'Why do you never laugh?' she cried to her father one day. 'Come and have a game at skipping! It's such fun!'
She had taken possession of one of the garden-beds, which she dug, planted with vegetables, and carefully watered. The hard work delighted her. Then she desired to have some fowls2, which devoured4 her vegetables and which she scolded with motherly tenderness. With these occupations of hers, gardening and fowl3-keeping, she made herself dreadfully dirty.
'She's perfectly5 filthy6!' cried Rose. 'I won't have her coming into my kitchen any more; she dirties everything! It is no use your trying to keep her neatly7 dressed, madame. If I were you I should just let her mess about as she likes.'
Marthe, now ever preoccupied8, no longer took care even that Désirée should change her under-linen9 regularly. The girl sometimes wore the same chemise for three weeks together; her stockings fell over her shoes, which were sadly worn down at the heels, and her tattered10 skirts hung about her like a beggar's rags. Mouret was one day obliged to take up a needle himself, for the girl's dress was torn behind from top to bottom. She, however, laughed gleefully at her nakedness, at her hair that fell over her shoulders, and at her black hands and dirty face.
Marthe came to feel a sort of disgust of her. When she returned home from mass, still retaining in her hair the[Pg 192] vague perfume of the church, she quite shuddered11 at the strong scent12 of earth which exhaled13 from her daughter. She sent her into the garden again immediately lunch was over. She could not bear to have her near her, distressed14, disquieted15 as she was by the girl's robust16 vigour17 and clear laugh, which seemed to find amusement in everything.
'Oh, dear! how wearisome the child is!' she murmured sometimes, with an air of nerveless lassitude.
As Mouret heard her complain, he exclaimed in an impulse of anger:
'If she's in your way, we will turn her out of the house, as we have done the other two.'
'Indeed, I should be very glad if she were to go away,' Marthe answered unhesitatingly.
One afternoon, about the end of the summer, Mouret was alarmed at no longer being able to hear Désirée, who, a few minutes previously18, had been making a tremendous noise at the bottom of the garden. He ran to see what had happened to her, and found her lying on the ground. She had fallen from a ladder on to which she had climbed to gather some figs19: fortunately the box-plants had broken the force of her fall. Mouret, in a great fright, lifted her up in his arms and called for assistance. He thought she was dead; but she quickly came to herself, declared that she was none the worse for the accident, and wanted to climb the ladder again.
Marthe, however, had meantime come into the garden. When she heard Désirée laugh she seemed quite annoyed.
'That child will kill me one of these days,' she exclaimed. 'She doesn't know what to invent to alarm me. I'm sure that she threw herself down on purpose. I can't endure it any longer. I shall shut myself up in my own room, or go out in the morning and not return till evening. Yes, you may laugh, you great goose! To think that I am the mother of such a ninny! You are making me pay for it very dearly!'
'Yes, that she is!' cried Rose, who had run down from the kitchen; 'she's a great burden, and, unfortunately, there's no chance of our ever being able to get her married.'
Mouret looked at them and listened with a pang20 at the heart. He said nothing, but stayed with the girl at the bottom of the garden, and there they remained chatting affectionately till nightfall. The next day, Marthe and Rose were away from the house the whole morning. They went[Pg 193] to hear mass at a chapel21, a league from Plassans, dedicated22 to Saint-Januarius, whither all the pious23 folks of the town made a pilgrimage on that particular day. When they returned, the cook hastily served up a cold lunch. Marthe went on eating for a few minutes before she noticed that her daughter was not at table.
'Isn't Désirée hungry?' she asked. 'Why hasn't she come to lunch?'
'Désirée is no longer here,' answered Mouret, who left his food almost untouched upon his plate; 'I took her this morning to her nurse at Saint-Eutrope.'
Marthe laid down her fork, and turned a little pale, seeming both surprised and hurt.
'You might have consulted me,' she said.
Her husband, without making any direct reply, continued:
'She is all right with her nurse. The good woman is very fond of her, and will look well after her, and the child will no longer be in your way, and everyone will be happy.'
Then, as his wife said nothing, he added:
'If the house is not yet sufficiently24 quiet for you, just tell me, and I will go away myself.'
She half rose from her seat, and a light glistened25 in her eyes. Mouret had wounded her so cruelly that she stretched out her hand as though she were going to throw the water-bottle at his head. In her long-submissive nature angry promptings were now being fanned into life, and she was growing to hate this man who was ever prowling round her. She made a show of eating again, but she said nothing further about her daughter. Mouret had folded his napkin, and remained sitting in front of her, listening to the sound of her fork, and casting lingering glances round the dining-room, which had once been so merry with the chatter27 of the children, but was now so empty and mournful. The room seemed to him to be quite chilly28, and tears were mounting to his eyes when Marthe called to Rose to bring in the dessert.
'You must be very hungry, I should think, madame,' said the cook, as she put a plateful of fruit upon the table. 'We had quite a long walk; and if the master, instead of playing the pagan, had come with us, he would not have left you to eat the mutton all by yourself.'
Then she changed the plates, without pausing in her chatter.
[Pg 194]
'It is very pretty is that chapel of Saint-Januarius, but it is too small. Did you see that the ladies who came late were obliged to kneel down outside on the grass, in the open air? I can't understand why Madame de Condamin came in a carriage. There's no merit in making the pilgrimage if you come like that. We spent a delightful29 morning, didn't we, madame?'
'Yes, a very delightful morning,' Marthe replied. 'Abbé Mousseau, who preached, was very affecting.'
When Rose in her turn noticed Désirée's absence and learnt of the girl's departure, she exclaimed:
'Well, really, it was a very good idea of the master's! She was always walking off with my saucepans to water her plants. We shall be able to have a little peace now.'
'Yes, indeed,' said Marthe, who was cutting a pear.
Mouret was almost choking. He rose and left the dining-room without paying any attention to Rose, who cried out to him that the coffee would be ready directly. Marthe, now left alone in the room, quietly finished her pear.
Just as the cook was bringing the coffee, Madame Faujas came downstairs.
'Go in,' Rose said to her; 'you will be company for madame, and you can have the master's coffee, for he has just rushed off like a madman.'
The old lady sat down in Mouret's place.
'I thought you did not take coffee,' she remarked as she put some sugar into her cup.
'No, indeed, she didn't do so when the master kept the purse,' interposed Rose. 'But madame would be very silly now to deny herself what she likes.'
They talked for a good hour together, and Marthe ended by relating all her troubles to Madame Faujas, telling her how her husband had just inflicted30 a most painful scene upon her on account of her daughter, whom he had removed to her nurse's in a sudden pet. She defended herself, and told Madame Faujas that she was really very fond of the girl, and should go to fetch her back before long.
'Well, she was rather noisy,' Madame Faujas remarked. 'I have often pitied you. My son was thinking about giving up going into the garden to read his breviary. She almost distracted him with the noise she made.'
From that day forward Marthe and Mouret took their meals in silence. The autumn was very damp, and the[Pg 195] dining-room looked intensely melancholy31 with only two covers laid, one at each end of the big table. The corners were dark, and a chill seemed to fall from the ceiling. As Rose would say, it looked as though a funeral were going on.
'Well, indeed,' she often exclaimed, as she brought the plates into the room, 'you couldn't make much less noise, sir, however you tried! There isn't much danger of your wearing the skin of your tongue off! Do try to be a little livelier, sir! You look as though you were following a corpse32 to the grave!—You will end by making madame quite ill. It is bad for the health to eat without speaking.'
When the first frosts came, Rose, who sought in every way to oblige Madame Faujas, offered her the use of her cooking-stove. The old lady had begun by bringing down kettles to get her water boiled, as she had no fire, she said, and the Abbé was in a hurry to shave. Then she borrowed some flat-irons, begged the use of some saucepans, asked for the loan of the dutch-oven to cook some mutton, and finally, in the end, as she had no conveniently arranged fireplace upstairs, she accepted Rose's repeated offers, and the cook lighted her a fire of vine branches, big enough to roast a whole sheep, in the kitchen.
'Don't show any diffidence about it,' she said, as she herself turned the leg of mutton round; 'the kitchener is a large one, isn't it? and big enough for us both. I don't know how you've been able to do your cooking upstairs as long as you have, with only that wretched iron stove there. I should have been afraid of falling down in an apoplectic33 fit myself. Monsieur Mouret ought to know better than to let a set of rooms without any kitchen. You must be very enduring kind of people, and very easily satisfied.'
Thus Madame Faujas gradually began to cook her lunch and dinner in the Mourets' kitchen. On the first few occasions she provided her own coal and oil and spices. But afterwards, when she forgot to bring any article with her, Rose would not allow her to go upstairs for it, but insisted upon supplying the deficiency from the house stores.
'Oh, there's some butter there! The little bit which you will take with the tip of your knife won't ruin us. You know very well that everything here is at your service. Madame would be quite angry with me if I didn't make you at home here.'
A close intimacy34 now sprang up between Rose and[Pg 196] Madame Faujas. The cook was delighted to have some one always at hand who was willing to listen to her while she stirred her sauces. She got on extremely well with the priest's mother, whose print dresses and rough face and unpolished demeanour put her almost on a footing of equality. They sat chatting together for hours before the fireplace, and Madame Faujas soon gained complete sway in the kitchen, though she still maintained her impenetrable attitude, and only said what she chose to say, while contriving35 to worm out all that she wanted to know. She settled the Mourets' dinner, tasted the dishes which she had arranged they should have, and Rose herself often made savoury little luxuries for the Abbé's delectation, such as sugared apples or rice-cakes or fritters. The provisions of the two establishments often got mixed together, mistakes were made with the different pans, the two dinners being so intermingled that Rose would cry out with a laugh:
'Tell me, madame, are these poached eggs yours? Really, I don't know. Upon my word, it would be much better if you were all to dine together!'
It was on All Saints Day that Abbé Faujas lunched for the first time in the Mourets' dining-room. He was in a great hurry, as he had to return to Saint-Saturnin's at once, and so, to give him as much time as possible, Marthe asked him to sit down at their table, saying that it would save his mother from climbing a couple of flights of stairs. A week later it had become a regular thing; the Faujases came downstairs at every meal and took their seats at table, just as if they were entering a restaurant. For the first few days their provisions were cooked and served separately, but Rose declared this was a very silly arrangement, that she could easily cook for four persons, and that she would arrange it all with Madame Faujas.
'Pray don't thank me,' she said to the Abbé and his mother; 'it is a kindness on your part to come down and keep madame company. You will cheer her up a little. I scarcely dare go into the dining-room now; it is just like going into the chamber36 of death. It quite frightens me, it feels so desolate37. If the master chooses to go on sulking, he will have to do so all by himself.'
They kept up a roaring fire, the room was very warm, and the winter proved a delightful one. Rose had never before taken such pains to lay the tablecloth38 nicely. She placed his[Pg 197] reverence39's chair near the stove, so that he might have his back to the fire. She paid particular attention to his glass and his knife and fork, she took care that whenever the slightest stain made its appearance upon the cloth it should not be put on his side, and she paid him numberless other delicate little attentions.
When she had prepared any dish of which he was particularly fond, she gave him notice so that he might reserve himself for it; though sometimes, on the other hand, she made a surprise of it for him, and brought it into the room under a cover, smiling at the inquisitive40 glances directed towards it, and exclaiming with an air of triumph:
'This is for his reverence! It is a wild-duck stuffed with olives, just what he is so fond of. Give his reverence the breast, madame. I cooked it specially41 for him.'
Marthe carved the duck, and with beseeching42 looks pressed the choicest morsels43 upon the Abbé. She always helped him the first, and searched the dish for him, while Rose bent44 over her and pointed45 out what she thought the best parts. They occasionally even had little disputes as to the superiority of this or that part of a fowl or rabbit. Then, too, Rose used to push an embroidered46 hassock under the priest's feet, while Marthe insisted that he should always have his bottle of Bordeaux and his roll, specially ordering one of the latter for him from the baker47 every day.
'We can never do too much for you,' said Rose, when the Abbé expressed his thanks. 'Who should be well looked after, if it isn't good kind hearts like yours? Don't you trouble about it, the Lord will pay your debt for you.'
Madame Faujas smiled at all these flattering civilities as she sat at table opposite her son. She was beginning to feel quite fond of Marthe and Rose. She considered their adoration48 only natural, and thought it a great happiness for them to be allowed to cast themselves in this way at the feet of her idol49. It was really she with her square head and peasant manner who presided over the table, eating slowly but plentifully50, noticing everything that happened without once setting down her fork, and taking care that Marthe should play the part of servant to her son, at whom she was constantly gazing with an expression of content. She never opened her lips except to make known in as few words as possible the Abbé's various tastes or to over-rule the polite refusals in which he still occasionally indulged. Sometimes she[Pg 198] shrugged51 her shoulders and pushed him with her foot. Wasn't everything on the table at his service? He might eat the whole contents of the dish, if he liked, and the others would be quite happy to nibble52 their dry bread and look at him.
Abbé Faujas himself, however, seemed quite indifferent to all the tender care which was lavished53 upon him. Of a very frugal54 disposition55 and a quick eater, his mind always occupied with other matters, he was frequently quite unconscious of the dainties which were specially reserved for him. He had yielded to his mother's entreaties56 in consenting to join the Mourets, but the only satisfaction he experienced in the dining-room on the ground-floor was the pleasure of being set entirely57 free from the everyday cares of life. He manifested unruffled serenity58, gradually grew accustomed to seeing his least wish anticipated and fulfilled, and ceased to manifest any surprise or express any thanks, lording it haughtily59 between the mistress of the house and the cook, who kept anxious watch over the slightest motions of his stern face.
Mouret sat opposite his wife, quite forgotten and unnoticed. He let his hands rest upon the edge of the table, and waited, like a child, till Marthe should be willing to attend to him. She helped him the last, scantily60, and to whatever might happen to be left. Rose stood behind her and warned her whenever by mistake she was going to give her husband some of the more delicate morsels in the dish.
'No, no; not that. The master likes the head, you know. He enjoys sucking the little bones.'
Mouret, snubbed and slighted, ate his food with a sort of shame, as though he was subsisting61 unworthily on other people's bounty62. He could see Madame Faujas watching him keenly as he cut his bread. He kept his eyes fixed63 on the bottle for a whole minute, full of doubtful hesitation64, before he dare venture to help himself to wine. Once he made a mistake and took a little of the priest's choice Bordeaux. There was a tremendous fuss made about it, and for a whole month afterwards Rose reproached him for those few drops of wine. Whenever she made any sweet dish, she would say:
'I don't want the master to have any of that. He never thinks anything I make nice. He once told me that an omelet I had made was burnt, and then I said, "They shall be burnt altogether for you." Don't give any of it to the master, I beg you, madame.'
[Pg 199]
She also did all she could to worry and upset him. She gave him cracked plates, contrived65 that one of the table legs should come between his own, left shreds66 of the glass-cloth clinging to his glass, and placed the bread and wine and salt as far from him as possible. Mouret was the only one in the family who liked mustard, and he used to go himself to the grocers and buy canisters of it, which the cook promptly67 caused to disappear, saying that they 'stank68 so.' The deprivation69 of mustard spoilt his enjoyment70 of his meals. But what made him still more miserable71, and robbed him of all appetite, was his expulsion from his own seat, which he had always previously occupied, in front of the window, which was now given to the priest, as being the pleasantest in the room. Mouret had to sit with his face towards the door, and he felt as though he were eating amongst strangers, now that he could not at each mouthful cast a glance at his fruit-trees.
Marthe was not so bitter against him as Rose was. She treated him at first like a poor relation, whose presence is just tolerated, and then gradually grew to ignore him, scarcely ever addressing a remark to him, and acting72 as though Abbé Faujas alone had the right to give orders in the house. Mouret, however, showed no inclination73 to rebel. He occasionally exchanged a few polite phrases with the priest, though he generally ate in perfect silence, and only replied to the cook's attacks by looking at her. He always finished before any of the others, folded up his napkin tidily, and then left the room, frequently before the dessert was placed upon the table.
Rose alleged74 that he was bursting with anger, and when she gossiped in the kitchen with Madame Faujas she discussed his conduct freely.
'I know him very well; I've never been afraid of him. Before you came madame used to tremble before him, for he was always scolding and blustering76 and trying to appear very terrible. He used to worry our lives out of us, always poking77 about, never finding anything right, and trying to show us that he was master. Now he is as docile78 as a lamb, isn't he? It's just because madame has asserted herself. Ah! if he weren't a coward, and weren't afraid of what might happen, you would hear a pretty row. But he is afraid of your son; yes, he is afraid of his reverence the Curé. Anyone would say, to look at him, that he lost his senses every now and[Pg 200] then. But after all, as long as he doesn't bother us any longer, he is welcome to act as he pleases; isn't he, madame?'
Madame Faujas replied that Monsieur Mouret seemed to her to be a very worthy79 man, and that his only fault was his lack of religion. But he would certainly adopt a better mode of life in time, she said. The old lady was gradually making herself mistress of the whole of the ground floor, going from kitchen to dining-room as she pleased, and ever bustling80 about in the hall and passages. When Mouret met her he used to recall the day when the Faujases first arrived; when, wearing that shabby black dress of hers, she had tenaciously81 clung to her basket with both hands and poked82 her head inquisitively83 into each room, with all the unruffled serenity of a person inspecting some property for sale.
Since the Faujases had begun to take their meals downstairs the Trouches were left in possession of the second floor. They made a great deal of noise, and the constant moving of furniture, the stamping of feet and the violent banging of doors, were heard by those downstairs. Madame Faujas would then uneasily raise her head in the midst of her gossiping in the kitchen. Rose, for the sake of putting her at her ease, used to say that poor Madame Trouche suffered a great deal of pain. One night the Abbé, who had not yet gone to bed, heard a strange commotion84 on the stairs. He left his room with his candle in his hand, and saw Trouche, disgracefully drunk, climbing up the stairs on his knees. He seized the sot in his strong arms and threw him into his room. Olympe was in bed there, quietly reading a novel and sipping86 a glass of spirits and water that stood on a little table at the bedside.
'Listen to me,' said Abbé Faujas, livid with rage; 'you will pack up your things in the morning and take yourselves off!'
'Why? What for?' asked Olympe, quite calmly; 'we are very comfortable here.'
The priest sternly interrupted her.
'Hold your tongue! You are a wretched woman! You have never tried to do anything but injure me. Our mother was right; I ought never to have rescued you from your state of wretchedness. I've just had to pick your husband up on the stairs. It is disgraceful. Think of the scandal there would be if he were to be seen in this state. You will go away in the morning.'
[Pg 201]
Olympe sat up to sip75 her grog.
'No, no, indeed!' she said.
Trouche laughed. He was drunkenly merry, and fell back into an armchair in a state of happy self-satisfaction.
'Don't let us quarrel,' he stammered87. 'It is a mere88 nothing; only a little giddiness. The air, which is very cold, made me dizzy, that's all. And your streets in this confounded town are so very confusing. I say, Faujas, there are some very nice young fellows about here. There's Doctor Porquier's son. You know Doctor Porquier, don't you? Well, I meet the son at a café behind the gaol89. It is kept by a woman from Arles, a fine handsome woman with a dark complexion90.'
The priest crossed his arms and looked at him with a terrible expression.
'No, really, Faujas, I assure you that it is quite wrong of you to be angry with me. You know that I have been well brought up, and that I know how to behave myself. Why, in the day-time I wouldn't touch a drop of syrup91 for fear of compromising you. Since I have been here I have gone to my office just like a boy going to school, with slices of bread and jam in a little basket. It's a very stupid sort of life, I can assure you, and I only do it to be of service to you. But at night, I'm not likely to be seen, and I can go about a little. It does me good, and, in fact, I should die if I always kept myself locked up here. There is no one in the streets, you know. What funny streets they are, eh?'
'Sot!' growled92 the priest between his clenched93 teeth.
'You won't be friends, then? Well, that's very wrong of you, old chap. I'm a jolly fellow myself, and I don't like sour looks, and if what I do doesn't please you, I'll leave you to get on with your pious ladies by yourself. That little Condamin is the only decent one amongst them, and even she doesn't come up to the café-keeper from Arles. Oh, yes! you may roll your eyes about as much as you like. I can get on quite well without you. See! would you like me to lend you a hundred francs?'
He drew out a bundle of bank-notes and spread them on his knees, laughing loudly as he did so. Then he swept them under the Abbé's nose and threw them up in the air. Olympe sprang out of bed, half naked, picked up the notes and placed them under the bolster94 with an expression of vexation. Abbé Faujas glanced around him with great[Pg 202] surprise. He saw bottles of liqueurs ranged all along the top of the chest of drawers, a scarcely touched patty was on the mantelpiece, and there were some sweetmeats in an old box. The room was, indeed, full of recent purchases; dresses thrown over the chairs, an open parcel of lace, a magnificent new overcoat hanging from the window-catch, and a bearskin rug spread out in front of the bed. By the side of Olympe's glass of grog on the little table there also lay a small gold lady's watch glittering in a porcelain95 tray.
'Whom have they been plundering96, I wonder?' thought the priest.
Then he recollected97 having seen Olympe kissing Marthe's hands.
'You wretched people!' he cried; 'you have been thieving!'
Trouche sprang up, but his wife pushed him down upon the sofa. 'Keep quiet!' she said to him, 'go to sleep, you need it.'
Then, turning to her brother, she continued:
'It is one o'clock, and you might let us go to sleep if you have only disagreeable things to say. It is certainly wrong of my husband to intoxicate98 himself, but that's no reason why you should abuse him. We have already had several explanations; this one must be the last, do you understand, Ovide? We are brother and sister, are we not? Well, then, as I have told you before, we must go halves. You gorge99 yourself downstairs, you have all kinds of dainty dishes provided for you, and you live a fat life between the landlady100 and the cook. Well, you please yourself about that. We don't go and look into your plate or try to pull the dainty morsels out of your mouth. We let you manage your affairs as you like. Very well then, just you leave us alone and allow us the same liberty. I don't think I am asking anything unreasonable101.'
The priest made a gesture of impatience102.
'Oh yes, I understand,' she continued; 'you are afraid lest we should compromise you in your schemes. The best way to ensure our not doing so is to leave us in peace and cease from worrying us. Ah! in spite of all your grand airs, you are not so very clever. We have the same interests as you have, we are all of the same family, and we might very well hunt together. It would be much the best plan, if you would only see it. But there, go to bed, now! I'll scold[Pg 203] Trouche in the morning, and I'll send him to you and you can give him your instructions.'
For a moment the priest, who was a little pale, remained thinking; then, without another word, he left the room, and Olympe resumed the perusal103 of her novel, while Trouche lay snoring on the sofa.
The next morning, Trouche, who had recovered his wits, had a long interview with Abbé Faujas. When he returned to his wife, he informed her of the conditions upon which peace had again been patched up.
'Listen to me, my dear,' Olympe replied. 'Give way to him and do what he asks. Above all try to be useful to him, since he gives you the chance of being so. I put a bold face on the matter when he is here, but in my own heart I know very well that he would turn us out into the street like dogs if we pushed him too far, and I don't want to have to go away. Are you sure that he will let us stay?'
'Oh yes; don't be afraid,' replied the secretary. 'He has need of me, and he will leave us to feather our nest.'
From this time forward Trouche used to go out every evening about nine o'clock, when the streets were quiet. He told his wife that he went into the old quarter of the town to further the Abbé's cause. Olympe was not at all jealous of his nightly absences, and laughed heartily104 whenever he brought her back some broad story. She preferred being left quietly to herself, to sip her glass and nibble her cakes in privacy, or to spend her long evenings snugly105 in bed, devouring107 the old novels of a circulating-library which she had discovered in the Rue26 Canquoin. Trouche used to come back slightly under the influence of liquor, but he took off his boots in the hall so as to make no noise as he went upstairs. When he had drunk too much, and reeked108 of tobacco and brandy, his wife would not let him get into bed, but made him sleep on the sofa. If he became annoying, she caught hold of him, looked him sternly in the face, and said:
'Ovide will hear you. Ovide is coming.'
At this he was as frightened as a child that is threatened with a wolf, and went off to sleep, muttering excuses. In the morning he dressed himself in serious, sedate109 fashion, wiped from his face all the marks of the previous night's dissipation, and put on a certain cravat110, which gave him, he said, quite the air of a parson. As he passed the cafés he bent his head to the ground. At the Home of the Virgin111 he was held in[Pg 204] great respect. Now and then, when the girls were playing in the courtyard, he raised a corner of his curtain and glanced at them with an affectation of fatherliness, though his eyes glistened beneath their lowered lids.
The Trouches were still kept in check by Madame Faujas. The mother and the daughter were perpetually quarrelling, Olympe complaining that she was sacrificed to her brother, and Madame Faujas treating her like a viper112 whom she ought to have crushed to death in her cradle. Both grasping after the same prey113, they kept a close watch on one another, anxious to know which would secure the larger share. Madame Faujas wanted to obtain everything in the house, and she tried to keep the very sweepings114 from Olympe's clutching fingers. On seeing what large sums her daughter drew from Marthe, she quite burst with anger. When her son shrugged his shoulders at it like a man who despises such matters, and is forced to close his eyes to them, she, on her side, had a stormy explanation with her daughter, whom she branded as a thief, as though the money had been taken from her own pocket.
'There, mother, that will do!' cried Olympe impatiently. 'It isn't your purse, you know, that I have been lightening. Besides, I have only been borrowing a little money; I don't make other people keep me.'
'What do you mean, you wicked hussy?' gasped115 Madame Faujas with indignation. 'Do you suppose that we don't pay for our food? Ask the cook, and she will show you our account book.'
Olympe broke out into a loud laugh.
'Oh, yes, that's very nice!' she cried; 'I know that account book of yours! You pay for the radishes and butter, don't you? Stay downstairs by all means, mother; stay downstairs on the ground floor. I don't want to interfere116 with your arrangements. But don't come up here and worry me any more, or I shall make a row, and you know that Ovide has forbidden any noise up here.'
At this Madame Faujas went downstairs muttering and growling117. The threat of making a disturbance118 always compelled her to beat a retreat. Olympe began to sing jeeringly119 as soon as her mother's back was turned. But whenever she went down into the garden the other took her revenge, keeping everlastingly120 at her heels, watching her hands, never ceasing to play the spy upon her. She would not allow her[Pg 205] in the kitchen or dining-room for a moment. She embroiled121 her with Rose about a saucepan that had been borrowed and never returned; but she did not dare to attempt to undermine Marthe's friendship for her for fear of causing some scandal which might prove prejudicial to the priest.
'Since you are so regardless of your own interests,' she said to her son one day, 'I must look after them for you. Make yourself easy. I shan't do anything foolish; but if I were not here, your sister would snatch the very bread out of your hands.'
Marthe had no notion of the drama that was being played around her. To her the house simply seemed more lively and cheerful, now that all these people thronged122 the hall and the stairs and the passages. The place was as noisy as an hotel, what with all the echoes of quarrelling, the banging of doors, the free and independent life of each of the tenants123, and the flaming fire in the kitchen, where Rose seemed to have a whole table d'h?te to provide for. There was a continual procession of tradesmen to the house. Olympe, who became very particular about her hands and refused to risk spoiling them by washing plates and dishes, had everything sent from a confectioner's in the Rue de la Banne, who catered124 for the townspeople. Marthe smiled and said she enjoyed the present bustle125 of the house. She now greatly disliked being left alone, and felt the necessity of occupation of some sort to allay126 the fever that was consuming her.
Mouret, however, to escape from all the racket, used to shut himself up in a room on the first floor, which he called his office. He had overcome his distaste for solitude127; he now scarcely ever went down into the garden, but kept himself locked up from morning till night.
'I should very much like to know what he finds to do in there,' said Rose to Madame Faujas. 'One can't hear him move, and you might almost fancy he was dead. If he wants to hide himself in that way, it must be because he is doing something that's neither right nor proper; don't you think so, eh?'
When the summer came round once more, the house grew still livelier. Abbé Faujas received the guests of both the sub-prefect and the presiding judge beneath the arbour at the bottom of the garden. Rose, by Marthe's orders, purchased a dozen rustic128 chairs, so that the visitors might enjoy the fresh air without it being necessary to carry the dining-room[Pg 206] chairs hither and thither129. It was now the regular thing for the doors communicating with the little lane to remain open every Tuesday afternoon, and the ladies and gentlemen came to salute130 Abbé Faujas like friendly neighbours, the men often in their slippers131 and with their coats carelessly unbuttoned, and the ladies in straw hats and with skirts looped up with pins. The visitors arrived one by one, and gradually the two sets of guests found themselves mixing together, gossiping and amusing themselves with perfect familiarity.
'Aren't you afraid,' said Monsieur Bourdeu to Monsieur Rastoil one day, 'that these meetings with the sub-prefect's friends may be ill advised? The general elections are getting near.'
'Why should they be ill advised?' asked Monsieur Rastoil. 'We don't go to the Sub-Prefecture; we keep on neutral ground. Besides, my good friend, there is no ceremony about the matter. I keep my linen jacket on, and it's a mere private friendly visit. No one has any right to pass judgment132 upon what I do at the back of my house. In the front it's another matter. In the front we belong to the public. When Monsieur Péqueur and I meet each other in the streets we merely bow.'
'Monsieur Péqueur de Saulaies improves much on acquaintance,' the ex-prefect ventured to remark after a short pause.
'Certainly, certainly,' replied the presiding judge; 'I am delighted to have made his acquaintance. And what a worthy man Abbé Faujas is! No, no; I have no fear of any slander133 arising from our going to pay our respects to our excellent neighbour.'
Since the general election had begun to be the subject of conversation, Monsieur de Bourdeu had felt very uneasy. He declared that it was the increasing warmth of the weather that affected134 him; but he was frequently assailed135 with doubts and scruples136, which he confided137 to Monsieur Rastoil in order that the latter might reassure138 him. However, politics were never mentioned in the Mourets' garden. One afternoon, Monsieur de Bourdeu, after vainly trying to devise some means of bringing political matters forward, exclaimed abruptly139, addressing himself to Doctor Porquier:
'I say, doctor, have you seen the "Moniteur" this morning? I see that the marquis has at last spoken! He uttered just thirteen words; I counted them. Poor Lagrifoul! He has made himself very ridiculous!'
[Pg 207]
Abbé Faujas raised his finger with an arch look. 'No politics, gentlemen, no politics,' said he.
Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies was chatting with Monsieur Rastoil, and they both pretended that they had not heard what was said. Madame de Condamin smiled as she continued her conversation with Abbé Surin.
'Aren't your surplices stiffened141 with a weak solution of gum?' she inquired.
'Yes, madame, with a weak solution of gum,' replied the young priest. 'Some laundresses use boiled starch142, but it spoils the material and is worthless.'
'Well,' rejoined the young woman, 'I never can get my laundress to use gum for my petticoats.'
Thereupon Abbé Surin politely gave her the name and address of his own laundress upon the back of one of his visiting cards. Then the company chatted about dress and the weather and the crops and the events of the week, spending a delightful hour together; and there were also games of shuttlecock in the alley143. Abbé Bourrette frequently made his appearance, and told in his enthusiastic manner divers144 pious little stories to which Monsieur Maffre listened with the greatest attention. Upon one occasion only had Madame Delangre met Madame Rastoil there; they had treated each other with the most scrupulous145 politeness, but in their faded eyes still flashed the sparks of their old-time rivalry146. Monsieur Delangre for his part did not make himself too cheap, and though the Paloques were constantly at the Sub-Prefecture, they contrived to be absent when Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies went to make one of his neighbourly calls upon Abbé Faujas. The judge's wife had been much perplexed147 in mind ever since her unfortunate expedition to the oratory148 at the Home of the Virgin. On the other hand, the person who was oftenest to be seen in the garden was certainly Monsieur de Condamin, who always wore the most perfect fitting gloves, and came thither to make fun of the company, telling fibs and indelicate stories with extraordinary coolness and unconcern, and deriving149 a perfect fund of amusement for the whole week from the little intrigues150 which he scented151 out. This tall old buck152, whose coat fitted so closely to his slim figure, was devoted153 to youth; he scoffed154 at the 'old ones,' went off with the young ladies, and laughed gaily155 in the snug106 little corners of the garden.
[Pg 208]
'This way, youngsters!' he would say, with a smile, 'let us leave the old ones together.'
One day he almost defeated Abbé Surin in a tremendous battle at shuttlecock. He was very fond of plaguing young people, and made a special victim of Monsieur Rastoil's son, a simple young fellow, to whom he told the most prodigious156 stories. He ended, indeed, by accusing him of making love to his wife, and rolled his eyes about in such a terrible way, that the wretched Séverin broke out into a perspiration157 from very fear. The youth did, as it happened, actually fancy that he was in love with Madame de Condamin, in whose presence he behaved in a tender, simpering manner that extremely amused her husband.
The Rastoil girls, for whom the conservator of rivers and forests manifested all the gallantry of a young widower158, also supplied subjects of his raillery. Although they were approaching their thirtieth birthdays, he spurred them on to indulge in childish games, and spoke140 to them as though they were yet schoolgirls. His great amusement was to gaze at them when Lucien Delangre, the mayor's son, was present. He would then take Doctor Porquier aside, and whisper in his ear, alluding159 to the former entanglement160 between Monsieur Delangre and Madame Rastoil:
'There's a young man there, Porquier, who is very much embarrassed in his mind——Is it Angéline or is it Aurélie whom he ought to choose? Guess, if you can, and name, if you dare.'
Meantime Abbé Faujas was very polite and amiable161 to all his visitors, even to the terrible Condamin who caused so much disquietude. He effaced162 himself as much as possible, spoke but little, and allowed the rival sets of guests to coalesce163, seemingly experiencing the quiet satisfaction of a host who is happy to be the means of bringing together a number of distinguished164 people intended by nature to be on good terms with one another. Marthe had upon two occasions made her appearance, thinking that she would put the visitors more at their ease by doing so; but it distressed her to find the Abbé in the midst of so many people; she much preferred to see him walking slowly and seriously in the quiet of the arbour. The Trouches on their side had resumed their Tuesday watchings behind their curtains, while Madame Faujas and Rose craned their heads from the doorway[Pg 209] and admired the graceful85 manner in which his reverence received the chief people of Plassans.
'Ah, madame!' said the cook, 'it is very easy to see that he is a distinguished man. Look at him bowing to the sub-prefect. I admire his reverence the most; though, indeed, the sub-prefect is a fine man. Why do you never go into the garden to them? If I were you, I would put on a silk dress and join them. You are his mother, you know, after all.'
But the old peasant woman shrugged her shoulders.
'Oh! he isn't ashamed of me,' she said; 'but I should be afraid of putting him out. I prefer to watch him from here; and I enjoy it more.'
'Yes, I can understand that. Ah! you must be very proud of him. He isn't a bit like Monsieur Mouret, who nailed the door up, so that no one might open it. We never had a visitor, there was never a dinner to be prepared for anyone, and the garden was so desolate that it made one feel quite frightened in the evenings. Monsieur Mouret would certainly never have known how to receive visitors. He always pulled a sour face if one ever happened to come by chance. Don't you think, now, that he ought to take an example from his reverence? If I were he, I should come down and amuse myself in the garden with the others, instead of shutting myself up all alone. I would take my proper place. But there he is, shut up in his room, as though he were afraid they would give him some nasty illness! By the way, shall we go up sometime and try to find out what he does?'
One Tuesday they did go upstairs together. The visitors were very merry that afternoon, and the sound of their laughter floated into the house through the open windows, while a tradesman, who had brought a hamper165 of wine for the Trouches, made a clatter166 on the second floor as he collected the empty bottles together. Mouret was securely locked up in his office.
'The key prevents me from seeing,' said Rose, who had applied167 her eye to the key-hole.
'Wait a moment,' murmured Madame Faujas, and she carefully turned the end of the key, which protruded168 slightly through the lock. Mouret was sitting in the middle of the room in front of a big empty table, covered with a thick layer of dust. There was not a single paper nor book upon it. He[Pg 210] was lying back in his chair, his arms hanging listlessly beside him while he gazed blankly into space. He sat perfectly still, without the slightest movement.
The two women looked at him in silence, one after the other.
'He has made me feel cold to the very marrow,' exclaimed Rose, as they went downstairs again. 'Did you notice his eyes? And what a filthy state the room is in! He hasn't laid a pen on that desk for a couple of months past, and to think that I fancied he spent all his time there writing. Fancy him amusing himself like that—shutting himself up all alone like a corpse, when the house is so bright and cheerful!'
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1
wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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2
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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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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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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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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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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9
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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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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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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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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13
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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14
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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15
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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17
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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figs
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| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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23
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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24
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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25
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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27
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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28
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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29
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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30
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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32
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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33
apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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34
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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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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38
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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39
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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41
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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42
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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43
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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44
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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45
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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46
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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47
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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48
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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49
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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50
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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51
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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52
nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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53
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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55
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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56
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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57
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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58
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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59
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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60
scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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61
subsisting
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的现在分词 ) | |
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62
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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63
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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64
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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65
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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66
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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67
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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68
stank
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| n. (英)坝，堰，池塘 动词stink的过去式 | |
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69
deprivation
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| n.匮乏；丧失；夺去，贫困 | |
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70
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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71
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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72
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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73
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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74
alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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75
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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76
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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77
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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78
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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79
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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80
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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81
tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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82
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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83
inquisitively
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| 过分好奇地； 好问地 | |
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84
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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85
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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86
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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87
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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88
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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89
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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90
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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91
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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92
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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93
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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95
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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96
plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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97
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
intoxicate
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| vt.使喝醉，使陶醉，使欣喜若狂 | |
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99
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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100
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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101
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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102
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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103
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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104
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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105
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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106
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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107
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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108
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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109
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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110
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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111
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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112
viper
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| n.毒蛇；危险的人 | |
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113
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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114
sweepings
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| n.笼统的( sweeping的名词复数 )；（在投票等中的）大胜；影响广泛的；包罗万象的 | |
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115
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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116
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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117
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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118
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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119
jeeringly
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| adv.嘲弄地 | |
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120
everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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121
embroiled
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| adj.卷入的；纠缠不清的 | |
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122
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
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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124
catered
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| 提供饮食及服务( cater的过去式和过去分词 )； 满足需要，适合 | |
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125
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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126
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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127
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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128
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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129
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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130
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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131
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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132
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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133
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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134
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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135
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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136
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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137
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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138
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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139
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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140
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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141
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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142
starch
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| n.淀粉；vt.给...上浆 | |
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143
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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144
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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145
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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146
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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147
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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148
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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149
deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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150
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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151
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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152
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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153
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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154
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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156
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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157
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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158
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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159
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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160
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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161
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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162
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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163
coalesce
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| v.联合，结合，合并 | |
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164
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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165
hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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166
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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167
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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168
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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