Not a sound came from the second floor. Mouret stood on the staircase and listened eagerly; he even ventured to go to the loft9. As he hushed his steps while passing along the passage, a pattering of slippers10 behind the door filled him with emotion. But he did not succeed in making any new discovery, so he went down into the garden and strolled into the arbour at the end of it, there raising his eyes and trying to[Pg 20] look through the windows in order to find out what might be going on in the rooms. But he could not see even the Abbé's shadow. Madame Faujas, in the absence of curtains, had, as a makeshift, fastened some sheets behind the windows.
At lunch Mouret seemed quite vexed11.
'Are they dead upstairs?' he said, as he cut the children's bread. 'Have you heard them move, Marthe?'
'No, my dear; but I haven't been listening.'
Rose thereupon cried out from the kitchen: 'They've been gone ever so long. They must be far enough away now if they've kept on at the same pace.'
Mouret summoned the cook and questioned her minutely.
'They went out, sir: first the mother, and then the priest. They walked so softly that I should never have known anything about it if their shadows had not fallen across the kitchen floor when they opened the street door. I looked out into the street to see where they were going, but they had vanished. They must have gone off in a fine hurry.'
'It is very surprising. But where was I at the time?'
'I think you were in the garden, sir, looking at the grapes in the arbour.'
This put Mouret into a very bad temper. He began to inveigh12 against priests. They were a set of mystery-mongers, a parcel of underhand schemers, with whom the devil himself would be at a loss. They affected13 such ridiculous prudery that no one had ever seen a priest wash his face. And then he wound up by expressing his sorrow that he had ever let his rooms to this Abbé, about whom he knew nothing at all.
'It is all your fault!' he exclaimed to his wife, as he got up from table.
Marthe was about to protest and remind him of their discussion on the previous day, but she raised her eyes and simply looked at him, saying nothing. Mouret, contrary to his usual custom, resolved to remain at home. He pottered up and down between the dining-room and the garden, poking14 about everywhere, pretending that nothing was in its place and that the house simply invited thieves. Then he got indignant with Serge and Octave, who had set off for the college, he said, quite half an hour too soon.
'Isn't father going out?' Désirée whispered in her mother's ear. 'He will worry us to death if he stays at home.'
[Pg 21]
Marthe hushed her. At last Mouret began to speak of a piece of business which he declared he must finish off during the day. And then he complained that he had never a moment to himself, and could never get a day's rest at home when he felt he wanted it. Finally he went away, quite distressed15 that he could not remain and see what happened.
When he returned in the evening he was all on fire with curiosity.
'Well, what about the Abbé?' he asked, without even giving himself time to take off his hat.
Marthe was working in her usual place on the terrace.
'The Abbé!' she repeated, with an appearance of surprise. 'Oh, yes! the Abbé—I've really seen nothing of him, but I believe he has got settled down now. Rose told me that some furniture had come.'
'That's just what I was afraid of!' exclaimed Mouret. 'I wanted to be here when it came; for, you see, the furniture is my security. I knew very well that you would never think of stirring from your chair. You haven't much of a head, my dear—Rose! Rose!'
The cook appeared in answer to his summons, and he forthwith asked her: 'There's some furniture come for the people on the second floor?'
'Yes, sir; it came in a little covered cart. I recognised it as Bergasse's; the second-hand16 dealer's. It wasn't a big load. Madame Faujas came on behind it. I dare say she had been giving the man who pushed it along a helping17 hand up the Rue18 Balande.'
'At any rate, you saw the furniture, I suppose? Did you notice what there was?'
'Certainly, sir. I had posted myself by the door, and it all went past me, which didn't seem to please Madame Faujas very much. Wait a moment and I'll tell you everything there was. First of all they brought up an iron bedstead, then a chest of drawers, then two tables and four chairs; and that was the whole lot of it. And it wasn't new either. I wouldn't have given thirty crowns for the whole collection.'
'But you should have told madame; we cannot let the rooms under such conditions. I shall go at once to talk to Abbé Bourrette about the matter.'
He was fuming19 with irritation20, and was just setting off, when Marthe brought him to a sudden halt by saying:
[Pg 22]
'Oh! I had forgotten to tell you. They have paid me six months' rent in advance.'
'What! They have paid you?' he stammered21 out, almost in a tone of annoyance23.
'Yes, the old lady came down and gave me this.'
She put her hand into her work-bag, and gave her husband seventy-five francs in hundred-sou-pieces, neatly24 wrapt up in a piece of newspaper. Mouret counted the money, and muttered:
'As long as they pay, they are free to stop. But they are strange folks, all the same. Everyone can't be rich, of course, but that is no reason why one should behave in this suspicious manner, when one's poor.'
'There is something else I have to tell you,' Marthe continued, as she saw him calm down. 'The old lady asked me if we were disposed to part with the folding-bed to her. I told her that we made no use of it, and that she was welcome to keep it as long as she liked.'
'You did quite right. We must do what we can to oblige them. As I told you before, what bothers me about these confounded priests is that one never can tell what they are thinking about, or what they are up to. Apart from that, you will often find very honourable25 men amongst them.'
The money seemed to have consoled him. He joked and teased Serge about his book on the Chinese missions, which the boy happened to be reading just then. During dinner he affected to feel no further curiosity about the tenants26 of the second floor; but, when Octave mentioned that he had seen Abbé Faujas leaving the Bishop27's residence, he could not restrain himself. Directly the dessert was placed on the table he resumed his chatter28 of the previous evening, though after a time he began to feel a little ashamed of himself. His commercial pursuits had made him stolid29 and heavy, but he really had a keen mind; he was possessed30 of no little common sense and accuracy of judgment31 which often enabled him to pick out the truth from the midst of all the gossip of the neighbourhood.
'After all,' he said, as he went off to bed, 'one has no business to go prying32 into other people's affairs. The Abbé is quite at liberty to do as he pleases. It is getting wearisome to be always talking about these people, and I, for my part, shall say nothing more about them.'
A week passed away. Mouret had resumed his habitual[Pg 23] life. He prowled about the house, lectured his children, and spent his afternoons away from home, amusing himself by transacting33 various bits of business, of which he never spoke34; and he ate and slept like a man for whom life is an easy downhill journey, without any jolts35 or surprises of any kind. The whole place sank back into all its old monotony. Marthe occupied her accustomed seat on the terrace, with her little work-table in front of her. Désirée played by her side. The two lads came home at the usual time, and were as noisy as ever; and Rose, the cook, grumbled36 and growled37 at everyone; while the garden and the dining-room retained all their wonted sleepy calm.
'You see now,' Mouret often repeated to his wife, 'you were quite mistaken in thinking that our comfort would be interfered38 with, by our letting the second-floor. We are as quiet and happy as ever we were, and the house seems smaller and cosier39.'
He occasionally raised his eyes towards the second-floor windows, which Madame Faujas had hung with thick cotton curtains, on the day after her arrival. These curtains were never drawn40 aside. There was a conventual look about their stern, cold folds, and they seemed to tell of deep, unbroken silence, cloistral41 stillness lurking42 behind them. At distant intervals43 the windows were set ajar, and allowed the high, shadowy ceilings to be seen between the snowy whiteness of the curtains. But it was all to no purpose that Mouret kept on the watch, he could never catch sight of the hand which opened or closed them, and he never even heard the grating of the window fastening. Never did a sound of human life come down from the second floor.
The first week was at an end and Mouret had not yet had another glimpse of Abbé Faujas. That man who was living in his house, without he ever being able to catch sight even of his shadow, began to affect him with a kind of nervous uneasiness. In spite of all the efforts he made to appear indifferent, he relapsed into his old questionings, and started an inquiry44.
'Have you seen anything of him?' he asked his wife.
'I fancy I caught a glimpse of him yesterday, as he was coming in, but I am not sure. His mother always wears a black dress, and it might have been she that I saw.'
And as he continued to press her with questions, Marthe told him all she knew.
[Pg 24]
'Rose says that he goes out every day, and stays away a long time. As for his mother, she is as regular as a clock. She comes down at seven o'clock in the morning to go out and do her marketing45. She has a big basket, which is always closed, and in which she must bring everything back with her, coal, bread, wine and provisions, for no tradesman ever calls with anything for them. They are very courteous46 and polite; and Rose says that they always bow to her when they meet her. But as a rule she does not even hear them come down the stairs.'
'They must go in for a funny sort of cooking up there,' said Mouret, to whom all these details conveyed none of the information he wanted.
On another evening, when Octave mentioned that he had seen Abbé Faujas entering Saint-Saturnin's, his father asked him about the priest's appearance, what effect he had made upon the passers-by, and what he could be going to do in the church.
'Ah! you are really much too curious!' cried the young man, with a laugh. 'He didn't look very fine in the sunshine with his rusty47 cassock, I can vouch48 for that much. I noticed, too, that, as he walked along, he kept in the shadow of the houses, which made his cassock look a little blacker. He didn't seem at all proud of himself, but hurried along with his head bent49 down. Two girls began to laugh as he crossed the Place. The Abbé raised his head and looked at them with an expression of great softness—didn't he, Serge?'
Thereupon Serge related how on several occasions, as he was returning from the college, he had at a distance followed the Abbé, who was on his way back from Saint-Saturnin's. He passed through the streets without speaking to anyone; he seemed to know nobody and to be rather hurt by the suppressed titters and jeers50 which he heard around him.
'Do they talk of him, then, in the town?' asked Mouret, whose interest was greatly aroused.
'No one has ever spoken to me about him,' Octave replied.
'Yes,' said Serge,' they do talk of him. Abbé Bourrette's nephew told me that he wasn't a favourite at the church. They are not fond of these priests who come from a distance; and besides he has such a miserable51 appearance. When people get accustomed to him, they will leave the poor man alone, but just at first it is only natural that he should attract notice.'
[Pg 25]
Marthe thereupon advised the two young fellows not to gratify any outsider's curiosity about the Abbé.
'Oh, yes! they may answer any questions,' Mouret exclaimed. 'Certainly nothing that we know of him could be likely to compromise him in any way.'
From that time forward, with the best faith in the world and without meaning the least harm, Mouret turned his sons into a couple of spies. He told Octave and Serge that they must repeat to him all that was said about the priest in the town, and he even instructed them to follow him whenever they came across him. But the information that was to be derived52 from such sources was quickly exhausted53. The talk occasioned by the arrival of a strange curate in the diocese died away; the town seemed to have extended its pardon to the 'poor fellow,' who glided54 about in the shade in such a rusty old cassock, and its only apparent feeling for him now was one of disdain55. The priest, on the other hand, always went straight to the cathedral and so returned from it, invariably passing through the same streets. Octave said, laughingly, that he was sure he counted the paving-stones.
Then Mouret bethought himself of enlisting56 the help of Désirée in the task of collecting information. In the evening he took her to the bottom of the garden and listened to her chatter about what she had done and what she had seen during the day, and he always tried to lead her on to the subject of the tenants of the second floor.
'Now, just listen to what I tell you,' he said to her one day. 'To-morrow, when the window is open, just throw your ball into the room, and then go up and ask for it.'
The next day the girl threw her ball into the room, but she had scarcely reached the steps of the house before the ball, returned by an invisible hand, bounced up from the terrace. Her father, who had reckoned on the child's taking ways leading to a renewal57 of the intercourse58 which had been interrupted since the day of the priest's arrival, now lost all hope. It was quite clear that the Abbé had made up his mind to keep to himself. This rebuff, however, only made Mouret's curiosity all the keener. He even condescended59 to go gossiping in corners with the cook, to the great displeasure of Marthe, who reproached him for his want of self-respect; but at this he became angry with her and defended himself by lies. However, as he felt that he was in the wrong, it was[Pg 26] only in secret that he henceforth talked to Rose about the Faujases.
One morning she beckoned60 to him to follow her into the kitchen.
'Oh, sir!' she said, as she shut the door, 'I have been watching for you to come down from your room for more than an hour.'
'Have you found out something then?'
'Well, you shall hear. Yesterday evening I was chatting with Madame Faujas for more than an hour!'
Mouret felt a thrill of joy. He sat down on an old tattered61 rush-bottom chair, in the midst of the dirty cloths and vegetable parings left from the previous day, and exclaimed:
'Go along! make haste!'
'Well,' continued the cook, 'I was at the street-door saying good-night to Monsieur Rastoil's servant, when Madame Faujas came downstairs to empty a pail of dirty water in the gutter62. Instead of immediately going back again, without even turning her head, as she generally does, she stopped there for a moment to look at me. Then it struck me that she wanted to speak to me, and I said to her that it had been a beautiful day, and that it would be good for the grapes. She said, "Yes, yes," in an unconcerned sort of way, just like a woman who has no land and has no interest in such matters. But she put down her pail and made no attempt to go away; she even came and leant against the wall beside me—'
'Well! well! what did she say to you?' cried Mouret, tortured by his impatience63.
'Well, of course, you understand I wasn't silly enough to begin to question her. She would have gone straight off if I had. Without seeming to intend anything, I suggested things to her which I thought might set her talking. The Curé[3] of Saint-Saturnin's, that worthy64 Monsieur Compan, happened to pass by, and I told her he was very ill and wasn't long for this world, and that there would be great difficulty in filling his place at the cathedral. She was all ears at once, I can tell you. She even asked me what was the matter with Monsieur Compan. Then, going on from one thing to another, I gradually got talking about our bishop. Monseigneur Rousselot was a most excellent and worthy man, I told her. She did not know his age, so I told her that he was sixty, very delicate also, and that he let himself be led by the nose. There[Pg 27] is a good deal of talk about the vicar-general, Monsieur Fenil, who is all powerful with the bishop. The old lady was quite interested in that, and she would have stayed out in the street all night, listening.'
An expression of desperation passed over Mouret's face. 'But what you're telling me is what you said yourself,' he cried. 'What was it that she said? That's what I want to hear.'
'Wait a little and let me finish,' Rose replied very calmly. 'I was gradually gaining my purpose. To win her confidence, I ended by talking to her about ourselves. I told her that you were Monsieur Fran?ois Mouret, a retired65 merchant from Marseilles, and that you had managed in fifteen years to make a fortune out of wines and oils and almonds. I added that you had preferred to come and settle down and live on your means in Plassans, a quiet town, where your wife's relations lived. I even contrived66 to let her know, too, that madame was your cousin, that you were forty years old and that she was thirty-seven, and that you lived very happily together; in fact, I told her all about you. She seemed to be very much interested, and kept saying, "Yes, yes," in her deliberate way; and, when I stopped for a moment, she nodded her head as though to tell me she was listening and that I might go on. So we went on talking in this way, with our backs against the wall, like a couple of old friends, till it was quite dark.'
Mouret bounced from his chair in angry indignation.
'What!' he cried, 'is that all? She led you on to gossip to her for an hour, and she herself told you nothing!'
'When it got dark, she said to me: "The air is becoming quite chilly67." And then she took up her pail and went back upstairs.'
'You are nothing but an idiot! That old woman up there is more than a match for half a score such as you. Ah! they'll be laughing finely now that they have wormed out of you all that they wanted to know about us. Do you hear me, Rose? I tell you that you are nothing but an idiot!'
The old cook waxed very indignant, and began to bounce excitedly up and down the kitchen, knocking the pots and pans about noisily, and crumpling68 up the dusters and flinging them down.
'It was scarcely worth your while, sir,' she hissed69, 'to[Pg 28] come into my kitchen to call me insulting names. You had better take yourself off. What I did, I did to please you. If madame finds us here together talking about those people, she will be angry with me, and quite rightly, because it is wrong for us to be doing so. And after all, I couldn't drag words from the old lady's lips if she wasn't willing to talk. I did as any one else would have done under the same circumstances. I talked and told her about your affairs, and it was no fault of mine that she didn't tell me about hers. Go and ask her about them yourself, since you are anxious to know about them. Perhaps you won't make such an idiot of yourself as I have done.'
She had raised her voice, and was talking so loudly that Mouret thought it would be more prudent70 to retire, and he did so, closing the kitchen door after him, in order to prevent his wife from hearing the servant. But Rose immediately pulled it open again, and cried after him down the passage:
'I shall bother myself about it no longer; do you hear? You may get somebody else to do your underhand business for you!'
Mouret was quite vanquished71. He showed some irritation at his defeat, and tried to console himself by saying that those second-floor tenants of his were mere22 nobodies. Gradually he succeeded in making this opinion of his that of his acquaintances, and then that of the whole town. Abbé Faujas came to be looked upon as a priest without means and without ambition, who was completely outside the pale of the intrigues72 of the diocese. People imagined that he was ashamed of his poverty, that he was glad to perform any unpleasant duties in connection with the cathedral, and tried to keep himself in obscurity as much as possible. There was only one matter of curiosity left in connection with him, and that was the reason of his having come to Plassans from Besan?on. Queer stories were circulated about him, but they all seemed very improbable. Mouret himself, who had played the spy over his tenants simply for amusement and in order to pass the time, just as he would have played a game at cards or bowls, was even beginning to forget that he had a priest living in his house, when an incident occurred which revived all his curiosity.
One afternoon as he was returning home, he saw Abbé Faujas going up the Rue Balande in front of him. Mouret slackened his pace and examined the priest at his leisure.[Pg 29] Although Abbé Faujas had been lodging73 in his house for a month, this was the first time that he had thus seen him in broad daylight. The Abbé still wore his old cassock, and he walked slowly, with his hat in his hand and his head bare in spite of the chilly air. The street, which was a very steep one, with the shutters74 of its big, bare houses always closed, was quite deserted75. Mouret, who quickened his pace, was at last obliged to walk on tip-toes for fear lest the priest should hear him and make his escape. But as they neared Monsieur Rastoil's house, a group of people turning out of the Place of the Sub-Prefecture entered it. Abbé Faujas made a slight détour to avoid these persons. He watched the door close, and then, suddenly stopping, he turned round towards his landlord, who was now close up to him.
'I am very glad to have met you,' said he, with all his wonted politeness, 'otherwise I should have ventured to disturb you this evening. The last time it rained, the wet came through the ceiling of my room, and I should much like to show it you.'
Mouret remained standing76 in front of him, and stammered in confusion that he was entirely77 at the Abbé's service. Then, as they went indoors together, he asked him at what time he should go to look at the ceiling.
'Well, I should like you to come at once,' the Abbé replied, 'if it wouldn't be troubling you too much.'
Mouret went up the stairs after him so excited that he almost choked, while Rose followed them with her eyes from the kitchen doorway78 quite dazed with astonishment.
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1
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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4
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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inveigh
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| v.痛骂 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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transacting
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的现在分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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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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jolts
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的名词复数 ) | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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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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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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39
cosier
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| adj.温暖舒适的( cosy的比较级 )；亲切友好的 | |
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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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cloistral
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| adj.修道院的，隐居的，孤独的 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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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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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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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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enlisting
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| v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的现在分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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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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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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crumpling
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| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
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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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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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