Love was all very well, so Cigarette’s philosophy had always reckoned; a chocolate bonbon3, a firework, a bagatelle4, a draught5 of champagne6, to flavor an idle moment. “Vin et Venus” she had always been accustomed to see worshiped together, as became their alliterative; it was a bit of fun — that was all. A passion that had pain in it had never touched the Little One; she had disdained7 it with the lightest, airiest contumely. “If your sweetmeat has a bitter almond in it, eat the sugar and throw the almond away, you goose! That is simple enough, isn’t it? Bah? I don’t pity the people who eat the bitter almond; not I!” she had said once, when arguing with an officer on the absurdity8 of a melancholy9 love that possessed10 him, and whose sadness she rallied most unmercifully. Now, for once in her young life, the Child of France found that it was remotely possible to meet with almonds so bitter that the taste will remain and taint11 all things, do what philosophy may to throw its acridity12 aside.
With the reveille she awoke, herself again, though she had not had more than an hour’s slumber13, it is true, with a dull ache at her heart that was very new and bitterly unwelcome to her, but with the buoyant vivacity14 and the proud carelessness of her nature in arms against it, and with that gayety of childhood inherent to her repelling15, and very nearly successfully, the foreign depression that weighted on it.
Her first thought was to take care that he should never learn what she had done for him. The Princesse Corona16 would not have been more utterly17 disdained to solicit18 regard through making a claim upon gratitude19 than the fiery20 little warrior21 of France would have done. She went straight to the Tringlo who had known her at her mission of mercy.
“Georges, mon brave,” said the Little One, with that accent of authority which was as haughty22 as any General’s, “do you know how that Chasseur is that we brought in last night?”
“Not heard, ma belle23,” said the cheery little Tringlo, who was hard pressed; for there was much to be done, and he was very busy.
“What is to be done with the wounded?”
Georges lifted his eyebrows24.
“Ma belle! There are very few. There are hundreds of dead. The few there are we shall take with an escort of Spahis to headquarters.”
“Good. I will go with you. Have a heed25, Georges, never to whisper that I had anything to do with saving that man I called to you about.”
“And why, my Little One?”
“Because I desire it!” said Cigarette, with her most imperious emphasis. “They say he is English, and a ruined Milord, pardieu! Now, I would not have an Englishman think I thought his six feet of carcass worth saving, for a ransom26.”
The Tringlo chuckled27; he was an Anglophobist. In the Chinese expedition his share of “loot” had been robbed from him by a trick of which two English soldiers had been the concocters, and a vehement28 animosity against the whole British race had been the fruit of it in him.
“Non, non, non!” he answered her heartily29. “I understand. Thou art very bright, Cigarette. If we have ever obliged an Englishman, he thinks his obligation to us opens him a neat little door through which to cheat us. It is very dangerous to oblige the English; they always hate you for it. That is their way. They may have virtues30; they may,” he added dubiously31, but with an impressive air of strictest impartiality32, “but among them is not written gratitude. Ask that man, Rac, how they treat their soldiers!” and M. Georges hurried away to this mules33 and his duties; thinking with loving regret of the delicious Chinese plunder34 of which the dogs of Albion had deprived him.
“He is safe!” thought Cigarette; of the patrol who had seen her, she was not afraid — he had never noticed with whom she was when he had put his head into the scullion’s tent; and she made her way toward the place where she had left him, to see how it went with this man who she as so careful should never know that which he had owed to her.
It went well with him, thanks to her; care, and strengthening nourishment35, and the skill of her tendance had warded36 off all danger from his wound. The bruise37 and pressure from the weight of the horse had been more ominous38, and he could not raise himself or even breathe without severe pain; but his fever had left him, and he had just been lifted into a mule-drawn ambulance-wagon as Cigarette reached the spot.
“How goes the day, M. Victor? So you got sharp scratches, I hear? Ah! that was a splendid thing we had yesterday! When did you go down? We charged together!” she cried gayly to him; then her voice dropped suddenly, with an indescribable sweetness and change of tone. “So! — you suffer still?” she asked softly.
Coming close up to where he lay on the straw, she saw the exhausted39 languor40 of his regard, the heavy darkness under his eyelids41, the effort with which his lips moved as the faint words came broken through them.
“Not very much, ma belle, I thank you. I shall be fit for harness in a day or two. Do not let them send me into hospital. I shall be perfectly42 — well — soon.”
Cigarette swayed herself upon the wheel and leaned toward him, touching43 and changing his bandages with clever hands.
“They have dressed your wound ill; whose doing is that?”
“It is nothing. I have been half cut to pieces before now; this is a mere44 bagatelle. It is only —”
“That it hurts you to breathe? I know! Have they given you anything to eat this morning?”
“No. Everything is in confusion. We ——”
She did not stay for the conclusion of his sentence; she had darted45 off, quick as a swallow. She knew what she had left in her dead scullion’s tent. Everything was in confusion, as he had said. Of the few hundreds that had been left after the terrific onslaught of the past day, some were employed far out, thrusting their own dead into the soil; others were removing the tents and all the equipage of the camp; others were busied with the wounded, of whom the greatest sufferers were to be borne to the nearest hospital (that nearest many leagues away over the wild and barren country); while those who were likely to be again soon ready for service were to be escorted to the headquarters of the main army. Among the latter Cecil had passionately46 entreated48 to be numbered; his prayer was granted to the man who had kept at the head of his Chasseurs and borne aloft the Tricolor through the whole of the war-tempest on which the dawn had risen, and which had barely lulled49 and sunk by the setting of the sun. Chateauroy was away with the other five of his squadrons; and the Zouave chef-debataillon, the only officer of any rank who had come alive through the conflict, had himself visited Bertie, and given him warm words of eulogy51, and even of gratitude, that had soldierly sincerity52 and cordiality in them.
“Your conduct was magnificent,” he had said, as he had turned away. “It shall be my care that it is duly reported and rewarded.”
Cigarette was but a few seconds absent; she soon bounded back like the swift little chamois she was, bringing with her a huge bowlful of red wine with bread broken in it.
“This is the best I could get,” she said; “it is better than nothing. It will strengthen you.”
“What have you had yourself, petite?”
“Ah, bah! Leave off thinking for others; I have breakfasted long ago,” she answered him. (She had only eaten a biscuit well-nigh as hard as a flint.) “Take it — here, I will hold it for you.”
She perched herself on the wheel like a bird on a twig53; she had a bird’s power of alighting and sustaining herself on the most difficult and most airy elevation54; but Cecil turned his eyes on the only soldier in the cart besides himself, one of the worst men in his regiment55 — a murderous, sullen56, black-browed, evil wretch57, fitter for the bench of the convict-galley than for the ranks of the cavalry58.
“Give half to Zackrist,” he said. “I know no hunger; and he has more need of it.”
“Zackrist! That is the man who stole your lance and accouterments, and got you into trouble by taking them to pawn59 in your name, a year or more ago.”
“Well, what of that? He is not the less hungry.”
“What of that? Why, you were going to be turned into the First Battalion60,5 disgraced for the affair, because you would not tell of him; if Vireflau had not found out the right of the matter in time!”
5 The Battalion of the criminal outcasts of all corps61, whether horse or foot.
“What has that to do with it?”
“This, M. Victor, that you are a fool.”
“I dare say I am. But that does not make Zackrist less hungry.”
He took the bowl from her hands and, emptying a little of it into the wooden bidon that hung to her belt, kept that for himself and, stretching his arm across the straw, gave the bowl to Zackrist, who had watched it with the longing62, ravenous63 eyes of a starving wolf, and seized it with rabid avidity.
A smile passed over Cecil’s face, amused despite the pain he suffered.
“That is one of my ‘sensational tricks,’ as M. de Chateauroy calls them. Poor Zackrist! Did you see his eyes?”
“A jackal’s eyes, yes!” said Cigarette, who, between her admiration65 for the action and her impatience66 at the waste of her good bread and wine, hardly knew whether to applaud or to deride67 him. “What recompense do you think you will get? He will steal your things again, first chance.”
“May be. I don’t think he will. But he is very hungry, all the same; that is about the only question just now,” he answered her as he drank and ate his portion, with a need of it that could willingly have made him take thrice as much, though for the sake of Zackrist, he had denied his want of it.
Zackrist himself, who could hear perfectly what was said, uttered no word; but when he had finished the contents of the bowl, lay looking at his corporal with an odd gleam in the dark, sullen savage68 depths of his hollow eyes. He was not going to say a word of thanks; no! none had ever heard a grateful or a decent word from him in his life; he was proud of that. He was the most foul-mouthed brute69 in the army, and, like Snake in the School for Scandal, thought a good action would have ruined his character forever. Nevertheless, there came into his cunning and ferocious70 eyes a glisten71 of the same light which had been in the little gamin’s when, first by the bivouac fire, he had murmured, “Picpon s’en souviendra.”
“When anybody stole from me,” muttered Cigarette, “I shot him.”
“You would have fed him, had he been starving. Do not belie72 yourself, Cigarette; you are too generous ever to be vindictive73.”
“Pooh! Revenge is one’s right.”
“I doubt that. We are none of us good enough to claim it, at any rate.”
Cigarette shrugged74 her shoulders in silence; then, posing herself on the wheel, she sprang from thence on to the back of her little mare75, which she had brought up; having the reins76 in one of her hands and the wine-bowl in the other, and was fresh and bright after the night’s repose77.
“I will ride with you, with my Spahis,” she said, as a young queen might have promised protection for her escort. He thanked her, and sank back among the straw, exhausted and worn out with pain and with languor; the weight that seemed to oppress his chest was almost as hard to bear as when the actual pressure of his dead charger’s body had been on him.
Yet, as he had said, it was but a bagatelle, beside the all but mortal wounds, the agonizing78 neuralgia, the prostrating79 fever, the torture of bullet-torn nerves, and the scorching80 fire of inflamed81 sword-wounds that had in their turn been borne by him in his twelve years of African service — things which, to men who have never suffered them, sound like the romanced horrors of an exaggerated imagination; yet things which are daily and quietly borne, by such soldiers of the Algerian Army, as the natural accompaniments of a military life — borne, too, in brave, simple, unconscious heroism82 by men who know well that the only reward for it will be their own self-contentment at having been true to the traditions of their regiment.
Four other troopers were placed on the straw beside him, and the mule-carts with their mournful loads rolled slowly out of camp, eastward83 toward the quarters of the main army; the Spahis, glowing red against the sun, escorting them, with their darling in their midst; while from their deep chests they shouted war songs in Sabir, with all the wild and riotous84 delight that the triumph of victory and the glow of bloodshed roused in those who combined in them the fire of France and the fanaticism85 of Islamism — an irresistible86 union.
Though the nights were now cold, and before long even the advent87 of snow might be looked for, the days were hot and even scorching still. Cigarette and her Spahis took no heed of it; they were desert born and bred; and she was well-nigh invulnerable to heat as any little salamander. But, although they were screened as well as they could be under an improvised88 awning89, the wounded men suffered terribly. Gnats90 and mosquitoes and all the winged things of the African air tormented92 them, and tossing on the dry, hot straw they grew delirious93; some falling asleep and murmuring incoherently, others lying with wide-open eyes of half-senseless, straining misery94. Cigarette had known well how it would be with them; she had accompanied such escorts many a time; and ever and again when they halted she dismounted and came to them, and mixed wine with some water that she had slung95 a barrel of to her saddle, and gave it to them, and moved their bandages, and spoke96 to them with a soft, caressing97 consolation98 that pacified99 them as if by some magic. She had led them like a young lion on to the slaughter100 in the past day; she soothed101 them now with a gentleness that the gentlest daughter of the Church could not have surpassed.
The way was long; the road ill formed, leading for the most part across a sear and desolate102 country, with nothing to relieve its barrenness except long stretches of the great spear-headed reeds. At noon the heat was intense; the little cavalcade103 halted for half an hour under the shade of some black, towering rocks which broke the monotony of the district, and commenced a more hilly and more picturesque104 portion of the country. Cigarette came to the side of the temporary ambulance in which Cecil was placed. He was asleep — sleeping for once peacefully, with little trace of pain upon his features, as he had slept the previous night. She saw that his face and chest had not been touched by the stinging insect-swarm105; he was doubly screened by a shirt hung above him dexterously106 on some bent107 sticks.
“Who has done that?” thought Cigarette. As she glanced round she saw — without any linen108 to cover him, Zackrist had reared himself up and leaned slightly forward over against his comrade. The shirt that protected Cecil was his; and on his own bare shoulders and mighty109 chest the tiny armies of the flies and gnats were fastened, doing their will, uninterrupted.
As he caught her glance a sullen, ruddy glow of shame shown through the black, hard skin of his sun-burned visage — shame to which he had been never touched when discovered in any one of his guilty and barbarous actions.
“Dame!” he growled110 savagely111 —“he gave me his wine; one must do something in return. Not that I feel the insects — not I; my skin is leather, see you! they can’t get through it; but his is white and soft — bah! like tissue-paper!”
“I see, Zackrist; you are right. A French soldier can never take a kindness from an English fellow without outrunning him in generosity112. Look — here is some drink for you.”
She knew too well the strange nature with which she had to deal to say a syllable113 of praise to him for his self-devotion, or to appear to see that, despite his boast of his leather skin, the stings of the cruel, winged tribes were drawing his blood and causing him alike pain and irritation114 which, under that sun, and added to the torment91 of his gunshot-wound, were a martyrdom as great as the noblest saint ever endured.
“Tiens — tiens! I did him wrong,” murmured Cigarette. “That is what they are — the children of France — even when they are at their worst, like that devil, Zackrist. Who dare say they are not the heroes of the world?”
And all through the march she gave Zackrist a double portion of her water dashed with red wine, that was so welcome and so precious to the parched115 and aching throats; and all through the march Cecil lay asleep, and the man who had thieved from him, the man whose soul was stained with murder, and pillage116, and rapine, sat erect117 beside him, letting the insects suck his veins118 and pierce his flesh.
It was only when they drew near the camp of the main army that Zackrist beat off the swarm and drew his old shirt over his head. “You do not want to say anything to him,” he muttered to Cigarette. “I am of leather, you know; I have not felt it.”
She nodded; she understood him. Yet his shoulders and his chest were well-nigh flayed119, despite the tough and horny skin of which he made his boast.
“Dieu! we are droll120!” mused64 Cigarette. “If we do a good thing, we hide it as if it were a bit of stolen meat, we are so afraid it should be found out; but, if they do one in the world there, they bray121 it at the tops of their voices from the houses’ roofs, and run all down the streets screaming about it, for fear it should be lost. Dieu! we are droll!”
And she dashed the spurs into her mare and galloped122 off at the height of her speed into camp — a very city of canvas, buzzing with the hum of life, regulated with the marvelous skill and precision of French warfare123, yet with the carelessness and the picturesqueness124 of the desert-life pervading125 it.
“C’est la Cigarette!” ran from mouth to mouth, as the bay mare with her little Amazon rider, followed by the scarlet126 cloud of the Spahis, all ablaze127 like poppies in the sun, rose in sight, thrown out against the azure128 of the skies.
What she had done had been told long before by an orderly, riding hard in the early night to take the news of the battle; and the whole host was on watch for its darling — the savior of the honor of France. Like wave rushing on wave of some tempestuous129 ocean, the men swept out to meet her in one great, surging tide of life, impetuous, passionate47, idolatrous, exultant130; with all the vivid ardor131, all the uncontrolled emotion, of natures south-born, sun-nurtured. They broke away from their midday rest as from their military toil132, moved as by one swift breath of fire, and flung themselves out to meet her, the chorus of a thousand voices ringing in deafening133 vivas to the skies. She was enveloped134 in that vast sea of eager, furious lives; in that dizzy tumult135 of vociferous136 cries and stretching hands and upturned faces. As her soldiers had done the night before, so these did now — kissing her hands, her dress, her feet; sending her name in thunder through the sunlit air; lifting her from off her horse, and bearing her, in a score of stalwart arms, triumphant137 in their midst.
She was theirs — their own — the Child of the Army, the Little One whose voice above their dying brethren had the sweetness of an angel’s song, and whose feet, in their hours of revelry, flew like the swift and dazzling flight of gold-winged orioles. And she had saved the honor of their Eagles; she had given to them and to France their god of Victory. They loved her — O God, how they loved her! — with that intense, breathless, intoxicating138 love of a multitude which, though it may stone tomorrow what it adores today, has yet for those on whom it has once been given thus a power no other love can know — a passion unutterably sad, deliriously139 strong.
That passion moved her strangely.
As she looked down upon them, she knew that not one man breathed among that tumultuous mass but would have died that moment at her word; not one mouth moved among that countless140 host but breathed her name in pride, and love, and honor.
She might be a careless young coquette, a lawless little brigand141, a child of sunny caprices, an elf of dauntless mischief142; but she was more than these. The divine fire of genius had touched her, and Cigarette would have perished for her country not less surely than Jeanne d’Arc. The holiness of an impersonal143 love, the glow of an imperishable patriotism144, the melancholy of a passionate pity for the concrete and unnumbered sufferings of the people were in her, instinctive145 and inborn146, as fragrance147 in the heart of flowers. And all these together moved her now, and made her young face beautiful as she looked down upon the crowding soldiery.
“It was nothing,” she answered them —“it was nothing. It was for France.”
For France! They shouted back the beloved word with tenfold joy; and the great sea of life beneath her tossed to and fro in stormy triumph, in frantic148 paradise of victory, ringing her name with that of France upon the air, in thunder-shouts like spears of steel smiting149 on shields of bronze.
But she stretched her hand out, and swept it backward to the desert-border of the south with a gesture that had awe150 for them.
“Hush!” she said softly, with an accent in her voice that hushed the riot of their rejoicing homage151 till it lulled like the lull50 in a storm. “Give me no honor while they sleep yonder. With the dead lies the glory!”
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1
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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bonbon
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| n.棒棒糖；夹心糖 | |
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bagatelle
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| n.琐事；小曲儿 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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6
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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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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10
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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acridity
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| n.辛辣，狠毒；苛性；极苦 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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corona
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| n.日冕 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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warded
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| 有锁孔的，有钥匙榫槽的 | |
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bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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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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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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47
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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48
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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50
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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51
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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52
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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53
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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54
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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55
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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56
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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57
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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58
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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59
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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60
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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61
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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62
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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63
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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64
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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65
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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66
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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67
deride
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| v.嘲弄，愚弄 | |
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68
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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69
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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70
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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71
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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72
belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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73
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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74
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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75
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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76
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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77
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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78
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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79
prostrating
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的现在分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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80
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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81
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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83
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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84
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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85
fanaticism
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| n.狂热，盲信 | |
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86
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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87
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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88
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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89
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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90
gnats
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| n.叮人小虫( gnat的名词复数 ) | |
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91
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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92
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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93
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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94
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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95
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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96
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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97
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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98
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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99
pacified
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的过去式和过去分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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100
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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101
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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102
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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103
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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104
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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105
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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106
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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107
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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108
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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109
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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110
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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111
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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112
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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113
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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114
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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115
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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116
pillage
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| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
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117
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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118
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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119
flayed
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| v.痛打( flay的过去式和过去分词 )；把…打得皮开肉绽；剥（通常指动物）的皮；严厉批评 | |
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120
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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121
bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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122
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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123
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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124
picturesqueness
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125
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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126
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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127
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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128
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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129
tempestuous
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| adj.狂暴的 | |
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130
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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131
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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132
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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133
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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134
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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136
vociferous
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| adj.喧哗的，大叫大嚷的 | |
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137
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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138
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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139
deliriously
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| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
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140
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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141
brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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142
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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143
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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144
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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145
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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146
inborn
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| adj.天生的，生来的，先天的 | |
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147
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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148
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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149
smiting
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
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150
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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151
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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