Bondel was a merchant who had retired1 from active business after saving enough to allow him to live quietly; he had rented a little house at Saint-Germain and lived there with his wife. He was a quiet man with very decided2 opinions; he had a certain degree of education and read serious newspapers; nevertheless, he appreciated the gaulois wit. Endowed with a logical mind, and that practical common sense which is the master quality of the industrial French bourgeois3, he thought little, but clearly, and reached a decision only after careful consideration of the matter in hand. He was of medium size, with a distinguished5 look, and was beginning to turn gray.
His wife, who was full of serious qualities, had also several faults. She had a quick temper and a frankness that bordered upon violence. She bore a grudge6 a long time. She had once been pretty, but had now become too stout7 and too red; but in her neighborhood at Saint-Germain she still passed for a very beautiful woman, who exemplified health and an uncertain temper.
Their dissensions almost always began at breakfast, over some trivial matter, and they often continued all day and even until the following day. Their simple, common, limited life imparted seriousness to the most unimportant matters, and every topic of conversation became a subject of dispute. This had not been so in the days when business occupied their minds, drew their hearts together, and gave them common interests and occupation.
But at Saint-Germain they saw fewer people. It had been necessary to make new acquaintances, to create for themselves a new world among strangers, a new existence devoid8 of occupations. Then the monotony of loneliness had soured each of them a little; and the quiet happiness which they had hoped and waited for with the coming of riches did not appear.
One June morning, just as they were sitting down to breakfast, Bondel asked:
Madame Bondel was out of sorts. She answered:
“Yes and no; I am acquainted with them, but I do not care to know them.”
“Why not? They seem to be very nice.”
“Because—”
“This morning I met the husband on the terrace and we took a little walk together.”
His wife looked at him in a displeased11 manner. She continued: “You would have done just as well to avoid him.”
“Why?”
“What kind?”
“Oh! rumors such as one often hears!”
M. Bondel was, unfortunately, a little hasty. He exclaimed:
“Why, yes; although I have barely seen her.”
The discussion gradually grew more heated, always on the same subject for lack of others. Madame Bondel obstinately15 refused to say what she had heard about these neighbors, allowing things to be understood without saying exactly what they were. Bendel would shrug16 his shoulders, grin, and exasperate17 his wife. She finally cried out: “Well! that gentleman is deceived by his wife, there!”
The husband answered quietly: “I can't see how that affects the honor of a man.”
She seemed dumfounded: “What! you don't see?—you don't see?—well, that's too much! You don't see!—why, it's a public scandal! he is disgraced!”
He answered: “Ah! by no means! Should a man be considered disgraced because he is deceived, because he is betrayed, robbed? No, indeed! I'll grant you that that may be the case for the wife, but as for him—”
She became furious, exclaiming: “For him as well as for her. They are both in disgrace; it's a public shame.”
Bondel, very calm, asked: “First of all, is it true? Who can assert such a thing as long as no one has been caught in the act?”
Madame Bondel was growing uneasy; she snapped: “What? Who can assert it? Why, everybody! everybody! it's as clear as the nose on your face. Everybody knows it and is talking about it. There is not the slightest doubt.”
He was grinning: “For a long time people thought that the sun revolved18 around the earth. This man loves his wife and speaks of her tenderly and reverently19. This whole business is nothing but lies!”
Stamping her foot, she stammered20: “Do you think that that fool, that idiot, knows anything about it?”
Bondel did not grow angry; he was reasoning clearly: “Excuse me. This gentleman is no fool. He seemed to me, on the contrary, to be very intelligent and shrewd; and you can't make me believe that a man with brains doesn't notice such a thing in his own house, when the neighbors, who are not there, are ignorant of no detail of this liaison—for I'll warrant that they know everything.”
Madame Bondel had a fit of angry mirth, which irritated her husband's nerves. She laughed: “Ha! ha! ha! they're all the same! There's not a man alive who could discover a thing like that unless his nose was stuck into it!”
The discussion was wandering to other topics now. She was exclaiming over the blindness of deceived husbands, a thing which he doubted and which she affirmed with such airs of personal contempt that he finally grew angry. Then the discussion became an angry quarrel, where she took the side of the women and he defended the men. He had the conceit21 to declare: “Well, I swear that if I had ever been deceived, I should have noticed it, and immediately, too. And I should have taken away your desire for such things in such a manner that it would have taken more than one doctor to set you on foot again!”
Boiling with anger, she cried out to him: “You! you! why, you're as big a fool as the others, do you hear!”
He still maintained: “I can swear to you that I am not!”
She laughed so impertinently that he felt his heart beat and a chill run down his back. For the third time he said:
“I should have seen it!”
She rose, still laughing in the same manner. She slammed the door and left the room, saying: “Well! if that isn't too much!”
Bondel remained alone, ill at ease. That insolent22, provoking laugh had touched him to the quick. He went outside, walked, dreamed. The realization23 of the loneliness of his new life made him sad and morbid24. The neighbor, whom he had met that morning, came to him with outstretched hands. They continued their walk together. After touching25 on various subjects they came to talk of their wives. Both seemed to have something to confide26, something inexpressible, vague, about these beings associated with their lives; their wives. The neighbor was saying:
“Really, at times, one might think that they bear some particular ill-will toward their husband, just because he is a husband. I love my wife—I love her very much; I appreciate and respect her; well! there are times when she seems to have more confidence and faith in our friends than in me.”
Bondel immediately thought: “There is no doubt; my wife was right!”
When he left this man he began to think things over again. He felt in his soul a strange confusion of contradictory27 ideas, a sort of interior burning; that mocking, impertinent laugh kept ringing in his ears and seemed to say: “Why; you are just the same as the others, you fool!” That was indeed bravado28, one of those pieces of impudence29 of which a woman makes use when she dares everything, risks everything, to wound and humiliate30 the man who has aroused her ire. This poor man must also be one of those deceived husbands, like so many others. He had said sadly: “There are times when she seems to have more confidence and faith in our friends than in me.” That is how a husband formulated31 his observations on the particular attentions of his wife for another man. That was all. He had seen nothing more. He was like the rest—all the rest!
And how strangely Bondel's own wife had laughed as she said: “You, too —you, too.” How wild and imprudent these creatures are who can arouse such suspicions in the heart for the sole purpose of revenge!
He ran over their whole life since their marriage, reviewed his mental list of their acquaintances, to see whether she had ever appeared to show more confidence in any one else than in himself. He never had suspected any one, he was so calm, so sure of her, so confident.
But, now he thought of it, she had had a friend, an intimate friend, who for almost a year had dined with them three times a week. Tancret, good old Tancret, whom he, Bendel, loved as a brother and whom he continued to see on the sly, since his wife, he did not know why, had grown angry at the charming fellow.
He stopped to think, looking over the past with anxious eyes. Then he grew angry at himself for harboring this shameful33 insinuation of the defiant34, jealous, bad ego35 which lives in all of us. He blamed and accused himself when he remembered the visits and the demeanor36 of this friend whom his wife had dismissed for no apparent reason. But, suddenly, other memories returned to him, similar ruptures37 due to the vindictive38 character of Madame Bondel, who never pardoned a slight. Then he laughed frankly39 at himself for the doubts which he had nursed; and he remembered the angry looks of his wife as he would tell her, when he returned at night: “I saw good old Tancret, and he wished to be remembered to you,” and he reassured40 himself.
She would invariably answer: “When you see that gentleman you can tell him that I can very well dispense41 with his remembrances.” With what an irritated, angry look she would say these words! How well one could feel that she did not and would not forgive—and he had suspected her even for a second? Such foolishness!
But why did she grow so angry? She never had given the exact reason for this quarrel. She still bore him that grudge! Was it?—But no—no—and Bondel declared that he was lowering himself by even thinking of such things.
Yes, he was undoubtedly42 lowering himself, but he could not help thinking of it, and he asked himself with terror if this thought which had entered into his mind had not come to stop, if he did not carry in his heart the seed of fearful torment43. He knew himself; he was a man to think over his doubts, as formerly44 he would ruminate45 over his commercial operations, for days and nights, endlessly weighing the pros46 and the cons4.
He was already becoming excited; he was walking fast and losing his calmness. A thought cannot be downed. It is intangible, cannot be caught, cannot be killed.
Suddenly a plan occurred to him; it was bold, so bold that at first he doubted whether he would carry it out.
Each time that he met Tancret, his friend would ask for news of Madame Bondel, and Bondel would answer: “She is still a little angry.” Nothing more. Good Lord! What a fool he had been! Perhaps!
Well, he would take the train to Paris, go to Tancret, and bring him back with him that very evening, assuring him that his wife's mysterious anger had disappeared. But how would Madame Bondel act? What a scene there would be! What anger! what scandal! What of it?—that would be revenge! When she should come face to face with him, unexpectedly, he certainly ought to be able to read the truth in their expressions.
He immediately went to the station, bought his ticket, got into the car, and as soon as he felt him self being carried away by the train, he felt a fear, a kind of dizziness, at what he was going to do. In order not to weaken, back down, and return alone, he tried not to think of the matter any longer, to bring his mind to bear on other affairs, to do what he had decided to do with a blind resolution; and he began to hum tunes47 from operettas and music halls until he reached Paris.
As soon as he found himself walking along the streets that led to Tancret's, he felt like stopping, He paused in front of several shops, noticed the prices of certain objects, was interested in new things, felt like taking a glass of beer, which was not his usual custom; and as he approached his friend's dwelling48 he ardently49 hoped not meet him. But Tancret was at home, alone, reading. He jumped up in surprise, crying: “Ah! Bondel! what luck!”
Bondel, embarrassed, answered: “Yes, my dear fellow, I happened to be in Paris, and I thought I'd drop in and shake hands with you.”
“That's very nice, very nice! The more so that for some time you have not favored me with your presence very often.”
“Well, you see—even against one's will, one is often influenced by surrounding conditions, and as my wife seemed to bear you some ill-will—”
“Jove! 'seemed'—she did better than that, since she showed me the door.”
“What was the reason? I never heard it.”
“Oh! nothing at all—a bit of foolishness—a discussion in which we did not both agree.”
“But what was the subject of this discussion?”
“A lady of my acquaintance, whom you may perhaps know by name, Madame Boutin.”
“Ah! really. Well, I think that my wife has forgotten her grudge, for this very morning she spoke to me of you in very pleasant terms.”
Tancret started and seemed so dumfounded that for a few minutes he could find nothing to say. Then he asked: “She spoke of me—in pleasant terms?”
“Yes.”
“You are sure?”
“Of course I am. I am not dreaming.”
“And then?”
“And then—as I was coming to Paris I thought that I would please you by coming to tell you the good news.”
“Why, yes—why, yes—”
Bondel appeared to hesitate; then, after a short pause, he added: “I even had an idea.”
“What is it?”
“To take you back home with me to dinner.”
Tancret, who was naturally prudent32, seemed a little worried by this proposition, and he asked: “Oh! really—is it possible? Are we not exposing ourselves to—to—a scene?”
“No, no, indeed!”
“Yes, but I can assure you that she no longer bears you any ill—will. I am even convinced that it will be a great pleasure for her to see you thus, unexpectedly.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really!”
“Well, then! let us go along. I am delighted. You see, this misunderstanding was very unpleasant for me.”
They set out together toward the Saint-Lazare station, arm in arm. They made the trip in silence. Both seemed absorbed in deep meditation51. Seated in the car, one opposite the other, they looked at each other without speaking, each observing that the other was pale.
Then they left the train and once more linked arms as if to unite against some common danger. After a walk of a few minutes they stopped, a little out of breath, before Bondel's house. Bondel ushered52 his friend into the parlor53, called the servant, and asked: “Is madame at home?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Please ask her to come down at once.”
They dropped into two armchairs and waited. Both were filled with the same longing54 to escape before the appearance of the much-feared person.
A well-known, heavy tread could be heard descending55 the stairs. A hand moved the knob, and both men watched the brass56 handle turn. Then the door opened wide, and Madame Bondel stopped and looked to see who was there before she entered. She looked, blushed, trembled, retreated a step, then stood motionless, her cheeks aflame and her hands resting against the sides of the door frame.
Tancret, as pale as if about to faint, had arisen, letting fall his hat, which rolled along the floor. He stammered out: “Mon Dieu—madame—it is I—I thought—I ventured—I was so sorry—”
As she did not answer, he continued: “Will you forgive me?”
Then, quickly, carried away by some impulse, she walked toward him with her hands outstretched; and when he had taken, pressed, and held these two hands, she said, in a trembling, weak little voice, which was new to her husband:
“Ah! my dear friend—how happy I am!”
And Bondel, who was watching them, felt an icy chill run over him, as if he had been dipped in a cold bath.
点击收听单词发音
1 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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2 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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3 bourgeois | |
adj./n.追求物质享受的(人);中产阶级分子 | |
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4 cons | |
n.欺骗,骗局( con的名词复数 )v.诈骗,哄骗( con的第三人称单数 ) | |
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5 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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6 grudge | |
n.不满,怨恨,妒嫉;vt.勉强给,不情愿做 | |
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8 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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9 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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10 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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11 displeased | |
a.不快的 | |
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12 rumors | |
n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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13 abhor | |
v.憎恶;痛恨 | |
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14 testily | |
adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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15 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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16 shrug | |
v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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17 exasperate | |
v.激怒,使(疾病)加剧,使恶化 | |
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18 revolved | |
v.(使)旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 );细想 | |
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19 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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20 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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22 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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23 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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24 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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25 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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26 confide | |
v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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27 contradictory | |
adj.反驳的,反对的,抗辩的;n.正反对,矛盾对立 | |
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28 bravado | |
n.虚张声势,故作勇敢,逞能 | |
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29 impudence | |
n.厚颜无耻;冒失;无礼 | |
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30 humiliate | |
v.使羞辱,使丢脸[同]disgrace | |
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31 formulated | |
v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
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32 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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33 shameful | |
adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
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34 defiant | |
adj.无礼的,挑战的 | |
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35 ego | |
n.自我,自己,自尊 | |
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36 demeanor | |
n.行为;风度 | |
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37 ruptures | |
n.(体内组织等的)断裂( rupture的名词复数 );爆裂;疝气v.(使)破裂( rupture的第三人称单数 );(使体内组织等)断裂;使(友好关系)破裂;使绝交 | |
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38 vindictive | |
adj.有报仇心的,怀恨的,惩罚的 | |
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39 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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40 reassured | |
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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41 dispense | |
vt.分配,分发;配(药),发(药);实施 | |
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42 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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43 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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44 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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45 ruminate | |
v.反刍;沉思 | |
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46 pros | |
abbr.prosecuting 起诉;prosecutor 起诉人;professionals 自由职业者;proscenium (舞台)前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 );赞成的理由;抵偿物;交换物 | |
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47 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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48 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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49 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
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50 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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51 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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52 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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54 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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55 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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56 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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