While Pauline waited to undress her, Therese walked to and fro impatiently. Then she stopped suddenly. In the obscure mirrors, wherein the reflections of the candles were drowned, she saw the corridor of the playhouse, and her beloved flying from her through it.
Where was he now? What was he saying to himself alone? It was torture for her not to be able to rejoin him and see him again at once.
She pressed her heart with her hands; she was smothering6.
Pauline uttered a cry. She saw drops of blood on the white corsage of her mistress.
Therese, without knowing it, had pricked7 her hand with the red lily.
She detached the emblematic8 jewel which she had worn before all as the dazzling secret of her heart, and, holding it in her fingers, contemplated9 it for a long time. Then she saw again the days of Florence — the cell of San Marco, where her lover’s kiss weighed delicately on her mouth, while, through her lowered lashes10, she vaguely11 perceived again the angels and the sky painted on the wall, and the dazzling fountain of the ice-vender against the bright cloth; the pavilion of the Via Alfieri, its nymphs, its goats, and the room where the shepherds and the masks on the screens listened to her sighs and noted12 her long silences.
No, all these things were not shadows of the past, spectres of ancient hours. They were the present reality of her love. And a word stupidly cast by a stranger would destroy these beautiful things! Happily, it was not possible. Her love, her lover, did not depend on such insignificant13 matters. If only she could run to his house! She would find him before the fire, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, sad. Then she would run her fingers through his hair, force him to lift his head, to see that she loved him, that she was his treasure, palpitating with joy and love.
She had dismissed her maid. In her bed she thought of only one thing.
It was an accident, an absurd accident. He would understand it; he would know that their love had nothing to do with anything so stupid. What folly14 for him to care about another! As if there were other men in the world!
M. Martin-Belleme half opened the bedroom door. Seeing a light he went in.
“You are not asleep, Therese?”
He had been at a conference with his colleagues. He wanted advice from his wife on certain points. He needed to hear sincere words.
“It is done,” he said. “You will help me, I am sure, in my situation, which is much envied, but very difficult and even perilous15. I owe it to you somewhat, since it came to me through the powerful influence of your father.”
He consulted her on the choice of a Chief of Cabinet.
She advised him as best she could. She thought he was sensible, calm, and not sillier than many others.
He lost himself in reflections.
“I have to defend before the Senate the budget voted by the Chamber16 of Deputies. The budget contains innovations which I did not approve. When I was a deputy I fought against them. Now that I am a minister I must support them. I saw things from the outside formerly17. I see them from the inside now, and their aspect is changed. And, then, I am free no longer.”
He sighed:
“Ah, if the people only knew the little that we can do when we are powerful!”
He told her his impressions. Berthier was reserved. The others were impenetrable. Loyer alone was excessively authoritative18.
She listened to him without attention and without impatience19. His pale face and voice marked for her like a clock the minutes that passed with intolerable slowness.
Loyer had odd sallies of wit. Immediately after he had declared his strict adhesion to the Concordat20, he said: “Bishops are spiritual prefects. I will protect them since they belong to me. And through them I shall hold the guardians21 of souls, curates.”
He recalled to her that she would have to meet people who were not of her class and who would shock her by their vulgarity. But his situation demanded that he should not disdain22 anybody. At all events, he counted on her tact23 and on her devotion.
She looked at him, a little astonished.
“There is no hurry, my dear. We shall see later.”
He was tired. He said good-night and advised her to sleep. She was ruining her health by reading all night. He left her.
She heard the noise of his footsteps, heavier than usual, while he traversed the library, encumbered24 with blue books and journals, to reach his room, where he would perhaps sleep. Then she felt the weight on her of the night’s silence. She looked at her watch. It was half-past one.
She said to herself: “He, too, is suffering. He looked at me with so much despair and anger.”
She was courageous25 and ardent26. She was impatient at being a prisoner. When daylight came, she would go, she would see him, she would explain everything to him. It was so clear! In the painful monotony of her thought, she listened to the rolling of wagons27 which at long intervals28 passed on the quay29. That noise preoccupied30, almost interested her. She listened to the rumble31, at first faint and distant, then louder, in which she could distinguish the rolling of the wheels, the creaking of the axles, the shock of horses’ shoes, which, decreasing little by little, ended in an imperceptible murmur32.
And when silence returned, she fell again into her reverie.
He would understand that she loved him, that she had never loved any one except him. It was unfortunate that the night was so long. She did not dare to look at her watch for fear of seeing in it the immobility of time.
She rose, went to the window, and drew the curtains. There was a pale light in the clouded sky. She thought it might be the beginning of dawn. She looked at her watch. It was half-past three.
She returned to the window. The sombre infinity33 outdoors attracted her. She looked. The sidewalks shone under the gas-jets. A gentle rain was falling. Suddenly a voice ascended34 in the silence; acute, and then grave, it seemed to be made of several voices replying to one another. It — was a drunkard disputing with the beings of his dream, to whom he generously gave utterance35, and whom he confounded afterward36 with great gestures and in furious sentences. Therese could see the poor man walk along the parapet in his white blouse, and she could hear words recurring37 incessantly38: “That is what I say to the government.”
Chilled, she returned to her bed. She thought, “He is jealous, he is madly jealous. It is a question of nerves and of blood. But his love, too, is an affair of blood and of nerves. His love and his jealousy39 are one and the same thing. Another would understand. It would be sufficient to please his self-love.” But he was jealous from the depth of his soul. She knew this; she knew that in him jealousy was a physical torture, a wound enlarged by imagination. She knew how profound the evil was. She had seen him grow pale before the bronze St. Mark when she had thrown the letter in the box on the wall of the old Florentine house at a time when she was his only in dreams.
She recalled his smothered40 complaints, his sudden fits of sadness, and the painful mystery of the words which he repeated frequently: “I can forget you only when I am with you.” She saw again the Dinard letter and his furious despair at a word overheard at a wine-shop table. She felt that the blow had been struck accidentally at the most sensitive point, at the bleeding wound. But she did not lose courage. She would tell everything, she would confess everything, and all her avowals would say to him: “I love you. I have never loved any one except you!” She had not betrayed him. She would tell him nothing that he had not guessed. She had lied so little, as little as possible, and then only not to give him pain. How could he not understand? It was better he should know everything, since everything meant nothing. She represented to herself incessantly the same ideas, repeated to herself the same words.
Her lamp gave only a smoky light. She lighted candles. It was six o’clock. She realized that she had slept. She ran to the window. The sky was black, and mingled41 with the earth in a chaos42 of thick darkness. Then she was curious to know exactly at what hour the sun would rise. She had had no idea of this. She thought only that nights were long in December. She did not think of looking at the calendar. The heavy step of workmen walking in squads43, the noise of wagons of milkmen and marketmen, came to her ear like sounds of good augury44. She shuddered45 at this first awakening46 of the city.
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1
dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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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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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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7
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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emblematic
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| adj.象征的，可当标志的；象征性 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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concordat
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| n.协定；宗派间的协约 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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27
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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31
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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40
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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41
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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42
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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43
squads
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| n.（军队中的）班( squad的名词复数 )；（暗杀）小组；体育运动的运动（代表）队；（对付某类犯罪活动的）警察队伍 | |
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44
augury
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| n.预言，征兆，占卦 | |
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45
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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46
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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