When the servants had gone away and left us alone, it would have looked strange if we had remained as dumb as two posts; but in my state of mind I did not feel myself capable of breaking the silence. My dear Dubois, who began to love me because I made her happy, felt my melancholy1 react on herself, and tried to make me talk.
“Your sadness,” said she, “is not like you; it frightens me. You may console yourself by telling me of your troubles, but do not imagine that my curiosity springs from any unworthy motive3, I only want to be of service to you. You may rely on my being perfectly4 discreet5; and to encourage you to speak freely, and to give you that trust in me which I think I deserve, I will tell you what I know and what I have learnt about yourself. My knowledge has not been obtained by any unworthy stratagems6, or by a curiosity in affairs which do not concern me.”
“I am pleased with what you say, my dear housekeeper7. I see you are my friend, and I am grateful to you. Tell me all you know about the matter which is now troubling me, and conceal8 nothing.”
“Very good. You are the lover and the beloved of Madame ——. The widow whom you have treated badly has played you some trick which has involved you with your mistress, and then the wretched woman has 477 left your house with the most unpardonable rudeness this tortures you. You fear some disastrous9 consequences from which you cannot escape, your heart and mind are at war, and there is a struggle in your breast between passion and sentiment. Perhaps I am wrong, but yesterday you seemed to me happy and to-day miserable10. I pity you, because you have inspired me with the tenderest feelings of friendship. I did my best to-day to converse11 with the husband that you might be free to talk to the wife, who seems to me well worthy2 of your love.”
“All that you have said is true. Your friendship is dear to me, and I have a high opinion of your intellectual powers. The widow is a monster who has made me wretched in return for my contempt, and I cannot revenge myself on her. Honour will not allow me to tell you any more, and indeed it would be impossible for you or any one else to alleviate12 the grief that overwhelms me. It may possibly be my death, but in the mean time, my dear Dubois, I entreat13 you to continue your friendship towards me, and to treat me with entire candour. I shall always attend to what you say, and thus you will be of the greatest service to me. I shall not be ungrateful.”
I spent a weary night as I had expected, for anger, the mother of vengeance14, always made me sleepless15, while sudden happiness had sometimes the same effect.
I rang for Le Duc early in the morning, but, instead of him, Madame Dubois’s ugly little attendant came, and told me that my man was ill, and that the housekeeper would bring me my chocolate. She came in directly after, and I had no sooner swallowed the chocolate than I was seized with a violent attack of sickness, the effect of anger, which at its height may kill the man who cannot satisfy it. My concentrated rage called for vengeance on the dreadful widow, the chocolate came on the top of the anger, and if it had not been rejected I should have been killed; as it was I was quite exhausted17. Looking at my housekeeper I saw she was in tears, and asked her why she wept.
“Good heavens! Do you think I have a heart of stone?”
“Calm yourself; I see you pity me. Leave me, and I hope I shall be able to get some sleep.”
I went to sleep soon after, and I did not wake till I had slept for seven hours. I felt restored to life. I rang the bell, my housekeeper came in, and told me the surgeon of the place had called. She looked very melancholy, but on seeing my more cheerful aspect I saw gladness reappearing on her pretty face.
“We will dine together, dearest,” said I, “but tell the surgeon to come in. I want to know what he has to say to me.”
The worthy man entered, and after looking carefully round the room to see that we were alone, he came up to me, and whispered in my ear that Le Duc had a malady18 of a shameful19 character.
I burst out laughing, as I had been expecting some terrible news.
“My dear doctor,” said I, “do all you can to cure him, and I will pay you handsomely, but next time don’t look so doleful when you have anything to tell me. How old are you?”
“Nearly eighty.”
“May God help you!”
I was all the more ready to sympathize with my poor Spaniard, as I expected to find myself in a like case.
What a fellow-feeling there is between the unfortunate! The poor man will seek in vain for true compassion20 at the rich man’s doors; what he receives is a sacrifice to ostentation21 and not true benevolence22; and the man in sorrow should not look for pity from one to whom sorrow is unknown, if there be such a person on the earth.
My housekeeper came in to dress me, and asked me what had been the doctor’s business.
“He must have said something amusing to make you laugh.”
“Yes, and I should like to tell you what it was; but before I do so I must ask you if you know what the venereal disease is?”
“Yes, I do; Lady Montagu’s footman died of it while I was with her”
“Very good, but you should pretend not to know what it is, and imitate other ladies who assume an ignorance which well becomes them. Poor Le Duc has got this disease.”
“Poor fellow, I am sorry for him! Were you laughing at that?”
“No; it was the air of mystery assumed by the old doctor which amused me.”
“I too have a confidence to make, and when you have heard it you must either forgive me or send me away directly.”
“Here is another bother. What the devil can you have done? Quick! tell me.”
“Sir, I have robbed you!”
“What robbed me? When? How? Can you return me what you have taken? I should not have thought you capable of such a thing. I never forgive a robber or a liar24.”
“You are too hasty, sir. I am sure you will forgive me, as I robbed you only half an hour ago, and I am now going to return to you the theft.”
“You are a singular woman, my dear. Come, I will vouchsafe25 full forgiveness, but restore immediately what you have taken.”
“This is what I stole.”
“What! that monster’s letter? Did you read it?”
“Yes, of course, for otherwise I should not have committed a theft, should I?”
“You have robbed me my secret, then, and that is a thing you cannot give me back. You have done very wrong.”
“I confess I have. My theft is all the greater in that I cannot make restoration. Nevertheless, I promise never to speak a word of it all my life, and that ought to gain me my pardon. Give it me quickly.”
“You are a little witch. I forgive you, and here is the pledge of my mercy.” So saying I fastened my lips on hers.
“I don’t doubt the validity of your pardon; you have signed with a double and a triple seal.”
“Yes; but for the future do not read, or so much as touch, any of my papers, as I am the depositary of secrets of which I am not free to dispose.”
“Very good; but what shall I do when I find papers on the ground, as that letter was?”
“You must pick them up, but not read them.”
“I promise to do so.”
“Very well, my dear; but you must forget the horrors you have read.”
“Listen to me. Allow me to remember what I have read; perhaps you may be the gainer. Let us talk over this affair, which has made my hair stand on end. This monster of immodesty has given you two mortal blows — one in the body and one in the soul; but that is not the worst, as she thinks that Madame’s honour is in her keeping. This, in my thinking, is the worst of all; for, in spite of the affront26, your mutual27 love might continue, and the disease which the infamous28 creature has communicated to you would pass off; but if the malicious29 woman carries out her threats, the honour of your charming mistress is gone beyond return. Do not try to make me forget the matter, then, but let us talk it over and see what can be done.”
I thought I was dreaming when I heard a young woman in her position reasoning with more acuteness than Minerva displays in her colloquies30 with Telemachus. She had captured not only my esteem31 but my respect.
“Yes, my dear,” I answered, “let us think over some plan for delivering a woman who deserves the respect of all good men from this imminent32 danger; and the very thought that we have some chance of success makes me indebted to you. Let us think of it and talk of it from noon to night. Think kindly33 of Madame — — pardon her first slip, protect her honour, and have pity on my distress34. From henceforth call me no more your master but your friend. I will be your friend till death; I swear it to you. What you say is full of wisdom; my heart is yours. Embrace me.”
“No, no, that is not necessary; we are young people, and we might perhaps allow ourselves to go astray. I only wish for your friendship; but I do not want you to give it to me for nothing. I wish to deserve it by giving you solid proofs of my friendship for you. In the meanwhile I will tell them to serve dinner, and I hope that after you have eaten something you will be quite well.”
I was astonished at her sagacity. It might all be calculated artifice35, and her aim might be to seduce36 me, but I did not trouble myself about that. I found myself almost in love with her, and like to be the dupe of her principles, which would have made themselves felt, even if she had openly shared my love. I decided37 that I would add no fuel to my flames, and felt certain that they would go out of their own accord. By leaving my love thus desolate38 it would die of exhaustion39. I argued like a fool. I forgot that it is not possible to stop at friendship with a pretty woman whom one sees constantly, and especially when one suspects her of being in love herself. At its height friendship becomes love, and the palliative one is forced to apply to soothe40 it for a moment only increases its intensity41. Such was the experience of Anacreon with Smerdis, and Cleobulus with Badyllus. A Platonist who pretends that one is able to live with a young woman of whom one is fond, without becoming more than her friend, is a visionary who knows not what he says. My housekeeper was too young, too pretty, and above all too pleasant, she had too keen a wit, for me not to be captivated by all these qualities conjoined; I was bound to become her lover.
We dined quietly together without saying anything about the affair we had at heart, for nothing is more imprudent or more dangerous than to speak in the presence of servants, who out of maliciousness42 or ignorance put the worst construction on what they hear; add or diminish, and think themselves privileged to divulge43 their master’s secrets, especially as they know them without having been entrusted44 with them.
As soon as we were alone, my dear Dubois asked me if I had sufficient proof of Le Duc’s fidelity45.
“Well, my dear, he is a rascal46 and a profligate47, full of impudence48, sharp-witted, ignorant, a fearful liar, and nobody but myself has any power over him. However, he has one good quality, and that is blind obedience49 to my orders. He defies the stick, and he would defy the gallows50 if it were far enough off. When I have to ford51 a river on my travels, he strips off his clothes without my telling him, and jumps in to see if I can across in safety.”
“That will do; he is just what we want under the circumstances. I will begin by assuring you, my dear friend, as you will have me style you thus, that Madame’s honour is perfectly safe. Follow my advice, and if the detestable widow does not take care she will be the only person put to shame. But we want Le Duc; without him we can do nothing. Above all we must find out how he contracted his disease, as several circumstances might throw obstacles in the way of my design. Go to him at once and find out all particulars, and if he has told any of the servants what is the matter with him. When you have heard what he has to say, warn him to keep the matter quiet.”
I made no objection, and without endeavouring to penetrate52 her design I went to Le Duc. I found him lying on his bed by himself. I sat down beside him with a smile on my face, and promised to have him cured if he would tell me all the circumstances of the case.
“With all my heart, sir, the matter happened like this. The day you sent me to Soleure to get your letters, I got down at a roadside dairy to get a glass of milk. It was served to me by a young wench who caught my fancy, and I gave her a hug; she raised no objection, and in a quarter of an hour she made me what you see.”
“Have you told anyone about it?”
“I took good care not to do so, as I should only have got laughed at. The doctor is the only one who knows what is the matter, and he tells me the swelling53 will be gone down before tomorrow, and I hope I shall be able by that time to wait upon you.”
“Very good, but remember to keep your own counsel.”
I proceeded to inform my Minerva of our conversation, and she said —
“Tell me whether the widow could take her oath that she had spent the two hours on the sofa with you.”
“No, for she didn’t see me, and I did not say a word.”
“Very good; then sit down at your desk and write, and tell her she is a liar, as you did not leave your room at all, and that you are making the necessary enquiries in your household to find out who is the wretched person she has unwittingly contaminated. Write at once and send off your letter directly. In an hour and a half’s time you can write another letter; or rather you can copy what I am just going to put down.”
“My dear, I see your plan; it is an ingenious one, but I have given my word of honour to Madame to take no steps in the matter without first consulting her.”
“Then your word of honour must give way to the necessity of saving her honour. Your love retards54 your steps, but everything depends on our promptitude, and on the interval55 between the first and second letter. Follow my advice, I beg of you, and you will know the rest from the letter I am going to write for you to copy. Quick I write letter number one.”
I did not allow myself to reflect. I was persuaded that no better plan could be found than that of my charming governess, and I proceeded to write the following love-letter to the impudent56 monster:
“The impudence of your letter is in perfect accord with the three nights you spent in discovering a fact which has no existence save in your own perverse57 imagination. Know, cursed woman, that I never left my room, and that I have not to deplore58 the shame of having passed two hours with a being such as you. God knows with whom you did pass them, but I mean to find out if the whole story is not the creation of your devilish brain, and when I do so I will inform you.
“You may thank Heaven that I did not open your letter till after M. and Madame had gone. I received it in their presence, but despising the hand that wrote it I put it in my pocket, little caring what infamous stuff it contained. If I had been curious enough to read it and my guests had seen it, I would have you know that I would have gone in pursuit of you, and at this moment you would have been a corpse59. I am quite well, and have no symptoms of any complaint, but I shall not lower myself to convince you of my health, as your eyes would carry contagion60 as well as your wretched carcase.”
I shewed the letter to my dear Dubois, who thought it rather strongly expressed, but approved of it on the whole; I then sent it to the horrible being who had caused me such unhappiness. An hour and a half afterwards I sent her the following letter, which I copied without addition or subtraction61:
“A quarter of an hour after I had sent off my letter, the village doctor came to tell me that my man had need of his treatment for a disease of a shameful nature which he had contracted quite recently. I told him to take care of his patient; and when he had gone I went to see the invalid62, who confessed, after some pressure, that he had received this pretty present from you. I asked him how he had contrived63 to obtain access to you, and he said that he saw you going by your self in the dark into the apartment of M. ——. Knowing that I had gone to bed, and having no further services to render me, curiosity made him go and see what you were doing there by stealth, as if you had wanted to see the lady, who would be in bed by that time, you would not have gone by the door leading to the garden. He at first thought that you went there with ill-intent, and he waited an hour to see if you stole anything, in which case he would have arrested you; but as you did not come out, and he heard no noise, he resolved to go in after you, and found you had left the door open. He has assured me that he had no intentions in the way of carnal enjoyment64, and I can well believe him. He tells me he was on the point of crying for help, when you took hold of him and put your hand over his mouth; but he changed his plans on finding himself drawn65 gently to a couch and covered with kisses. You plainly took him for somebody else, ‘and,’ said he, ‘I did her a service which she has done ill to recompense in this fashion.’ He left you without saying a word as soon as the day began to dawn, his motive being fear of recognition. It is easy to see that you took my servant for myself, for in the night, you know, all cats are grey, and I congratulate you on obtaining an enjoyment you certainly would not have had from me, as I should most surely have recognized you directly from your breath and your aged66 charms, and I can tell you it would have gone hard with you. Luckily for you and for me, things happened otherwise. I may tell you that the poor fellow is furious, and intends making you a visit, from which course I believe I have no right to dissuade67 him. I advise you to hear him politely, and to be in a generous mood when he comes, as he is a determined68 fellow like all Spaniards, and if you do not treat him properly he will publish the matter, and you will have to take the consequences. He will tell you himself what his terms are, and I daresay you will be wise enough to grant them.”
An hour after I had sent off this epistle I received a reply to my first letter. She told me that my device was an ingenious one, but that it was no good, as she knew what she was talking about. She defied me to shew her that I was healthy in the course of a few days.
While we were at supper, my dear Dubois tried her utmost to cheer me up, but all to no purpose; I was too much under the influence of strong emotion to yield to her high spirits. We discussed the third step, which would put an apex69 to the scheme and cover the impudent woman with shame. As I had written the two letters according to my housekeeper’s instructions, I determined to follow her advice to the end. She told me what to say to Le Duc in the morning; and she was curious to know what sort of stuff he was made of, she begged me to let her listen behind the curtains of my bed.
Next morning Le Due came in, and I asked if he could ride on horseback to Soleure.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, “but the doctor tells me I must begin to bathe to-morrow.”
“Very good. As soon as your horse is ready, set out and go to Madame F— — but do not let her know you come from me, or suspect that you are a mere70 emissary of mine. Say that you want to speak to her. If she refuses to receive you, wait outside in the street; but I fancy she will receive you, and without a witness either. Then say to her, ‘You have given me my complaint without having been asked, and I require you to give me sufficient money to get myself cured.’ Add that she made you work for two hours in the dark, and that if it had not been for the fatal present she had given to you, you would have said nothing about it; but that finding yourself in such a state (you needn’t be ashamed to shew her) she ought not to be astonished at your taking such a course. If she resists, threaten her with the law. That’s all you have to do, but don’t let my name appear. Return directly without loss of time, that I may know how you have got on.”
“That’s all very fine, sir, but if this jolly wench has me pitched out of window, I shan’t come home quite so speedily.”
“Quite so, but you needn’t be afraid; I will answer for your safety.”
“It’s a queer business you are sending me on.”
“You are the only man I would trust to do it properly.”
“I will do it all right, but I want to ask you one or two essential questions. Has the lady really got the what d’you call it?”
“She has.”
“I am sorry for her. But how am I to stick to it that she has peppered me, when I have never spoken to her?”
“Do you usually catch that complaint by speaking, booby?”
“No, but one speaks in order to catch it, or while one is catching72 it.”
“You spent two hours in the dark with her without a word being spoken, and she will see that she gave this fine present to you while she thought she was giving it to another.”
“Ah! I begin to see my way, sir. But if we were in the dark, how was I to know it was she I had to do with?
“Thus: you saw her going in by the garden door, and you marked her unobserved. But you may be sure she won’t ask you any of these questions.”
“I know what to do now. I will start at once, and I am as curious as you to know what her answer will be. But here’s another question comes into my head. She may try to strike a bargain over the sum I am to ask for my cure; if so, shall I be content with three hundred francs?”
“That’s too much for her, take half.”
“But it isn’t much for two hours of such pleasure for her and six weeks of such pain for me.”
“I will make up the rest to you.”
“That’s good hearing. She is going to pay for damage she has done. I fancy I see it all, but I shall say nothing. I would bet it is you to whom she has made this fine present, and that you want to pay her out.”
“Perhaps so; but keep your own counsel and set out.”
“Do you know I think the rascal is unique,” said my dear Dubois, emerging from her hiding-place, “I had hard work to keep from laughing when he said that if he were pitched out of the window he would not come back so soon. I am sure he will acquit73 himself better than ever did diplomatist. When he gets to Soleure the monster will have already dispatched her reply to your second letter. I am curious to see how it will turn out.”
“To you, my dear, the honour of this comedy belongs. You have conducted this intrigue74 like a past master in the craft. It could never be taken for the work of a novice75.”
“Nevertheless, it is my first and I hope it will be my last intrigue”
“I hope she won’t defy me to ‘give evidence of my health.”
“You are quite well so far, I think?”
“Yes; and, by the way, it is possible she may only have leucorrhoea. I am longing76 to see the end of the piece, and to set my mind at rest.”
“Will you give Madame an account of our scheme?”
“Yes; but I shall not be able to give you the credit you deserve.”
“I only want to have credit in your eyes.”
“You cannot doubt that I honour you immensely, and I shall certainly not deprive you of the reward that is your due.”
“The only reward I ask for is for you to be perfectly open with me.”
“You are very wonderful. Why do you interest yourself so much in my affairs? I don’t like to think you are really inquisitive77.”
“You would be wrong to think that I have a defect which would lower me in my own eyes. Be sure, sir, that I shall only be curious when you are sad.”
“But what can have made you feel so generously towards me?”
“Only your honourable78 conduct towards me.”
“You touch me profoundly, and I promise to confide23 in you for the future.”
“You will make me happy.”
Le Duc had scarcely gone an hour when a messenger on foot came to bring me a second letter from the widow. He also gave me a small packet, telling me that he had orders to wait for a reply. I sent him down to wait, and I gave the letter to Madame Dubois, that she might see what it contained. While she was reading it I leant upon the window, my heart beating violently.
“Everything is getting on famously,” cried my housekeeper. “Here is the letter; read it.”
“Whether I am being told the truth, or whether I am the victim of a myth arising from your fertile imagination (for which you are too well known all over Europe), I will regard the whole story as being true, as I am not in a position to disprove it. I am deeply grieved to have injured an innocent man who has never done me any ill, and I will willingly pay the penalty by giving him a sum which will be more than sufficient to cure him of the plague with which I infected him. I beg that you will give him the twenty-five louis I am sending you; they will serve to restore him to health, and to make him forget the bitterness of the pleasure I am so sorry to have procured80 for him. And now are you sufficiently81 generous to employ your authority as master to enjoin82 on your man the most absolute secrecy83? I hope so, for you have reason to dread16 my vengeance otherwise. Consider that, if this affair is allowed to transpire84, it will be easy for me to give it a turn which may be far from pleasant to you, and which will force the worthy man you are deceiving to open his eyes; for I have not changed my opinion, as I have too many proofs of your understanding with his wife. As I do not desire that we should meet again, I shall go to Lucerne on the pretext85 of family concerns. Let me know that you have got this letter.”
“I am sorry,” I said, “to have sent Le Duc, as the harpy is violent, and I am afraid of something happening to him.”
“Don’t be afraid,” she replied, “nothing will happen, and it is better that they should see each other; it makes it more certain. Send her the money directly; she will have to give it to him herself, and your vengeance will be complete. She will not be able to entertain the slightest suspicion, especially if Le Duc shews her her work, and in two or three hours you will have the pleasure of hearing everything from his lips. You have reason to bless your stars, as the honour of the woman you love is safe. The only thing that can trouble you is the remembrance of the widow’s foul86 embraces, and the certainty that the prostitute has communicated her complaint to you. Nevertheless, I hope it may prove a slight attack and be easily cured. An inveterate87 leucorrhoea is not exactly a venereal disease, and I have heard people in London say that it was rarely contagious88. We ought to be very thankful that she is going to Lucerne. Laugh and be thankful; there is certainly a comic touch in our drama.”
“Unfortunately, it is tragi-comic. I know the human heart, and I am sure that I must have forfeited89 Madame’s affections.”
“It is true that ——; but this is not the time to be thinking of such matters. Quick! write to her briefly90 and return her the twenty-five Louis.”
My reply was as follows:
“Your unworthy suspicions, your abominable91 design of revenge, and the impudent letter you wrote me, are the only causes of your no doubt bitter repentance92. I hope that it will restore peace to your conscience. Our messengers have crossed, through no fault of mine. I send you the twenty-five Louis; you can give them to the man yourself. I could not prevent my servant from paying you a visit, but this time you will not keep him two hours, and you will not find it difficult to appease93 his anger. I wish you a good journey, and I shall certainly flee all occasions of meeting you, for I always avoid the horrible; and you must know, odious94 woman, that it isn’t everybody who endeavours to ruin the reputation of their friends. If you see the apostolic nuncio at Lucerne, ask him about me, and he will tell you what sort of a reputation I have in Europe. I can assure you that Le Duc has only spoken to me of his misadventure, and that if you treat him well he will be discreet, as he certainly has nothing to boast of. Farewell.”
My dear Minerva approved of this letter, and I sent it with the money by the messenger.
“The piece is not yet done,” said my housekeeper, “we have three scenes more:”
“What are they?”
“The return of your Spaniard, the appearance of the disease, and the astonishment95 of Madame when she hears it all.”
I counted the moments for Le Duc to return, but in vain; he did not appear. I was in a state of great anxiety, although my dear Dubois kept telling me that the only reason he was away so long was that the widow was out. Some people are so happily constituted that they never admit the possibility of misfortune. I was like that myself till the age of thirty, when I was put under the Leads. Now I am getting into my dotage96 and look on the dark side of everything. I am invited to a wedding, and see nought97 but gloom; and witnessing the coronation of Leopold, at Prague, I say to myself, ‘Nolo coronari’. Cursed old age, thou art only worthy of dwelling98 in hell, as others before me have thought also, ‘tristisque senectus’.
About half-past nine my housekeeper looked out, and saw Le Duc by the moonlight coming along at a good pace. That news revived me. I had no light in the room, and my housekeeper ran to hide in the recess99, for she would not have missed a word of the Spaniard’s communication.
“I am dying of hunger,” said he, as he came in. “I had to wait for that woman till half-past six. When she came in she found me on the stairs and told me to go about my business, as she had nothing to say to me.
“‘That may be, fair lady,’ I replied; ‘but I have a few words to say to you, and I have been waiting here for a cursed time with that intent.’
“‘Wait a minute,’ she replied; and then putting into her pocket a packet and a letter which I thought was addressed in your writing, she told me to follow her. As soon as I got to her room, I saw there was no one else present, and I told her that she had infected me, and that I wanted the wherewithal to pay the doctor. As she said nothing I proceeded to convince her of my infected state, but she turned away her head, and said —
“‘Have you been waiting for me long?
“‘Since eleven, without having had a bite or a sup.’
“Thereupon she went out, and after asking the servant, whom I suppose she had sent here, what time he had come back, she returned to me, shut the door, and gave me the packet, telling me that it contained twenty-five Louis for my cure, and that if I valued my life I would keep silence in the matter. I promised to be discreet, and with that I left here, and here I am.
“Does the packet belong to me?”
“Certainly. Have some supper and go to bed.”
My dear Dubois came out of her recess and embraced me, and we spent a happy evening. Next morning I noticed the first symptoms of the disease the hateful widow had communicated to me, but in three or four days I found it was of a very harmless character, and a week later I was quite rid of it. My poor Spaniard, on the other hand, was in a pitiable case.
I passed the whole of the next morning in writing to Madame. I told her circumstantially all I had done, in spite of my promise to consult her, and I sent her copies of all the letters to convince her that our enemy had gone to Lucerne with the idea that her vengeance had been only an imaginary one. Thus I shewed her that her honour was perfectly safe. I ended by telling her that I had noticed the first symptoms of the disease, but that I was certain of getting rid of it in a very few days. I sent my letter through her nurse, and in two days’ time I had a few lines from her informing me that I should see her in the course of the week in company with her husband and M. de Chavigni.
Unhappy I! I was obliged to renounce100 all thoughts of love, but my Dubois, who was with me nearly all day on account of Le Duc’s illness, began to stand me in good stead. The more I determined to be only a friend to her, the more I was taken with her; and it was in vain that I told myself that from seeing her without any love-making my sentiment for her would die a natural death. I had made her a present of a ring, telling her that whenever she wanted to get rid of it I would give her a hundred louis for it; but this could only happen in time of need — an impossible contingency101 while she continued with me, and I had no idea of sending her away. She was natural and sincere, endowed with a ready wit and good reasoning powers. She had never been in love, and she had only married to please Lady Montagu. She only wrote to her mother, and to please her I read the letters. They were full of filial piety102, and were admirably written.
One day the fancy took me to ask to read the letters her mother wrote in reply. “She never replies,” said she, “For an excellent reason, namely, that she cannot write. I thought she was dead when I came back from England, and it was a happy surprise to find her in perfect health when I got to Lausanne.”
“Who came with you from England?”
“Nobody.”
“I can’t credit that. Young, beautiful, well dressed, obliged to associate casually103 with all kinds of people, young men and profligates (for there are such everywhere), how did you manage to defend yourself?”
“Defend myself? I never needed to do so. The best plan for a young woman is never to stare at any man, to pretend not to hear certain questions and certainly not to answer them, to sleep by herself in a room where there is a lock and key, or with the landlady104 when possible. When a girl has travelling adventures, one may safely say that she has courted them, for it is easy to be discreet in all countries if one wishes.”
She spoke71 justly. She assured me that she had never had an adventure and had never tripped, as she was fortunate enough not to be of an amorous105 disposition106. Her naive107 stories, her freedom from prudery, and her sallies full of wit and good sense, amused me from morning till night, and we sometimes thoued each other; this was going rather far, and should have shewn us that we were on the brink108 of the precipice109. She talked with much admiration110 of the charms of Madame, and shewed the liveliest interest in my stories of amorous adventure. When I got on risky111 ground, I would make as if I would fain spare her all unseemly details, but she begged me so gracefully112 to hide nothing, that I found myself obliged to satisfy her; but when my descriptions became so faithful as almost to set us on fire, she would burst into a laugh, put her hand over my mouth, and fly like a hunted gazelle to her room, and then lock herself in. One day I asked her why she did so, and she answered, “To hinder you from coming to ask me for what I could not refuse you at such moments.”
The day before that on which M. and Madame and M. de Chavigni came to dine with me, she asked me if I had had any amorous adventures in Holland. I told her about Esther, and when I came to the mole113 and my inspection114 of it, my charming curiosity ran to stop my mouth, her sides shaking with laughter. I held her gently to me, and could not help seeking whether she had a mole in the same place, to which she opposed but a feeble resistance. I was prevented by my unfortunate condition from immolating115 the victim on the altar of love, so we confined ourselves to a make-believe combat which only lasted a minute; however, our eyes took in it, and our excited feelings were by no means appeased116. When we had done she said, laughing, but yet discreetly117 —
“My dear friend, we are in love with one another; and if we do not take care we shall not long be content with this trifling118.”
Sighing as she spoke, she wished me good night and went to bed with her ugly little maid. This was the first time we had allowed ourselves to be overcome by the violence of our passion, but the first step was taken. As I retired119 to rest I felt that I was in love, and foresaw that I should soon be under the rule of my charming housekeeper.
M. and Madame — and M. Chavigni gave us an agreeable surprise, the next day, by coming to dine with us, and we passed the time till dinner by walking in the garden. My dear Dubois did the honours of the table, and I was glad to see that my two male guests were delighted with her, for they did not leave her for a moment during the afternoon, and I was thus enabled to tell my charmer all I had written to her. Nevertheless I took care not to say a word about the share my housekeeper had had in the matter, for my mistress would have been mortified120 at the thought that her weakness was known to her.
“I was delighted to read your letters,” said she, “and to hear that that villainous woman can no longer flatter herself upon having spent two hours with you. But tell me, how can you have actually spent them with her without noticing, in spite of the dark, the difference between her and me? She is much shorter, much thinner, and ten years older. Besides, her breath is disagreeable, and I think you know that I have not that defect. Certainly, you could not see her hair, but you could touch, and yet you noticed nothing! I can scarcely believe it!”
“Unhappily, it is only too true. I was inebriated121 with love, and thinking only of you, I saw nothing but you.”
“I understand how strong the imagination would be at first, but this element should have been much diminished after the first or second assault; and, above all, because she differs from me in a matter which I cannot conceal and she cannot supply.”
“You are right — a burst of Venus! When I think that I only touched two dangling122 flabby breasts, I feel as if I did not deserve to live!”
“And you felt them, and they did not disgust you!”
“Could I be disgusted, could I even reflect, when I felt certain that I held you in my arms, you for whom I would give my life. No, a rough skin, a stinking123 breath, and a fortification carried with far too much ease; nothing could moderate my amorous fury.”
“What do I hear? Accursed and unclean woman, nest of impurities124! And could you forgive me all these defects?”
“I repeat, the idea that I possessed125 you deprived me of my thinking faculties126; all seemed to me divine.”
“You should have treated me like a common prostitute, you should even have beaten me on finding me such as you describe.”
“Ah! now you are unjust”
“That may be; I am so enraged127 against that monster that my anger deprives me of reason. But now that she thinks that she had to do with a servant, and after the degrading visit she has had she ought to die of rage and shame. What astonishes me is her believing it, for he is shorter than you by four inches. And how can she imagine that a servant would do it as well as you? It’s not likely. I am sure she is in love with him now. Twenty-five louis! He would have been content with ten. What a good thing that the poor fellow’s illness happened so conveniently. But I suppose you had to tell him all?”
“Not at all. I gave him to understand that she had made an appointment with me in that room, and that I had really spent two hours with her, not speaking for fear of being heard. Then, thinking over the orders I gave him, he came to the conclusion that on finding myself diseased afterwards I was disgusted, and being able to disavow my presence I had done so for the sake of revenge.”
“That’s admirable, and the impudence of the Spaniard passes all belief. But her impudence is the most astonishing thing of all. But supposing her illness had been a mere trick to frighten you, what a risk the rascal would have run!”
“I was afraid of that, as I had no symptoms of disease whatever.”
“But now you really have it, and all through my fault. I am in despair.”
“Be calm, my angel, my disease is of a very trifling nature. I am only taking nitre, and in a week I shall be quite well again. I hope that then. . . . ”
“Ah! my dear friend.”
“What?”
“Don’t let us think of that any more, I beseech128 you.”
“You are disgusted, and not unnaturally129; but your love cannot be very strong, Ah! how unhappy I am.”
“I am more unhappy than you. I love you, and you would be thankless indeed if you ceased to love me. Let us love each other, but let us not endeavour to give one another proofs of our love. It might be fatal. That accursed widow! She is gone away, and in a fortnight we shall be going also to Bale, where we remain till the end of November.”
The die is cast, and I see that I must submit to your decision, or rather to my destiny, for none but fatal events have befallen me since I came to Switzerland. My only consoling thought is that I have made your honour safe.”
“You have won my husband’s friendship and esteem; we shall always be good friends.”
“If you are going I feel that I must go before you. That will tend to convince the wretched author of my woe130 that there is nothing blame-worthy in my friendship for you.”
“You reason like an angel, and you convince me more and more of your love. Where are you going?”
“To Italy; but I shall take Berne and Geneva on my way.”
“You will not be coming to Bale, then? I am glad to hear it, in spite of the pleasure it would give me to see you. No doubt your arrival would give a handle for the gossips, and I might suffer by it. But if possible, in the few days you are to remain, shew yourself to be in good spirits, for sadness does not become you.”
We rejoined the ambassador and M. —— who had not had time to think about us, as my dear Dubois had kept them amused by her lively conversation. I reproached her for the way in which she husbanded her wit as far as I was concerned, and M. de Chavigni, seizing the opportunity, told us it was because we were in love, and lovers are known to be chary131 of their words. My housekeeper was not long in finding a repartee132, and she again began to entertain the two gentlemen, so that I was enabled to continue my walk with Madame, who said —
“Your housekeeper, my dear friend, is a masterpiece. Tell me the truth, and I promise to give you a mark of my gratitude133 that will please you before I go.”
“Speak; what do you wish to know?”
“You love her and she loves you in return.”
“I think you are right, but so far. . . . ”
“I don’t want to know any more, for if matters are not yet arranged they soon will be, and so it comes to the same thing. If you had told me you did not love her I should not have believed you, for I can’t conceive that a man of your age can live with a woman like that without loving her. She is very pretty and exceedingly intelligent, she has good spirits, talents, an excellent manner, and she speaks exceedingly well: that is enough to charm you, and I expect you will find it difficult to separate from her. Lebel did her a bad turn in sending her to you, as she used to have an excellent reputation, and now she will no longer be able to get a place with ladies in the highest society.”
“I shall take her to Berne.”
“That is a good idea.”
Just as they were going I said that I should soon be coming to Soleure to thank them for the distinguished134 reception they had given me, as I proposed leaving in a few days. The idea of never seeing Madame again was so painful to me that as soon as I got in I went to bed, and my housekeeper, respecting my melancholy, retired after wishing me good-night.
In two or three days I received a note from my charmer, bidding me call upon them the day following at about ten o’clock, and telling me I was to ask for dinner. I carried out her orders to the letter. M. gave me a most friendly reception, but saying that he was obliged to go into the country and could not be home till one o’clock, he begged me not to be offended if he delivered me over to his wife for the morning. Such is the fate of a miserable husband! His wife was engaged with a young girl at tambour-work; I accepted her company on the condition that she would not allow me to disturb her work.
The girl went away at noon, and soon after we went to enjoy the fresh air outside the house. We sat in a summer-house from which, ourselves unseen, we could see all the carriages that approached the house.
“Why, dearest, did you not procure79 me the bliss135 when I was in good health.”
“Because at that time my husband suspected that you turned yourself into a waiter for my sake, and that you could not be indifferent towards me. Your discretion136 has destroyed his suspicions; and also your housekeeper, whom he believes to be your wife, and who has taken his fancy to such an extent, that I believe he would willingly consent to an exchange, for a few days at any rate. Would you agree?”
“Ah! if the exchange could be effected.”
Having only an hour before me, and foreseeing that it would be the last I should pass beside her, I threw myself at her feet. She was full of affection, and put no obstacles in the way of my desires, save those which my own feelings dictated137, for I loved her too well to consent to injure her health. I did all I could to replace the utmost bliss, but the pleasure she enjoyed doubtless consisted in a great measure in shewing me her superiority to the horrible widow.
When we saw the husband’s carriage coming, we rose and took care that the worthy man should not find us in the arbour. He made a thousand excuses for not having returned sooner.
We had an excellent dinner, and at table he talked almost entirely138 of my housekeeper, and he seemed moved when I said I meant to take her to Lausanne to her mother. I took leave of them at five o’clock with a broken heart, and from there I went to M. de Chavigni and told him all my adventures. He had a right to be told, as he had done all in his power to insure the success of a project which had only failed by an unexampled fatality139.
In admiration of my dear Dubois’s wit — for I did not conceal the part she played he said that old as he was he should think himself quite happy if he had such a woman with him, and he was much pleased when I told him that I was in love with her. “Don’t give yourself the trouble, my dear Casanova, of running from house to house to take leave,” said the amiable140 nobleman. “It can be done just as well at the assembly, and you need not even stay to supper, if you don’t want to.”
I followed his advice, and thus saw again Madame as I thought, for the last time, but I was wrong; I saw her ten years afterwards; and at the proper time the reader will see where, when, how, and under what circumstances.
Before going away, I followed the ambassador to his room to thank him as he deserved, for his kindness, and to ask him to give me a letter of introduction for Berne, where I thought of staying a fortnight. I also begged him to send Lebel to me that we might settle our accounts. He told me that Lebel should bring me a letter for M. de Muralt, the Mayor of Thun.
When I got home, feeling sad on this, the eve of my leaving a town where I had but trifling victories and heavy losses, I thanked my housekeeper for waiting for me, and to give her a good night I told her that in three days we should set out for Berne, and that my mails must be packed.
Next day, after a somewhat silent breakfast, she said —
“You will take me with you, won’t you?”
“Certainly, if you like me well enough to want to go.”
“I would go with you to the end of the world, all the more as you are now sick and sad, and when I saw you first you were blithe141 and well. If I must leave you, I hope at least to see you happy first.”
The doctor came in just then to tell me that my poor Spaniard was so ill that he could not leave his bed.
“I will have him cured at Berne,” said I; “tell him that we are going to dine there the day after to-morrow.”
“I must tell you, sir, that though it’s only a seven leagues’ journey, he cannot possibly undertake it as he has lost the use of all his limbs.”
“I am sorry to hear that, doctor.”
“I dare say, but it’s true.”
“I must verify the matter with my own eyes;” and so saying I went to see Le Duc.
I found the poor rascal, as the doctor had said, incapable142 of motion. He had only the use of his tongue and his eyes.
“You are in a pretty state,” said I to him.
“I am very ill, sir, though otherwise I feel quite well.”
“I expect so, but as it is you can’t move, and I want to dine at Berne the day after to-morrow.”
“Have me carried there, I shall get cured.”
“You are right, I will have you carried in a litter.”
“I shall look like a saint out for a walk.”
I told one of the servants to look after him, and to see to all that was necessary for our departure. I had him taken to the “Falcon” by two horses who drew his litter.
Lebel came at noon and gave me the letter his master had written for M. de Murat. He brought his receipts and I paid everything without objection, as I found him an entirely honest man, and I had him to dinner with Madame Dubois and myself. I did not feel disposed to talk, and I was glad to see that they got on without me; they talked away admirably and amused me, for Lebel was by no means wanting in wit. He said he was very glad I had given him an opportunity of knowing the housekeeper, as he could not say he had known her before, having only seen her two or three times in passing through Lausanne. On rising from the table he asked my permission to write to her, and she, putting in her voice, called on him not to forget to do so.
Lebel was a good-natured man, of an honest appearance, and approaching his fiftieth year. Just as he was going, without asking my leave, he embraced her in the French fashion, and she seemed not to have the slightest objection.
She told me as soon as he was gone that this worthy man might be useful to her, and that she was delighted to enter into a correspondence with him.
The next day was spent in putting everything in order for our short journey, and Le Duc went off in his litter, intending to rest for the night at four leagues from Soleure. On the day following, after I had remembered the door-keeper, the cook, and the man-servant I was leaving behind, I set out in my carriage with the charming Dubois, and at eleven o’clock I arrived at the inn at Berne, where Le Duc had preceded me by two hours. In the first place, knowing the habits of Swiss innkeepers, I made an agreement with the landlord; and I then told the servant I had kept, who came from Berne, to take care of Le Duc, to put him under good medical superintendence, and to bid the doctor spare nothing to cure him completely.
I dined with my housekeeper in her room, for she had a separate lodging143, and after sending my letter to M. de Muralt I went out for a walk.
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1
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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18
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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vouchsafe
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| v.惠予，准许 | |
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affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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colloquies
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| n.谈话，对话( colloquy的名词复数 ) | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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33
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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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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38
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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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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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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41
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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42
maliciousness
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| [法] 恶意 | |
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43
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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44
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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46
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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48
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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49
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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50
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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51
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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52
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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53
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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54
retards
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| 使减速( retard的第三人称单数 )； 妨碍； 阻止； 推迟 | |
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55
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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56
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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57
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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58
deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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59
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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60
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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61
subtraction
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| n.减法，减去 | |
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62
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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63
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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64
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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65
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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66
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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67
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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68
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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69
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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70
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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71
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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72
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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73
acquit
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| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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74
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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75
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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76
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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77
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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78
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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79
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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80
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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81
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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82
enjoin
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| v.命令；吩咐；禁止 | |
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83
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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84
transpire
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| v.(使)蒸发，(使)排出 ；泄露，公开 | |
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85
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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86
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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87
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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88
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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89
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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91
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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92
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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93
appease
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| v.安抚，缓和，平息，满足 | |
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94
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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95
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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96
dotage
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| n.年老体衰；年老昏聩 | |
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97
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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98
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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99
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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100
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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101
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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102
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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103
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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104
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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105
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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106
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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107
naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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108
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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109
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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110
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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111
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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112
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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113
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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114
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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115
immolating
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| v.宰杀…作祭品( immolate的现在分词 ) | |
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116
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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117
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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118
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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119
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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120
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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121
inebriated
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| adj.酒醉的 | |
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122
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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123
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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124
impurities
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| 不纯( impurity的名词复数 )； 不洁； 淫秽； 杂质 | |
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125
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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126
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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127
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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128
beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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129
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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130
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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131
chary
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| adj.谨慎的，细心的 | |
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132
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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133
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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134
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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135
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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136
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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137
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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138
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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139
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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140
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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141
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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142
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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143
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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