for America and Americans; he sought them out everywhere, going into ecstasies76 at every speech and every act of theirs. There was also the Vicomte di Loewe, a Belgian, a most ardent77 and fortunate gambler, who always attached himself to gamblers of both sexes who were rich and inexperienced; and two or three other Austrian and French gentlemen, all more or less courtiers of the mother or daughter, for diverse objects, but whose sole magnet as a matter of fact was the Clarke money.
Lucio Sabini stopped for a moment, as he smiled at Vittorio Lante: with an expressive71 glance he questioned, approved, and congratulated discreetly78. With a single glance Vittorio also answered, thanked, and hoped discreetly. The two friends understood each other without any of the bystanders having understood. The Clarke party pursued its way towards the Golf Club, while Lucio Sabini set out for the Wald Promenade79, a path that dominates the main road from St. Moritz Dorf to Campfer, and that guards St. Moritz Bad from on high amidst the trees. It was a little path now entirely80 discovered to view, showing the country down below with a lake that seemed much smaller, like a silver cup, beneath a sky that was growing white as the day declined, now hidden by dense81 foliage82 of large bushes and trees. At that hour in which all had reached their goal, in which carriages and people were in front of the restaurants, and in the latterie and hotel saloons, ladies, with veils unloosed, were carrying cups of tea to their lips, while the men were eating buttered toast; in that declining hour of the day not a soul was traversing the Wald Promenade. Lucio Sabini hurried, though he smiled at his haste, as he thought that perhaps, no certainly, he would never meet Miss Lilian Temple and her friend, who quite likely had not even gone to Chasselas or had taken another way, or would take another way thence to return to the Dorf; whom perhaps he would not recognise as he did not know them, for he could not ask all the ladies he should meet if they were Miss Lilian Temple and Miss Ford. But that day—why, he knew not—he believed ever more firmly in Destiny. Suddenly the path inclined, the trees became scarcer: the Wald Promenade, the walk in the wood, ended, and he saw at once that he could not be very far from Chasselas.
The day continued to decline. Already the sun was hidden between the two lofty snow peaks, between the proud Monte Albana and the majestic Julier. Much further to right and left the more modest heights of the Polaschin and the gentle Suvretta at that first hour of sunset had become light and transparent beneath the pearlish-grey sky. In front of him Lucio saw the broad road that he had followed parallely, which starts from the Dorf, incline below, all white behind a promontory83, as it goes towards Campfer. To his right a small, green, open valley climbed in a pleasant curve, with scarcely sloping meadows crowned with small hedges and trees, towards a little group of white houses. To the left a large grassy84 bank, leafy and very dense, hid the rumbling85 course of the Inn with its rocks, and the road that returned to St. Moritz Bad. Further below the scene opened out, giving a glimpse of the little lake of Campfer with the village nestling on its shore, then a large tongue of land, and much further still the lake of Silvaplana, and further off, but imposing86 with its two white peaks, was the Margna covered with eternal snow.
Lucio stood and watched. He remembered now that those little white houses up there on the ascending87 little valley were Chasselas. He looked again, beyond and around. It was the point where the four roads divide; in fact the four sign-posts were a little further on, with their little red flags picked out in white with four inscriptions88. If Miss Temple had gone to Chasselas, and if she had not already returned thence, she must pass there. A fountain hard by was singing its little water song. There was a seat there: he sat down. Some people passed as they came from Chasselas: first two Germans, husband and wife, the one in front, the other behind, with gymnastic step, both red in the face and taciturn, the wife with a black skirt held up by some elastic89 bands; then came a nursemaid who was hurrying with her two little ones; then no one else. The day declined.
Suddenly, as he looked a little ahead, Lucio perceived a small white wall encircling a field: a little open gate joined together the two sides of the small wall. This little wall was so low that flowers with long stems showed themselves above it, bright flowers that bent90 themselves slightly to the evening wind. He thought that it might be one of the numerous pretty and flourishing gardens which surround the little villas and houses of Switzerland; but he perceived neither villa3 nor house. Instead he discovered amidst the clusters of flowers some white stones. Then he understood that, without seeking for it, he had found a little cemetery91, the little cemetery of St. Moritz Dorf, far from habitation, perched aloft behind a wood, a little cemetery all flowery, gracious, and solitary. Immediately afterwards he saw, along the wall, two feminine forms leaning over to look at the modest tombs so well surrounded by groups of little plants and brightly coloured flowers. The two ladies were separated from each other by a few paces, and they were watching silently.
"Miss Temple?" asked Lucio Sabini of the first lady, taking off his hat.
A serious face already touched by years turned to him. The lady replied in a low voice:
"No, sir." And turning towards her companion, she called out in English:
"Darling!"
The other came forward at once.
"Miss Temple?" asked Lucio Sabini again.
The young woman raised her eyes of purest blue, whence emanated92 a sweet light; a slight blush coursed beneath the transparent skin of her virginal face, and she replied:
"Yes, sir."
A long minute of silence followed. The three were standing93 near the beautiful, little, solitary cemetery, where had been sleeping in the high mountains for years, or months, or days, unknown men, women, and children; the flowers were hardly bowing over the stones, which were becoming even whiter in the sunset.
"I beg pardon," murmured Lucio, recovering his composure. "I have to restore you something, Miss Temple."
"My purse—really!" she exclaimed, advancing a little, somewhat anxiously.
"Here it is, miss."
And drawing the precious object from his pocket he gave it to Miss Lilian Temple. The beautiful eyes glanced with sweetness, and the mouth, so perfect, smiled; the little hand clasped the recovered object, as if to caress94 it.
"Thank you, sir," she added.
Then she stretched out the little hand that was free, gloved in white. He took it lightly and kept it but for a moment in his own, then he released it with a deep bow.
Miss May Ford, silent, indifferent, strange, waited. Now all three were silent, while for a long time Lucio Sabini fixed his eyes on the enchanting95 face for which the blond hair made a soft aureole. At last he said, with a courteous96 smile:
"Did not Miss Temple promise a reward to whomsoever brought back her purse?"
The girl, marvelling97 a little, raised her eyebrows, questioning the Italian gentleman without speaking.
"Lucio Sabini asks her, as reward, to be allowed to accompany her now as far as the 'Kulm.'"
"Certainly, sir," replied the girl at once in a frank way. "My dear friend, Miss May Ford, Signor Lucio Sabini."
The elderly English lady replied with cold courtesy to the greeting of Don Lucio Sabini. And without giving another glance to the surrounding country, which was enveloping itself in the finest tints98, from a delicate violet to the most delicate green, the three withdrew from the quiet cemetery and proceeded silently along the broad high road that leads to the Dorf. Lilian Temple's step was rather quick, and Lucio Sabini adapted his to the girl's. Miss May Ford went more slowly.
"Are you glad, Miss Temple, to have found your purse?" he began to say in his insinuating99 voice that in French became even more penetrating100.
"So glad: I am very grateful to you, Signor."
"You valued it, then?"
"Very much."
"Perhaps it was a souvenir, or a gift?" he ventured to ask, scrutinising those beautiful blue eyes.
He understood that he had asked too much; they were silent for a little.
"Do you know Italy, Miss Temple?" he resumed.
"I know Italy; not all, though," she replied, again courteously102. "I hope to see it all later on."
"And do you like our country, Miss Temple?"
"Yes, Signor," she murmured, her voice a little veiled.
Again their eyes met and fixed each other for an instant, as they both walked a little ahead.
"Which city pleased you most, Miss Temple?" he asked, bending towards her, lowering his voice still more.
"Florence," she replied.
"Florence; I ought to have guessed it!"
"Why guess it?"
"Then you read my pocket-book?" she exclaimed, stopping, confused and hurt.
"Why, yes! Have I done wrong, Miss Temple?"
She bent her head; her mouth became serious and almost severe, and she hurried her step.
"Have I really done so wrong, Miss Temple?" he asked, this time with genuine anxiety.
She shook her head without replying; her gentle face had already become sweet again.
"Anyone would have read that pocket-book, Miss Temple," he added, quite sadly.
"Not an Englishman, Signor," she said in a low voice.
"That is true, not an Englishman; but an Italian, yes," he replied. "Our fantasy is as ardent as our hearts. You must understand us to excuse us, Miss Temple."
"It doesn't matter, Signor," she replied seriously, with a little smile of indulgence. "I know Italy, but not Italians. If they are as ardent as you say, it no longer matters having read my pocket-book, Signor."
"And you will pardon an Italian who confesses his fault, and is very sorry for it?" he asked in that penetrating tone of his, where always there seemed to be deep emotion.
"Oh, yes, Signor; I pardon you willingly."
And gracefully105, with a spontaneous, youthful gesture, she again offered him her hand, as if rancour could not exist in her gentle soul. At such ingenuous106 kindness the man, over whose mind had passed such fearful tempests, leaving their ineffaceable traces, felt a tremor107 of complacency, as he pressed that little hand, which was given him without hesitation108 and so sincerely.
It grew darker. A pungent109 breath of wind arose, whirling and causing the trees to rustle110. The two ladies wanted to put on their coats, which up to then they had carried on their arms, and Lucio performed the gallant111 duty of helping112 both of them, then he exchanged some words with Miss May Ford, the elderly lady who kept silent with such English dignity.
He, however, with his constant desire of conquest, instead of returning her speech in French, as he had done with Miss Temple, had the politeness to speak in English, a tongue that he spoke113 slowly, but with certainty and some elegance114.
Upon the rather severe and purposely impassive face of Miss Ford, there appeared for the first time a gracious expression. Now the three walked together, Lucio having Miss Ford on his right and Lilian Temple on the other side of her friend: all three talked English. A sudden wind that was becoming rough revolved115 in whirling circles. On the road by which they were pursuing their return, and on which they still more hurried their steps, there was a continuous returning of all the equipages which three hours previously116 had left the Dorf for Sils, Fexthal, the Maloja, and which to get home more quickly were returning at a lively trot117 from the Campfer road towards the Dorf. In the carriages the women had put on their large, dark cloaks, and the white and light dresses of the early hours of the afternoon, all joyous118 in the sun, had vanished: cold and silent, they wrapped themselves in their cloaks. Some had buried their necks in thick fur stoles, and the large, flowing veils had been closed round the hats, and tied round the neck in ample knots, like large handkerchiefs or scarves.
The men had put on their overcoats, raising the collars, and they had lowered the flaps of their soft felt hats. In many of the carriages the broad rugs, some white and soft, others striped like tiger skins, had been spread. On all who were returning there was seemingly a feeling of weariness. The women lolled well back in the seats of the carriage, some with the head thrown back a little as if to repose119, others with bowed forehead, but all were silent, with their white-gloved hands lost in the large sleeves of their cloaks or hidden beneath the carriage rug; the men had that air of weariness and boredom120 that ages the physiognomy of the youngest. All were weary through having once again chattered121 vainly of vain things, through having flirted122 with trite123 and cold words, with accustomed and banal124 actions; they were tired of all this, but without wishing to confess it and attributing their weariness to the open air, in which they were unaccustomed to live for so many hours. They were ready, when they had passed along the road now beaten by the strong, gelid evening wind, and had reached the warmth of their hotels, amidst the shining lights, to resume the same conversations, and begin again the same flirtations, till the night was advanced.
Now all were silent and bored: the women were almost pallid125 beneath their veils, the tints of which were becoming uniform in the rapidly increasing dusk.
The men, no longer gracious, were glad to be silent, being desirous of arriving quickly at their hotels. Thus they passed at a brisk trot, and the three wayfarers126 had repeatedly to avoid them. Suddenly the carriage of Madame Lawrence, that year's beauty, passed, followed by four or five others. She had placed over her white dress a large, round cloak without sleeves, of a very dark red cloth, and to be original she had taken off the immense hat covered with a large green veil, and had drawn over her head the dark red hood127 trimmed with old silver lace. From the back of this hood appeared her calm and thoughtful beauty, the large eyes, clear and penetrating, gleamed, and the blond tresses, braided round the head in Florentine fashion, caused her in that red cloak, so like a soldier's tunic128 of olden times, and beneath that hood, to look like the woman whom the Italian poet loved. Miss Temple followed her with a long stare and then glanced at Lucio Sabini.
"Do you like Madame Lawrence?" asked Miss Ford.
"She is beautiful; but I don't like her," he replied.
"Why?" asked Miss Temple.
"I prefer the violets," replied Lucio, with a smile.
"Violets, Signor?" again questioned the girl.
"The modest beauties, Miss Temple. The beauties who hide themselves."
"Ah," she replied, without further remark.
They had almost reached the "Kulm," when a group of four men came towards them on foot. They emerge from a path that tortuously129 descends and re-climbs a small valley towards the end of the village. They were Don Giovanni Vergas, an Italian gentleman of a great Southern family, seventy years of age, with a still lively physiognomy, in spite of a fine, correctly cut white beard; Monsieur Jean Morel, a Frenchman, a Parisian, an old man of eighty, slender of figure, shrivelled and upright, with a clean-shaven face, furrowed130 with a thousand wrinkles, but on which physical strength was still to be read; Herr Otto von Raabe, a German from Berlin, a man of forty, tall, bony, and imposing, with a brown and haggard face, a little black, bristling131 beard, streaked132 with white, and two blue eyes, blue as blue-bottle flowers and the sky, and finally Massimo Granata, a Southern Italian, with a thin, yellowish face that could never have known youth, with a body all twisted with the rickets133. He was already advanced in years, and invalided134 by a long, slow, incurable136 disease; his glance scintillated137 with goodness and intelligence, and a dreamy expression was in all his countenance.
The well-cut boots of Don Giovanni Vergas and the Parisian, Jean Morel, were covered with dust, as also were the big stout138 boots of Otto von Raabe and Massimo Granata. All four, in costume and bearing, had the appearance of having walked far. The German carried a large bundle of Alpine flowers, formed of wild geraniums, fine and rosy139, bluebells140 long of stalk, and tall green grasses streaked with white, and his face every now and then was bent over the mountain flowers. Massimo Granata pressed to his bosom141 a bunch of gentians, some dark, some light, of a dark and pale violet, and of a violet-blue. The meeting with the four was for a moment only: their words were rapid and joyous.
"Where have you been?" asked Lucio Sabini.
"On high, on high," exclaimed Jean Morel vivaciously142.
"To the Alp Nova," replied Don Giovanni Vergas, with a smile.
"Four hours climbing and descending," continued Otto von Raabe, with a very German guttural accent, and a kind smile on his large mouth.
"And we have all these beautiful flowers, Sabini, these beautiful gentians," concluded Massimo Granata, as if in a dream.
They greeted each other and vanished. Lucio followed them for a moment with his eyes.
"They do not come from a restaurant," he murmured, as if to himself.
"What do you mean, Signor?" asked Miss Temple, looking at him with her beautiful eyes that questioned so ingenuously143.
"These friends of mine, Miss Temple, have all of them been far on high to-day, all of them, even the oldest and the invalid135."
He spoke as in a dream, in the evening that had already fallen.
"And they gathered those blue and violet flowers," added Miss Temple, thoughtfully and dreamily.
There was a little silence.
"The mountain flowers are so beautiful," continued the English girl; "and the mountains themselves are so near to heaven."
"Would you like to climb up there, Miss Temple?"
"Yes, Signor; even where there are no flowers, even where there are only rocks and eternal snows," she added mysteriously, with lowered eyes.
That white, cold, pure vision remained in her beautiful eyes when she took leave of Lucio Sabini and disappeared with her friend into the hall of the H?tel Kulm. Alone, in the dark evening, he was surrounded by the cold wind, and all his soul was invaded by an unknown, inexplicable, and mortal sadness.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
luncheon
|
|
| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
villas
|
|
| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
incessant
|
|
| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
shimmering
|
|
| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
mantle
|
|
| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
azure
|
|
| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
majestic
|
|
| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
bespeak
|
|
| v.预定；预先请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
adorned
|
|
| [计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
parasites
|
|
| 寄生物( parasite的名词复数 )； 靠他人为生的人； 诸虫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
glacier
|
|
| n.冰川，冰河 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
insignificant
|
|
| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
torrent
|
|
| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
descends
|
|
| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
waning
|
|
| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
fascination
|
|
| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
homage
|
|
| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
invincible
|
|
| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
stratum
|
|
| n.地层，社会阶层 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
alluring
|
|
| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
snobbishness
|
|
| 势利； 势利眼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
vertiginous
|
|
| adj.回旋的；引起头晕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
tinkling
|
|
| n.丁当作响声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
ascended
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
transparent
|
|
| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
reigning
|
|
| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
colossal
|
|
| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
poetical
|
|
| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
laden
|
|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
pastry
|
|
| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
glaciers
|
|
| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
tracts
|
|
| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
clamorous
|
|
| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
dominant
|
|
| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
insistent
|
|
| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
maroon
|
|
| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
puerile
|
|
| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
alpine
|
|
| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
Ford
|
|
| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
enveloping
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
trepidation
|
|
| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
chestnut
|
|
| n.栗树，栗子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
rebellious
|
|
| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
virile
|
|
| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
cravat
|
|
| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
witty
|
|
| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
pretensions
|
|
| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
ecstasies
|
|
| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
discreetly
|
|
| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
promenade
|
|
| n./v.散步 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
dense
|
|
| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
promontory
|
|
| n.海角；岬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
grassy
|
|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
rumbling
|
|
| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
imposing
|
|
| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
ascending
|
|
| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
inscriptions
|
|
| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
elastic
|
|
| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
cemetery
|
|
| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
emanated
|
|
| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
caress
|
|
| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
enchanting
|
|
| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
marvelling
|
|
| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
tints
|
|
| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
insinuating
|
|
| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
penetrating
|
|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
eyelids
|
|
| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
courteously
|
|
| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
fixedly
|
|
| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
furtively
|
|
| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
ingenuous
|
|
| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
pungent
|
|
| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
rustle
|
|
| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
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： |
|
|
|
|
114
elegance
|
|
| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
revolved
|
|
| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
trot
|
|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
boredom
|
|
| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
chattered
|
|
| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
flirted
|
|
| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
trite
|
|
| adj.陈腐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
banal
|
|
| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
wayfarers
|
|
| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
hood
|
|
| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
tunic
|
|
| n.束腰外衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
tortuously
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
130
furrowed
|
|
| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
bristling
|
|
| a.竖立的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
streaked
|
|
| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
rickets
|
|
| n.软骨病，佝偻病，驼背 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
invalided
|
|
| 使伤残（invalid的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
invalid
|
|
| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
incurable
|
|
| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
scintillated
|
|
| v.（言谈举止中）焕发才智( scintillate的过去式和过去分词 )；谈笑洒脱；闪耀；闪烁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
bluebells
|
|
| n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
vivaciously
|
|
| adv.快活地；活泼地；愉快地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
ingenuously
|
|
| adv.率直地，正直地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |