When Gethryn unclosed his eyes the dazzling sunlight almost blinded him. A thousand grotesque1 figures danced before him, a hot red vapor2 seemed to envelop3 him. He felt a dull pain in his ears and a numb4 sensation about the legs. Gradually he recalled the scene that had just passed; the flying crowd lashed5 by that pitiless iron scourge6; the cruel panic; the mad, suffocating8 rush; and then that crash of thunder which had crushed him.
He lay quite still, not offering to move. A strange languor9 seemed to weigh down his very heart. The air reeked10 with powder smoke. Not a breath was stirring.
Presently the numbness11 in his knees changed to a hot, pricking12 throb13. He tried to move his legs, but found he could not. Then a sudden thought sent the blood with a rush to his heart. Perhaps he no longer had any legs! He remembered to have heard of legless men whose phantom14 members caused them many uncomfortable sensations. He certainly had a dull pain where his legs belonged, but the question was, had he legs also? The doubt was too much, and with a faint cry he struggled to rise.
“The devil!” exclaimed a voice close to his head, and a pair of startled eyes met his own. “ The devil!” repeated the owner of the eyes, as if to a apostrophize some particular one. He was a bird-like little fellow, with thin canary-colored hair and eyebrows15 and colorless eyes, and he was seated upon a campstool about two feet from Gethryn’s head.
He blinked at Gethryn. “These Frenchmen,” said he, “have as many lives as a cat.”
“Thanks!” said Gethryn, smiling faintly.
“An Englishman! The devil!” shouted the pale-eyed man, hopping16 in haste from his campstool and dropping a well-thumbed sketching-block as he did so.
“Don’t be an ass,” suggested Gethryn; “you’d much better help me to get up.”
“Look here,” cried the other, “how was I to know you were not done for?”
“What’s the matter with me?” said Gethryn. “Are my — my legs gone?”
The little man glanced at Gethryn’s shoes.
No, they’re all there, unless you originally had more than the normal number — in fact I’m afraid — I think you’re all right.
Gethryn stared at him.
“And what the devil am I to do with this sketch17?” he continued, kicking the fallen block. “I’ve been at it for an hour. It isn’t half bad, you know. I was going to call it ‘Love in Death.’ It was for the London Illustrated18 Mirror.”
Gethryn lay quite still. He had decided19 the little fellow was mad.
“Dead in each other’s arms!” continued the stranger, sentimentally20. “She so fair — he so brave — ”
Gethryn sprang up impatiently, but only a little way. Something held him down and he fell back.
“Do you want to get up?” asked the stranger.
“I should rather think so.”
The other bent21 down and placed his hands under Gethryn’s arms, and — half helped, half by his own impatient efforts — Rex sat up, leaning against the other man. A sharp twinge shot through the numbness of his legs, and his eyes, seeking the cause, fell upon the body of a woman. She lay across his knees, apparently22 dead. Rex remembered her now for the first time.
“Lift her,” he said weakly.
The little man with some difficulty succeeded in moving the body; then Gethryn, putting one arm around the other’s neck, struggled up. He was stiff, and toppled about a little, but before long he was pretty steady on his feet.
“The woman,” he said, “perhaps she is not dead.”
“Dead she is,” said the Artist of the Mirror cheerfully, gathering23 up his pencils, which lay scattered24 on the steps of the pedestal. He leaned over the little heap of crumpled25 clothing.
“Shot, I fancy,” he muttered.
Gethryn, feeling his strength returning and the circulation restored to his limbs, went over to the place where she lay.
“Have you a flask26?” he asked. The little Artist eyed him suspiciously.
“Are you a newspaperman?”
“No, an art student.”
“Nothing to do with newspapers?”
“No.”
“I don’t drink,” said the queer little person.
“I never said you did,” said Gethryn. “Have you a flask, or haven’t you?”
The stranger slowly produced one, and poured a few drops into his pink palm.
“We may as well try,” he said, and began to chafe27 her forehead. “Here, take the whiskey — let it trickle28, so, between her teeth. Don’t spill any more than you can help,” he added.
“Has she been shot?” asked Gethryn.
“Crushed, maybe.”
“Poor little thing, look at her roll of music!” said Gethryn, wiping a few drops of blood from her pallid29 face, and glancing compassionately30 at the helpless, dust-covered figure.
“I’m afraid it’s no use — ”
“Give her some more whiskey, quick!” interrupted the stranger.
Gethryn tremblingly poured a few more drops between the parted lips. A faint color came into her temples. She moved, shivered from head to foot, and then, with a half-choked sob31, opened her eyes.
“Mon Dieu, comme je souffre!”
“Where do you suffer?” said Gethryn gently.
“The arm; I think it is broken.”
Gethryn stood up and looked about for help. The Place was nearly deserted32. The blue-jacketed hussars were still standing33 over by the Avenue, and an occasional heavy, red-faced cuirassier walked his sweating horse slowly up and down the square. A few policemen lounged against the river wall, chatting with the sentries34, and far down the dusty Rue7 Royale, the cannon35 winked36 and blinked before the Church of the Madeleine.
The rumble37 of wheels caused him to turn. A clumsy, blue-covered wagon38 drew up at the second fountain. It was a military ambulance. A red-capped trooper sprang down jingling39 from one of the horses, and was joined by two others who had followed the ambulance and who also dismounted. Then the three approached a group of policemen who were lifting something from the pavement. At the same moment he heard voices beside him, and turning, found that the girl had risen and was sitting on the campstool, her head leaning against the little stranger’s shoulder.
An officer stood looking down at her. His boots were spotless. The band of purple on his red and gold cap showed that he was a surgeon.
“Can we be of any assistance to madame?” he inquired.
“I was looking for a cab,” said Gethryn, “but perhaps she is not strong enough to be taken to her home.”
A frightened look came into the girl’s face and she glanced anxiously at the ambulance. The surgeon knelt quietly beside her.
“Madame is not seriously hurt,” he said, after a rapid examination. “The right arm is a little strained, but it will be nothing, I assure you, Madame; a matter of a few days, that is all.”
He rose and stood brushing the knees of his trousers with his handkerchief. “Monsieur is a foreigner?”
Gethryn smiled. “The accent?”
“On the contrary, I assure you, Monsieur,” cried the officer with more politeness than truth. He eyed the ambulance. “The people of Paris have learned a lesson today,” he said.
A trooper clattered40 up, leading an officer’s horse, and dismounted, saluting41. The young surgeon glanced at his watch.
“Picard,” he said, “stop a closed cab and send it here.”
The trooper wheeled his horse and galloped42 away across the square, and the officer turned to the others.
“Madame, I trust, will soon recover,” he said courteously43. “Madame, messieurs, I have the honor to salute44 you.” And with many a clink and jingle45, he sprang into the saddle and clattered away in the wake of the slowly moving ambulance.
At the corner of the Rue Royale, Gethryn saw the trooper stop a cab and point to the Obelisk46. He went over and asked the canary-colored stranger, “Will you take her home, or shall I?”
“Why, you, of course; you brought her here.”
“No, I didn’t. I never saw her until I noticed her being pushed about by the crowd.” He caught the girl’s eye and colored furiously, hoping she did not suspect the nature of their discussion. Before her helplessness it seemed so brutal47.
The cab drew up before the Obelisk and a gruff voice cried, “V’la! M’ssieurs! — ‘dames!”
“Put your arm on my shoulder — so,” said Gethryn, and the two men raised her gently. Once in the cab, she sank back, looking limp and white. Gethryn turned sharply to the other man.
“Shall I go?”
“Rather,” replied the little stranger, pleasantly.
Opening his coat in haste, he produced a square of pasteboard. “My card,” he said, offering one to Gethryn, who bowed and fumbled48 in his pockets. As usual, his card-case was in another coat.
“I’m sorry I have none,” he said at length, “but my name is Reginald Gethryn, and I shall give myself the pleasure of calling to thank you for — ”
“For nothing,” laughed the other, “excepting for the sketch, which you may have when you come to see me.”
“Thanks, and au revoir,” glancing at the card. “Au revoir, Mr Bulfinch.”
He was giving the signal to the cabby when his new acquaintance stopped him.
“You’re quite sure — you — er — don’t know any newspapermen?”
“Quite.”
“All right — all right — and — er — just don’t mention about my having a flask, if you do meet any of them. I— er — keep it for others. I don’t drink.”
“Certainly not,” began Gethryn, but Mr T. Hoppley Bulfinch had seized his campstool and trotted49 away across the square.
Gethryn leaned into the cab.
“Will you give me your address?” he asked gently.
“Rue Monsieur le Prince — 430 — “ she whispered. “Do you know where it is?”
“Yes,” said Gethryn. It was his own number.
“Rue Monsieur le Prince 430”, he repeated to the driver, and stepping in, softly shut the door.
收听单词发音 |
1
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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15
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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sentimentally
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| adv.富情感地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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chafe
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| v.擦伤；冲洗；惹怒 | |
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28
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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29
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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30
compassionately
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| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
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31
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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32
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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34
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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35
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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36
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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37
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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39
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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40
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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41
saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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42
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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43
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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44
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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45
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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46
obelisk
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| n.方尖塔 | |
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47
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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48
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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49
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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