"My first attempt was unfortunate," said he, "but I was resolved to try again; I had sounded the ford11; another time I should have crossed the stream."
I hastened to turn the conversation, especially as he was not in the humor to weary himself with such a gloomy subject. How happy he appeared to see me again; how his joy expressed itself upon his ingenuous12 face, and how speaking were his looks! We occupied ourselves at first with the language of signs. Nothing escaped his eager intellect; he complained only of my slow explanations.
"I understand, I understand," he would cry; "something else, my dear sir, something else, I'm not a fool."
I certainly had no idea of such quickness of apprehension13. "The
Slavonians learn quickly," said I, "and forget quickly too."
To prove the contrary, he answered me by signs:
"You are an impertinent fellow."
I was confounded. Then all at once:
"Extraordinary man," said, he, with a gravity which made me smile, "tell me a little of your life."
"Extraordinary I am not at all," said I.
"And I affirm," answered he, "that humanity is composed of tyrants14, valets, and a single and only Gilbert."
"Nonsense! Gilberts are abundant."
I must own I am not sorry that for the time being he looks upon me as an exceptional being; for it is well to keep him a little in awe16 of me. To satisfy him I gave him the history of my youth. This time he reproached me for being too brief, and not going enough into detail.
As his questions were inexhaustible, I said: "After today do not let us waste our time upon this subject. Besides, the top of the basket shows the best that's in it."
"There may perhaps be something to hide from me?"
"No; but I will confess that I do not like to talk about myself too much. I get tired of it very soon."
"What?" said he, in a tone of reproach, "are we not here to talk endlessly about you, me, us?"
"Certainly, and our favorite occupation will be to entertain ourselves with ourselves; but to render this pastime more delightful17, it will be well for us to occupy ourselves sometimes with something else."
"With something else? With what?"
"With that which is not ourselves."
"And what do I care for anything which is neither you nor me?"
"But at all events you sometimes work, you read, you study?"
"At Martinique, Father Alexis gave me two or three hours of lessons every day. He taught me history, geography, and among other stuff of the same kind, the inconceivable merits and the superhuman perfections of his eternal Panselinos. The dissertations19 of this spiritual schoolmaster diverted me very little, as you may well suppose, and I was furious that in spite of myself his tiresome20 verbiage21 rooted itself in my memory, which is the most tenacious22 in the world."
"And did he continue his instructions to you?"
"After our return to Europe, my father ordered him to teach me nothing more but the catechism. He said it was the only study my silly brain was fit for."
"So for three years you have passed your days in absolute idleness."
"Not at all; I have always been occupied from morning till night."
"And how?"
"In sitting down, in getting up, in sitting down again, in pacing the length and breadth of my room, in gaping23 at the crows, in counting the squares of these flagstones, and the tiles of the little roof, in looking at the iron corbel and the water-spout on top of it, in watching the clouds sailing through the empty air, and then in lying down there in that recess24 of the wall, to rest quiet, with my eyes closed, ruminating25 over the problem of my destiny, asking myself what I could have done to God, that he chastised26 me so cruelly, recalling my past sufferings, enjoying in advance my sufferings to come, weeping and dreaming, dreaming and weeping, until overcome with lassitude and exhaustion27 I ended by falling asleep; or else, driven to desperation by weariness, I ran down to Ivan's lodging28, and there gave vent18 to my scorn, fury, and despair, at the top of my lungs."
These words, pronounced in a tone breathing all the bitterness of his soul, troubled me deeply. I trembled to think of this desolate29 child, whose griefs were incessantly30 augmented31 by solitude32 and idleness, of that soul defenselessly abandoned to its gloomy reveries, of that poor heart maddened, and pouncing33 upon itself as upon a prey34; self-devouring, constantly reopening his wounds and inflaming35 them, without work or study to divert him a single instant from his monotonous36 torment37. Oh! Count Kostia, how refined is your hatred38!
"I have an idea," I said at last. "You love flowers and painting.
Paint an herbarium."
"What's that?"
"See this large paper. You will paint on it, in water colors, a collection of all the flowers of this region, of all those, at least, that you may find in your walks. If you don't know their names, I will teach them to you, or we will seek for them together."
"Provided that books take no part in it."
"We will dispense39 with them as much as possible. I will muster40 up all my knowledge to tell you the history of these pretty painted flowers; I will tell you of their families; I will teach you how to classify them; in short, will give you little by little, all I know of botany."
He made a hundred absurd objections,—among others, that he found in all the flowers of the fields and the woods in this country a creeping and servile air; then this, and then that, expressing himself in a sharp but sportive tone.
"I shall teach you botany, my wild young colt," I said to myself, "and not let you break loose."
I have not been able, however, to draw from him any positive promise.
July 14th.
Victory! By persistent41 hammering I have succeeded in beating the idea of the painted herbarium into this naughty, unruly head.
But he has imposed his conditions. He consents to paint only the flowers that I will gather myself, and bring to him. After some discussion I yielded the point.
"Ah!" said I, "take care to gather some yourself, for otherwise
Ivan . . ."
Sunday, July 15th.
This afternoon I took a long walk in the woods. I had succeeded in gathering42 some labiates, the dead nettle43, the pyramidal bell-flower and the wild thyme, when in the midst of my occupation, I heard the trot44 of a horse. It was he, a bunch of herbs and flowers in his hand. Ivan, who according to his custom, followed him at a distance of ten paces, regarded me some way off with an uneasy air; he evidently feared that I would accost45 them; but having arrived within a few steps of me, Stephane, turning his head, started his horse at full gallop46, and Ivan, as he passed, smiled upon me with an expression of triumphant47 pity. Poor, simple Ivan, did you not hear our souls speak to each other?
July 16th.
Yesterday I carried my labiates to him. After some desultory48 talk, I endeavored to describe as best I could the characters of this interesting family. He listened to me out of complaisance49. In time, he will listen to me out of curiosity, inasmuch as, to tell the truth, I am not a tiresome master; but I dare not yet interrogate50 him in a Socratic way. The SHORT LITTLE QUESTIONS would make our hot-headed young man angry. The lesson finished, he wished to commence his herbarium under my eyes. The honor of precedence has been awarded to the wild thyme; its little white, finely cut labias and the delicate appearance of the stem pleased him, whilst he found the dead nettle and the bell flower extremely common, and pronounced by him the word "extremely" is most expressive51. While he made pencil sketches52, I told him three stories, a fairy tale, an anecdote53 of Plutarch and some sketches of the life of St. Francis of Assisi. He listened to the fairy tale without uttering a word, and without a frown; but the other two stories made him shake his head several times.
"Is what you are telling me really true?" said he. "Would you wager54 your life upon it?" And when I came to speak of St. Francis embracing the lepers—
"Oh! now you're exaggerating." Then speaking to St. George: "Upon your conscience now, would you have done as much?"
He ended by becoming sportive and frolicsome55. As he begged me to sing him a little song, I hummed Cadet Roussel, which he did not know; the "three hairs" made him laugh till the tears ran down his cheeks, but he paid dearly for this excess of gayety. When I rose to leave he was seized with a paroxysm of weeping, and I had much trouble in consoling him. I repent56 having excited him so much. I must humor his nerves, and never put him in that state of mind which contrasts too strongly with the realities of his life. At any cost I must prevent certain AWAKINGS.
July 19th.
I admire his conduct at the table. Seated opposite me, he never appears to see me, whilst you, grave Gilbert, do not know at times what to do with your eyes; but the other day he crossed the great hall with such a quick and elastic8 step that the Count's attention was drawn57 to him. I must caution him to be more discreet58. I am also uneasy because in our nocturnal tete-a-tetes he often raises his voice, moves the furniture, and storms round the room; but he assures me there is nothing to fear. The walls are thick, and the foot of the staircase is separated from the corridor by a projection59 of masonry60 which would intercept61 the sound. Then the alcove62, the vestibule, the two solid oak doors! These two doors are never locked. Ivan, he told me, is far from suspecting anything, and the only thing which could excite his distrust would be excessive precaution.
"And besides," added he, "by the mercy of God he is beginning to grow old, his mind is getting dull, and he is more credulous63 than formerly64. So I have easily persuaded him that I will never forgive you, as long as I live, for the death of my dog. Then again, he is growing hard of hearing, and sleeps like a top. Sometimes to disturb his sleep, I amuse myself by imitating the bark of Vorace but I have the trouble of my pains. The only sound which he never fails to hear, is the ringing of my father's bell. I admit, however, that if anyone presumed to touch his great ugly oak door, he would wake up with a start. This is because his door is his property, his object, his fixed65 idea: he has a way of looking at it, which seems to say: 'you see this door? it is mine.' I believe, that in his eyes there is nothing lovelier in the world than a closed door. So he cherishes this horrible, this infamous66 door: he smiles on it benignly67, he counts its nails and covers them with kisses."
"And you say that after nine o'clock he never comes up here?"
"Never, never. I should like to see him attempt it!" cried he, raising his head with an indignant air.
"You see then, that he is a jailer capable of behaving handsomely. I imagine that you do not like him much; but after all, in keeping you under lock and key, he is only obeying orders."
"And I tell you he is happy in making me suffer. The wicked man has done but one good action in his whole life,—that was in saving you from the fury of Vorace. In consideration of this good action, I no longer tell him what I think of him, but I think it none the less, and it seems to me very singular that you should ask me to love him."
"Excuse me, I do not ask you to love him, but to believe that, at heart, he loves you."
At these words he became so furious, that I hastened to change the subject.
"Don't you sometimes regret Vorace?"
"It was his duty to guard me against bugaboos, but I have had no fear of them, since one of them has become my friend.
"I am superstitious68, I believe in ghosts; but I defy them to approach my bed hereafter."
He blushed and did not finish the sentence. Poor child! the painful misery69 of his destiny, far from quenching70 his imagination, has excited it to intoxication71, and I am not surprised that he shapes friendship to the romantic turn of his thoughts.
"You're mistaken," I said to him, "it is not my image, it is botany which guards you against spirits. There is no better remedy for foolish terrors than the study of nature."
"Always the pedant," he exclaimed, throwing his cap in my face.
July 23rd.
Vladimir Paulitch appeared yesterday at the end of dinner. The presence of this man occasions me an indefinable uneasiness. His coldness freezes me, and then his dogmatic tone; his smile of mocking politeness. He always knows in advance what you are going to say to him, and listens to you out of politeness. This Vladimir has the ironical72 intolerance characteristic of materialists. As to his professional ability there can be no doubt. The Count has entirely73 recovered; he is better than I have ever seen him. What vigor, what activity of mind! What confounds me is, that in our discussions, I come to see in him, in about the course of an hour, only the historian, the superior mind, the scholar; I forget entirely the man of the iron boots, the somnambulist, the persecutor74 of my Stephane, and I yield myself unreservedly to the charm of his conversation. Oh, men of letters! men of letters!
July 27th.
He said to me:
"I do not possess happiness yet; but it seems to me at moments, that I see it, that I touch it."
July 28th.
To-day, Doctor Vladimir appeared again at dessert. He aimed a few sarcasms75 at me; I suspect that I do not please him much. Will his affection for the Count go so far as to make him jealous of the esteem76 which he evinces for me? We talked philosophy. He exerted himself to prove that everything is matter. I stung him to the quick in representing to him that all his arguments were found in d'Holbach. I endeavored to show him that matter itself is spiritual, that even the stones believe in spirit. Instead of answering, he beat about the bush. Otherwise, he spoke77 well, that is to say, he expressed his gross ideas with ingenuity78. What he lacks most, is humor. He has something of the saturnine79 in his mind; his ideas have a leaden tint80. The Count, prompted by good taste, saw that he held out too obstinately81, without taking into account that Kostia Petrovitch himself detests82 the absolute as much in the negative as in the affirmative. He thanked me with a smile when I said to the doctor, in order to put an end to the discussion:
"Sir, no one could display more mind in denying its existence;" and the Count added, alluding83 to the doctor's meagerness of person:
"My dear Vladimir, if you deny the mind what will be left of you?"
July 30th.
"Let this inexorable father beat me," said he, "provided he tells me his secret. I prefer bad treatment to his silence. When we were at Martinique he had attacks of such violence that they made my hair stand on end. I would gladly have sunk into the earth; I trembled lest he should tear me in pieces; but he at least thought about me. He looked at me; I existed for him, and in spite of my terrors I felt less unhappy than now. Do not think it is my captivity85 which grieves me most. At my age it is certainly very hard and very humiliating to be kept out of sight and under lock and key; but I should be very easily resigned to that if it were my father who opened and closed the door. But alas86! I am of so little consequence in his eyes that he deputes the task of tyrannizing over me to a serf. And then, during the brief moments when he constrains87 himself to submit to my presence—what a severe aspect, what threatening brows, what grim silence! Consider, too, the fact that he has never entered this tower; no, has never had the curiosity to know how my prison was made. Yet he cannot be ignorant of the fact that I lodge88 above a precipice89. He knows, too, that once the idea of suicide took possession of me, and he has not even thought of having this window barred."
"That is because he did not consider your attempt a serious one."
"Then how he despises me!"
I represented to him that his father was sick, that he was the victim of a nervous disorder90 which deranges91 the most robust92 organizations, that Doctor Vladimir guaranteed his cure, that once recovered, his temper would change, and that then would be the moment to besiege93 this citadel94 thus rendered more vulnerable.
"We must not, however, be precipitate," said I, "let us have courage and patience."
I reasoned so well that he finally overcame his despondency. When I see him yield to my reasoning, I have a strong impulse to embrace him; but it is a pleasure I deny myself, as I know by experience what it costs him. A moment afterwards, I don't know why, he spoke to me of his sister who died at Martinique.
"Why did God take her from me?"
"And why not, pray?"
"Because she would have suffered ten times as much as you. Think of it,—the nerves and heart of a woman!"
He looked at me with a singular expression; apparently96 he could not understand how anyone could suffer more than he. After this he talked a long time about women, who are to him, from what he said, an impenetrable mystery, and he repeated eagerly:
"You do not despise them, as HE does?"
"That would be impossible, I remember my mother."
"Is that your only reason?"
"Some day I will tell you the others."
As I left and was already nearly out of the window, he seized me impetuously by the arm, saying to me:
"Could you swear to me that you would be less happy if you did not know me?"
"I swear it."
His face brightened, and his eyes flashed.
August 8th.
And you too are transformed, my dear Gilbert; you have visibly rejuvenated97. A new spirit has taken possession of you. Your blood circulates more quickly; you carry your head more proudly, your step is more elastic, there is more light in your eyes, more breath in your lungs, and you feel a celestial98 leaven99 fermenting100 in your heart. My old friend, you have emerged from your long uselessness to give birth to a soul! Oh, glorious task! God bless mother and daughter!
August 9th.
Stephane is painfully astonished at the friendship which his father displays towards me.
"He has the power of loving then, and does not love me? It is because I am destestable!"
Poor innocent! It is certain that in spite of himself, the Count has begun to like me. Good Father Alexis said to me the other evening:
"You are a clever man, my son; you have cast a spell upon Kostia Petrovitch, and he entertains an affection for you, which he has never before manifested for anyone."
August 11th.
His painted herbarium is enriched every day. He already enumerates101 twenty species and five families. Yesterday Stephane so far forgot himself as to look at it with an air of satisfied pride. How happy I was! I kept my joy to myself, however. He further delighted me by deciding to write from memory at the bottom of each page the French and Latin names for each plant. "It is a concession102 I have made to the pedant," said he; but this did not prevent him from being proud of having written these forty names without a mistake. Last time I carried to him some crowsfeet and anemones103. He took the little celandine in his hand, crying:
"Let me have it; I am going to tell you the history of this little yellow fellow."
And he then gave me all the characteristics with marvelous accuracy. What a quick and luminous104 intellect, and what overflowing105 humor! His hands trembled so much that I said to him:
"Keep cool, keep cool. It requires a firm and steady hand to raise the veil of Isis."
I contented106 myself with explaining in a few words who Isis was, which interested him but moderately. His masterpiece, as a faithful reproduction of nature, is his marsh107 ranunculus, which I had introduced to him under the Latin name of ranuncula scelerata. He has so exquisitely108 represented these insignificant109 little yellow flowers that it is impossible not to fall in love with them.
"This little prisoner has inspired me," said he. "By dint110 of practicing Father Alexis, I begin to wish good to the rascals111."
August 13th.
The Count's conduct is atrocious, and yet I understand it. His pride, his whole character, despotic; the horror of having been deceived. . . . And besides, is he really Stephane's father? . . . These two children born after six years of marriage, and a few years later to discover. . . . Suspicions often have less foundation. And then this fatal resemblance which keeps the image of the faithless one constantly before his eyes! The more decided114 the resemblance, the greater must be his hatred. Even his smile, that strange smile which belongs to him alone, Stephane according to Father Alexis, must have inherited from his mother. "I HAVE BURIED THE SMILE!" Frightful115 cry which I can hear still! Finally, I believe that in the barbarous hatred of this father there is more of instinct than of system. It lives from day to day. I am sure that Count Kostia has never asked himself: "What shall I do with my son when he is twenty?"
August 14th.
Ivan, of whom I asked news of Stephane, said to me:
"Do not be uneasy about him any more. He has become much better within the past month, and he grows more gentle from day to day; this is the result of seeing death so near."
M. Leminof greatly astonished me this morning.
"My dear Gilbert," said he unreservedly, "I do not claim that I am a perfect man; but I am certainly what might be called a good sort of fellow, and I possess, in the bargain, a certain delicacy116 of conscience which sometimes inconveniences me. Without flattery, you are, my dear Gilbert, a man of great merit. Very well! I am using you unjustly, for you are at an age when a man makes a name and a career for himself; and these decisive years you are spending in working for me, in collecting, like a journeyman, the materials of a great work which will bring neither glory nor profit to you. I have a proposition to make to you. Be my coadjutor; we will compose this monumental work together; it shall appear under our two names, and I give you my head upon it, shall make you famous. We agree upon nearly all questions of fact, and as to our difference in ideas. . . Mon Dieu! we are neither of us born quibblers; we shall end in agreeing, and even supposing we do not agree, I will give you carte blanche; for, to speak frankly117, an idea is not just the thing I should be ready to die for. What say you to it, my dear Gilbert? We will not part until the task is finished, and I fancy that we shall lead a happy life together."
In spite of his persuasions118, I have not consented; he has only drawn from me a promise that I will give him an answer within a month. Stephane, Stephane, how awkward I shall be, if I do not make this happy incident instrumental in accomplishing your deliverance! The day will come when I can say to your father: For the sake of your health, for the sake of your repose119, of your studies, of the work we have undertaken together, send this child away from your house; his presence troubles and irritates you. Send him to some school or college. By a single act you will make two persons happy. Gracious Heaven, the stronghold will be hard to take! But by dint of patience, skill and vigilance . . . have I not already carried a fortress120 by storm—Stephane's heart? No, I do not despair of success. But it will cost me dear, this success that I hope for! To see him leave this house, to be separated from him forever! At the very thought my heart bleeds.
August 16th.
Doctor Vladimir will leave us during the early part of next month. I shall not be sorry. Decidedly this man does not please me. The other day at the table, he looked at Stephane in a way that alarmed me.
August 18th.
The sky is propitious121 for my nocturnal excursions. Not a drop of rain has fallen for six weeks. The north wind, which sometimes blows violently in the daytime, abates122 regularly in the evening. As to the vertigo123, no return of it. Oh! the power of habit!
August 19th.
What a misfortune! Day before yesterday Stephane, in crossing a vestibule in front of the great hall, impelled124 by some odd motive125, gave vent to a loud burst of laughter. The Count started from his chair and his face became livid. To-day Soliman was sold. A horse dealer126 is coming directly to take him away. Ivan, whom I just met, had great tears in his eyes. Poor Stephane, what will he say?
August 20th.
It is very singular! Yesterday I expected to find him in a state of despair. He was gay, smiling.
"I was sure," said he, "that I should pay dearly for that unlucky burst of laughter.
"My father is mistaken; it was not a burst of gayety, but purely127 nervous spasm128 which seized me while thinking of certain things, and at a moment when I was not at all merry. However, besides life, there were but two things left to take from me, my horse and my hair, and thank God, he was not happily inspired in his choice, and has not struck me in the most sensitive place."
"What! between Soliman and your hair."
"Isn't it beautiful?" said he quickly.
"Magnificent without any doubt!" I answered, smiling.
"I've always been a little vain of it," continued he, waving his curls upon his shoulders; "but I value it more since I know it pleases you."
"Oh! for that matter," I replied, "if you had your head shaved, I should not love you any the less."
This answer, I don't know why, seemed to affect him deeply. During the rest of the evening he was thoughtful and gloomy.
August 24th.
I thought it glorious to be able to communicate to him the overtures129 which his father has made me, and the project they suggested to me. I said to him:
"What a joy it would be to me to release you from this prison, and yet with what bitter sadness this joy would be mingled130! But wherever you go, we will find some means of writing and of seeing each other. The friendship between us is one of those bonds which destiny cannot break."
"Oh, yes!" replied he in a sarcastic131 tone, "you will come to see me once a year, upon my birthday, and will be careful to bring me a bouquet132."
He burst into a fit of laughter which much resembled that of the other day.
August 30th.
How he made me suffer yesterday! I have not recovered from it yet. What! was it he—was it to me? God! what bitterness of language; what keen irony133! Count Kostia, you make a mistake—this child is really yours. He may have the features and smile of his mother, but there is a little of your soul in his. What grievances135 can he have against me? I can imagine but two. Sunday last, near three o'clock, we were both at the window. He commenced a very animated136 speech by signs, and prolonged it far beyond the prudential limits which I have prescribed to him. He spoke, I believe, about Soliman, and of a walk which he had refused to take with Ivan. I did not pay close attention, for I was occupied in looking round to see that no one was watching us. Suddenly I saw on the slope of the hill big Fritz and the little goat girl, to whom he is paying court, seated on a rock. At the moment I was about to answer Stephane, they raised their eyes to me. I began then to look at the landscape, and presently quitted the spot. Stephane could not see them from his window, and of course did not understand the cause of my retreat. The other grievance134 is, that for the first time three days have passed without my paying him a visit; but day before yesterday the wind was so violent that it overthrew137 a chimney nearby, . . . and it was to punish me for such a grave offense138 that he allowed himself to say that I was no doubt an excellent botanist139, an unparalleled philanthropist, but that I understood nothing of the refinements140 of sentiment.
"You are one of those men," said he, "who carry the whole world in their hearts. It is useless for you to deny it. I am sure you have at least a hundred intimate friends."
"You are right," I replied; "it is even for the hundredth one that
I have risked my life."
September 7th.
During the last week, I have seen him three times. He has given me no cause for complaint; he works, he reflects; his judgment141 is forming, not a moment of ill-humor; he is calm, docile142, and gentle as a lamb. Yes, but it is this excess of gentleness which disturbs me. There is something unnatural143 to me, in his condition, and I am forced to regret the absence of those transports, and the childishness of which I have endeavored to cure him. "Stephane, you have become too unlike yourself. But a short time since, your feet hardly touched the ground; lively, impetuous, and violent, there came from your lips by turns flashes of merriment or of anger, and in an instant you passed from enthusiasm to despair; but in our recent interviews I could scarcely recognize you. No more freaks of the rebellious144 child; no more of those familiarities which I loved! Your glances, even, as they meet mine, seem less assured; sometimes they wander over me doubtfully, and from the surprise they express, I am inclined to believe that my figure must have grown some cubits, and you can no longer take it in at a glance. And then those sighs which escape you! Besides, you no longer complain of anything; your existence seems to have become a stranger to you. It must be that without my knowledge—" Ah! unhappy child, I will know. You shall speak; you shall tell me. . . .
September 10.
Heavens! what a flood of light! Father Alexis, you did not tell me all! The more I think of it. . . . Ah! Gilbert, what scales covered your eyes! Yesterday I carried him that copy of the poem of the Metamorphoses, which I had promised him. A few fragments that I had repeated to him had inspired him with the desire of reading the whole piece, not from the book, but copied in my hand. We read it together, distich by distich. I translated, explained, and commented. When we arrived at these verses: "May you only remember how the tie which first united our souls was a germ from which grew in time a sweet and charming intimacy145, and soon friendship revealed its power in our hearts, until love, coming last, crowned it with flowers and with fruit—" At these words he became agitated146 and trembled violently.
"Do not let us go any further," said he, pushing the paper away.
"That is poetry enough for this evening."
Then leaning upon the table, he opened and turned the leaves of his herbarium; but his eyes and his thoughts were elsewhere. Suddenly he rose, took a few steps in the room, and then returning to me:
"Do you think that friendship can change into love?"
"Goethe says so; we must believe it."
He took a flower from the table, looked at it a moment and dropping it on the floor, he murmured, lowering his eyes:
"I am an ignoramus; tell me what is this love?"
"Have you ever been foolish?"
"No, and I do not imagine I ever shall be."
He remained motionless for a moment, his arms hanging listlessly; at length, raising them slowly, he crossed his hands over his head, one of his favorite attitudes, raised his eyes from the ground, and looked steadily148 at me. Oh! what a strange expression! His wild look, a sad and mysterious smile wandering over his lips, his mouth which tried to speak, but to which speech refused to come! That face has been constantly before me since last night; it pursues me, possesses me, and even at this moment its image is stamped in the paper I am writing on. This black velvet149 tunic150, then, may be a forced disguise? Yes, the character of Stephane, his mind, his singularity of conduct,—all these things which astonished and frightened me are now explained. Gilbert, Gilbert! what have you done? into what abyss. . . And yet, perhaps I am mistaken, for how can I believe— There is the dinner bell. . . I shall see HIM again!
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lofts
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| 阁楼( loft的名词复数 )； （由工厂等改建的）套房； 上层楼面； 房间的越层 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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7
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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8
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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9
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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10
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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11
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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12
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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13
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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14
tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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15
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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16
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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17
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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18
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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19
dissertations
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| 专题论文，学位论文( dissertation的名词复数 ) | |
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20
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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21
verbiage
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| n.冗词；冗长 | |
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22
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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23
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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24
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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25
ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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26
chastised
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| v.严惩（某人）（尤指责打）( chastise的过去式 ) | |
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27
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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28
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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29
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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30
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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31
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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32
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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33
pouncing
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的现在分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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34
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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35
inflaming
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| v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的现在分词 ) | |
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36
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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37
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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38
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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39
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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40
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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41
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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42
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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43
nettle
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| n.荨麻；v.烦忧，激恼 | |
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44
trot
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| 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 | |
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45
accost
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| v.向人搭话，打招呼 | |
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46
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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47
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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48
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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49
complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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50
interrogate
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| vt.讯问，审问，盘问 | |
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51
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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52
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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53
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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54
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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55
frolicsome
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| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
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56
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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57
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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58
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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59
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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60
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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61
intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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62
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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63
credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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64
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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65
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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66
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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67
benignly
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| adv.仁慈地，亲切地 | |
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68
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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69
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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70
quenching
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| 淬火，熄 | |
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71
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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72
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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73
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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74
persecutor
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| n. 迫害者 | |
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75
sarcasms
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，挖苦( sarcasm的名词复数 ) | |
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76
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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77
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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78
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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79
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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80
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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81
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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82
detests
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的第三人称单数 ) | |
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83
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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84
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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85
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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86
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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87
constrains
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| 强迫( constrain的第三人称单数 )； 强使； 限制； 约束 | |
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88
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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89
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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90
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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91
deranges
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| v.疯狂的，神经错乱的( deranged的现在分词 )；混乱的 | |
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92
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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93
besiege
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| vt.包围，围攻，拥在...周围 | |
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94
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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95
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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96
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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97
rejuvenated
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| 更生的 | |
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98
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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99
leaven
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| v.使发酵；n.酵母；影响 | |
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100
fermenting
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的现在分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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101
enumerates
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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103
anemones
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| n.银莲花( anemone的名词复数 )；海葵 | |
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104
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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105
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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106
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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107
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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108
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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109
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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110
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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111
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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112
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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114
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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115
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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116
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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117
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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118
persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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119
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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120
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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121
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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122
abates
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| 减少( abate的第三人称单数 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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123
vertigo
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| n.眩晕 | |
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124
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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126
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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127
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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128
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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129
overtures
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| n.主动的表示，提议；（向某人做出的）友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 )；（歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的）序曲，前奏曲 | |
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130
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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131
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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132
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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133
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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135
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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136
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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137
overthrew
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| overthrow的过去式 | |
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138
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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139
botanist
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| n.植物学家 | |
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140
refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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141
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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142
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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143
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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144
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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145
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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146
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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147
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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148
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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149
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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150
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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