Nevertheless he was convinced that he was not mistaken. Yet where--where had he seen this nephew of De Broglie before?
As one racks his brain to call up some circumstance or surrounding in connection with a face that puzzles him, to recollect2 some action associated with that face which shall assist the struggle of memory to assert itself, he racked his brain now. Yet all was of no avail, even though he brought before his mind every scene he could recollect since first he had returned to France.
Of no avail!
The full deep wig3 à la brigadier, the laced blue coat, the ivory-hilted sword of the young aristocrat4, helped him not in the least; refused rather to assimilate themselves in his memory with the features which teased his recollection so. Yet, even as he meditated5 thus, while these four men--himself, the commandant, the man who perplexed6 him, and the officer under him--sat at supper in the old banqueting room used by generations of the De Servas, he found himself repeating those very words which had risen to his mind, "the young aristocrat."
Young aristocrat! Well, if so, a strange one, and surely not possessing the marks of breeding which a De Broglie should be the owner of! He ate roughly, coarsely, almost it seemed greedily; also he drank as a peasant drinks, in great copious7 draughts8; laughed noisily and loudly. Moreover, from out of the ruffles9 of Valenciennes there protruded10 hands that scarcely proclaimed him a member of a well-born family. Hands broad and with ill-shapen fingers, the nails of which were flat and broken and none too clean; not the hands of one in whose veins11 ran the blood of countless12 well-born men and women!
"Pity 'tis," this scion13 of la vieille roche muttered to the commandant, "that mademoiselle does not honour us to-night. Tired, you say, after the fatigue14 of her escape from those base fanatics15? Ha, sans doute! May she always escape as easily! 'Twill be well for her."
As he spoke16, Martin, removing his eyes from his face, saw a sight that startled him--a sight that told him something terrible was in the air.
Far down, at the end of the old room, there was a small door, it not being the main one; and at that door, which was open about half a foot, he saw the face of Urbaine Ducaire, with, on it, an awful look of horror--a horror which had brought to her face a whiteness such as that which is upon the countenance17 of a corpse18 within its shroud19; in her eyes a glare such as is in the eyes of those who have seen a sight to blast them. A glare, a look of agony, piteous to see.
At first he knew not what to do, yet even as he hesitated, undecided, he felt sure he must not draw the attention of those at the table to her, unless indeed he could attract the attention of the commandant alone, for it dawned on him, though he could not have explained why, that she, standing20 there behind the door, showing only that white face and those terror-haunted eyes, had been endeavouring to make the old man see her without being observed by the others.
What did it mean? What portend21?
The conversation was eager between the remaining three at the table, the commandant advancing a plan for trapping the Camisards in their mountain fastnesses which Julien had a week or so before propounded22, the nephew of De Broglie and his companion listening, it seemed scornfully, certainly deriding23 such plan.
"It will never succeed," the first of these two said; "never, never," and he laughed. "We, we of the king's forces, shall be driven back by these vile24 fanatics, or led into a snare25, or guet-apens up in the mountains. And then woe26, woe to all! Not one will return to the valleys, to the towns, to tell the tale."
Yet as he spoke, uttered such predictions of disaster, it seemed almost as though he gloated over the picture he drew.
And still Martin saw ever before him the terrified face of Urbaine Ducaire peering from behind the far-off door, the eyes glaring into the room like the eyes of one who knows that behind her comes some awful thing. With, in them, too, as it seemed to him, a piteous glance, a glance of agony that she could not attract the gaze of the man she sought--the commandant.
He could bear it no longer. Somehow he must reach her, communicate with her, know what it was that has struck such fear into her soul.
An excuse for him to leave the table seemed easy. The room had grown very hot. Already the nephew of De Broglie had protested he must remove his great wig. The commandant had said they must have air.
"I will go and open the door," Martin said, rising from his place. To open the windows would have been impossible since they were set high up in the walls, as was the case in most chateaux of the day, and could not be reached without a ladder. "The one at the farther end." And as he went toward it he prayed Heaven none would follow him. Also he saw that the girl's face was withdrawn29 as he rose from his chair, the door closed-to gently. Then, a moment later, he reached it.
Setting it open, he glanced into the narrow passage that ran outside, the farthest wall of this corridor having several low windows in it which gave on to the courtyard; and, turning his eyes into its dimness, he perceived Urbaine standing there, her back against the wall, her arms extended droopingly against it too, as though thereby31 to prevent herself from falling.
"Mademoiselle," he said, in a low voice, advancing toward her, "mademoiselle, what has distressed32, terrified you thus? I fear that----"
Was she gone mad, he wondered! As he spoke she put both her hands out in front of her, removing them from the wall and extending them from her body as though to ward28 him off, to defend herself from him. Also she pressed her body back against that wall as if thereby she might shrink into it--away from him.
"Mademoiselle!" he exclaimed, amazed. "Mademoiselle----" but paused again, for still she drew herself away from him as from some unclean, loathsome33 thing. Then her white lips moved; he heard the words that issued from them.
"Traitor34!" she said. "Perfidious35 traitor! Come not near me!" and with her hands she drew her travelling robe close round her as though to prevent even that from being contaminated by him.
"Are you distraught, mademoiselle?" he asked. "Are----?" yet stopped once more in his speech, for now, in the dusk of the night, he saw those staring eyes, which he had deemed so lovely but a few hours ago, glancing out through the passage window to the courtyard below; saw them rivetted upon something beneath in that courtyard; saw, too, that she shuddered36 as she gazed.
Then he too looked forth37 into it.
Upon the stones where the six attroupés had been flung down in their chains he saw those men standing now, free and unbound, in their hands naked weapons. The light of a newly lit flambeau flickering38 on one of their blades showed that it was deeply stained red. Also he saw that they too were now clad in scarlet39 and blue, their own rude mountain clothes discarded, flung in a heap in a corner.
And more he saw! Some were lying dead, or dying, in that courtyard; men who had but a few hours ago formed part of the garrison40; the men whose clothes the others had already donned.
Like the lightning's flash there came to his mind what had happened; he understood all. The ruse was successful. The Camisards, disguised in the uniforms and trappings of the defeated soldiers of the day before, had surprised and captured the chateau27; the trick of transporting those false prisoners had been a perfect one. Also he knew now where he had seen M. de Broglie's nephew. The deep powdered wig, the rich costume, served as disguises no longer. He recalled him! Recalled him as one who, young as he was, had taken a leading part in the massacre41 of the Abbé du Chaila, in the attack on Poul's convoy42.
He understood, too, Urbaine's bitter words now. He was of these men's faith; she deemed him one of them! Also that he had brought her here only to betray her later into their hands. Bitter words that had sunk into his heart perhaps forever, yet she should see.
He drew his sword, advanced a step nearer to her, then retreated.
"I ask your pardon," he said, speaking very low, "that I have come near to you again. That I must address you. Yet, 'traitor' as I am, my place is still by your side. I interfered43 to save you yesterday. I must go on with what I have begun. One moment to warn the commandant--if--they have not slain44 him--then--then--mademoiselle--to save you from these men of my own faith."
But now she spoke no more, only--her eyes were fixed45 upon him with a strange look--he could have sworn that in the almost absolute darkness of the night which was upon them he saw her bosom46 heave pitiably. Then from her lips he heard beyond all doubt a gasp47 come.
"Fear not," he said, "they will not murder a woman. Can not, at least, murder you while I still live. Remain behind the door while I re-enter the room."
Whereon, leaving her, he pushed open the door and advanced within, his sword in his hand. As he did so he saw he had no chance; believed that he was doomed48.
The room was full of men, of the mock soldiers--the Camisards disguised in the uniforms of De Broglie and of Hérault; doubtless they had entered by the main door while he had been in the passage. Also there were lights in it--two flambeaus placed in old sockets49 in the walls, and white-wax candles in a great lustre50 on the table.
In front of him was the "nephew of M. de Broglie," his powdered wig off now and his head showing a mass of long fair hair, while in his hand he too held his drawn30 sword. At the table, his face fallen forward upon it and his arms outstretched, was the old man, the commandant, done to death.
"You craven hound!" hissed51 Martin, and as he spoke his rapier darted52 full at the other. "You craven hound, you eat of that old man's dish, drink of his cup, and murder him! Defend yourself, assassin!"
And, forgetful of any wrong that this man's (his own) faith might have suffered at the hands of those of the commandant's creed53, remembering only that he was a gentleman face to face with one whom in his heart he deemed the canaille, remembering, too, that he was a murderer, he lunged full at him.
"Malédiction!" the Camisard exclaimed, driven back by the skill of the other (skill acquired in many a cours d'escrime in Paris, and the fence school of the Guards at Kensington gravel-pits), and knowing too, himself, but little of sword play except the rough cut-and-thrust which he had practised in the mountains. "Malédiction! You shall pay dearly for this! Au sécours mes frères."
He called for succour none too soon. In another moment Martin's blade would have been through his breast. None too soon! Fortunately for him it was at hand. Like tigers rushing on their prey54, half a dozen of the disguised Camisards hurled55 themselves upon Martin; two threw themselves on him behind, one knocked up his sword arm, two more secured him. He was disarmed56, captured, at their mercy.
"Shall we knock him on the head or cut his throat, brother Cavalier?" one asked, while as he did so Martin knew that he stood before one of the two chiefs of the Cévenoles, a man whose name was a terror by now to all Languedoc, and, two centuries afterward57, is still remembered.
"No," Jean Cavalier replied, "he is a bold man, of the tyrants58' side though he be. Most of them will be ours now we have risen. We will spare him, for the present at least."
Then he turned to Martin, who stood there calm and contemptuous (remembering that the fellow before him had been a baker's apprentice59 a year or two back, as he had heard--the latter almost felt degraded at having his life spared by such a man as this), and said with an attempt at ease which he invariably adopted, and with, also, the fury he had shown gone:
"Monsieur, it is the fortune of war which puts you in our power. You must abide60 by it. What parish do you belong to?"
"None you ever heard of. One in the north of France. I am a stranger here."
"A stranger!" Cavalier repeated incredulously, "a stranger!" And as he did so Martin saw all the followers61 of the Camisards' chief gazing astonishedly at him. "A stranger! If so, what are you doing here? What have the affairs of this unhappy province to do with you? Also, why in this chateau?"
What answer Martin might have made to his questions, if any, was not given, since at this moment three of the men who had left the room returned, bringing with them Urbaine Ducaire. They had found her outside the door listening tremblingly to all that had happened within, rooted to the spot, almost insensible.
Yet now, as she advanced between those men, something had given her courage, had nerved her to strength. She trembled no more and, although very white and with still a strange gleam in her eyes, she walked erect62; almost, to Martin observing her, it seemed defiantly63. What, he wondered, had stung her to this courage? Perhaps the contempt that she too felt for her captors.
With a bow, Cavalier welcomed her, then asked:
"Have I the honour to stand face to face with the daughter of his Excellency the Intendant?"
"I am the adopted daughter of the Comte de Baville," she answered calmly. "When do you intend to slay64 me, as you have slain the others?" and her eyes stole to where the commandant's body lay stretched over the table.
For a moment Cavalier looked at her with a strange glance, surprised, perhaps, at her calmness; it may be, stung by her absolute indifference65 to his power. Then he said:
"Mademoiselle mistakes those whom she addresses. Doubtless, in these surroundings, thinks she has fallen into the hands of papists or those of similar faith. People who slay women burn them on the grandes places, belabour their bare backs. I would not be discourteous66, yet mademoiselle will pardon me if I remind her that we are not of the same religion as herself, or monsieur by her side."
Or monsieur by her side! Unanswering her captor, scarcely regarding him, she stood there, a look impenetrable to Cavalier upon her face, yet with her mind full of wonderment.
Or monsieur by her side! They did not know then that he was one of them, in faith and belief at least--that--that----
"God!" she whispered to herself, still gazing beyond--through--the Camisard chief, yet with no thought of him in her mind. "God! what awful wrong have I done him again to-night, how misjudged him? To be by my side as a protection still, to share my fate, he does not avow67 himself a Protestant; consents to be deemed their enemy--a Catholic. And he is not a woman. There is naught68 to save him."
Even as she so thought her eyes stole round and rested on him standing there calmly near her side, avowing69, denying nothing.
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收听单词发音
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1
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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8
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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ruffles
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| 褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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10
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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scion
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| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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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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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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portend
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| v.预兆，预示；给…以警告 | |
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propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deriding
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的现在分词 ) | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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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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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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perfidious
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| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
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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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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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50
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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51
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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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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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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55
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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56
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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61
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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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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63
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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64
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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66
discourteous
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| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
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avow
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| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
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68
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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69
avowing
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| v.公开声明，承认( avow的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
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