As he was leaving his house one Sunday, he saw Rose talking with much animation4 to Monsieur Rastoil's cook on the pathway of the Rue5 Balande. The two servants became silent when they caught sight of him. They looked at him with such a peculiar6 expression that he felt behind him to ascertain7 whether his handkerchief was hanging out of his pocket. When he reached the Place of the Sub-Prefecture he turned his head, looked back, and saw them still standing8 in the same place. Rose was imitating the reeling of a drunken man, while the president's cook was laughing loudly.
'I am walking too quickly and they are making fun of me,' thought Mouret.
He thereupon slackened his pace. As he passed through the Rue de la Banne towards the market, the shopkeepers ran to their doors and watched him curiously9. He gave a little nod to the butcher, who looked confused and did not return the salutation. The baker's wife, to whom he raised his hat, seemed quite alarmed and hastily stepped backwards10. The greengrocer, the pastrycook and the grocer pointed11 him out to each other from opposite sides of the street. As he went along there was ever excitement behind him, people clustered together in groups, and a great deal of talking, mingled12 with laughs and grins, ensued.
'Did you notice how quickly he was walking?'
'Yes, indeed, when he wanted to stride across the gutter13 he almost jumped.'
'It is said that they are all like that.'
[Pg 230]
'I felt quite frightened. Why is he allowed to come out? It oughtn't to be permitted.'
Mouret was beginning to feel timid, and dared not venture to look round again. He experienced a vague uneasiness, though he could not feel quite sure that it was about himself that the people were all talking. He quickened his steps and began to swing his arms about. He regretted that he had put on his old overcoat, a hazel-coloured one and no longer of a fashionable cut. When he reached the market-place, he hesitated for a moment, and then boldly strode into the midst of the greengrocers' stalls. The mere14 sight of him caused quite a commotion15 there.
All the housewives of Plassans formed in a line about his path, the market-women stood up by their stalls, with their hands on their hips16, and stared hard at him. People even pushed one another to get a sight of him, and some of the women mounted on to the benches in the corn-market. Mouret still further quickened his steps and tried to disengage himself from the crowd, not as yet able to believe that it was he who was causing all this excitement.
'Well, anyone would think that his arms were windmill sails,' said a peasant-woman who was selling fruit.
'He flies on like a shot; he nearly upset my stall,' exclaimed another woman, a greengrocer.
'Stop him! stop him!' the millers17 cried facetiously18. Then Mouret, overcome by curiosity, halted and rose on tip-toes to see what was the matter. He imagined that someone had just been detected thieving. But a loud burst of laughter broke out from the crowd, and there were shouts and hisses19, all sorts of calls and cries.
'There's no harm in him; don't hurt him.'
'Ah! I'm not so sure of that. I shouldn't like to trust myself too near him. He gets up in the night and strangles people.'
'He certainly looks a bad one.'
'Has it come upon him suddenly?'
'Yes, indeed, all at once. And he used to be so kind and gentle! I'm going away; all this distresses21 me. Here are the three sous for the turnips22.'
Mouret had just recognised Olympe in the midst of a group of women, and he went towards her. She had been buying some magnificent peaches, which she carried in a very fashionable-looking handbag. And she was evidently relating some[Pg 231] very moving story, for all the gossips around her were breaking out into exclamations24 and clasping their hands with expressions of pity.
'Then,' said she, 'he caught her by the hair, and he would have cut her throat with a razor which was lying on the chest of drawers if we hadn't arrived just in time to prevent the murder. But don't say anything to her about it; it would only bring her more trouble.'
'What trouble?' asked Mouret in amazement25. The listeners hurried away, and Olympe assumed an expression of careful watchfulness26 as, in her turn, she warily27 slipped off, saying:
'Don't excite yourself, Monsieur Mouret. You had better go back home.'
Mouret took refuge in a little lane that led to the Cours Sauvaire. Thereupon the shouts increased in violence, and for a few moments he was pursued by the angry uproar28 of the market-folk.
'What is the matter with them to-day?' he wondered. 'Could it be me that they were jeering29 at? But I never heard my name mentioned. Something out of the common must have happened.'
He then took off his hat and examined it, imagining that perhaps some street lad had thrown a handful of mud at it. It was all right, however, and there was nothing fastened on to his coat-tails. This examination soothed30 him a little, and he resumed his sedate walk through the silent lane, and quietly turned on to the Cours Sauvaire.
The usual groups of friends were sitting on the benches there.
'Hallo! here's Mouret!' cried the retired captain, with an expression of great astonishment31.
The liveliest curiosity became manifest on the sleepy faces of the others. They stretched out their necks without rising from their seats, while Mouret stood in front of them. They examined him minutely from head to foot.
'Ah! you are taking a little stroll?' said the captain, who seemed the boldest.
'Yes, just a short stroll,' replied Mouret, in a listless fashion. 'It's a very fine day.'
The company exchanged meaning smiles. They were feeling chilly32 and the sky had just become overcast33.
'Very fine,' said a retired tanner; 'you are easily pleased.[Pg 232] It is true, however, that you are already wearing winter clothes. What a funny overcoat that is of yours!'
The smiles now grew into grins and titters. A sudden idea seemed to strike Mouret.
'Just look and tell me,' said he, suddenly turning round, 'have I got a sun on my back?'
The retired almond-dealers could no longer keep serious, but burst into loud laughter. The captain, who was the jester of the company, winked34.
'A sun?' he asked, 'where? I can only see a moon.'
The others shook with laughter. They thought the captain excessively witty35.
'A moon?' said Mouret; 'be kind enough to remove it. It has caused me much inconvenience.'
The captain gave him three or four taps on the back, and then exclaimed:
'There, you are rid of it now. But it must, indeed, be extremely inconvenient36 to have a moon on one's back. You are not looking very well.'
'I am not very well,' Mouret replied in his listless indifferent way.
Then, imagining that he heard a titter, he added:
'But I am very well taken care of at home. My wife is very kind and attentive37, and quite spoils me. But I need rest, and that is the reason why I don't come out now as I used to do. Directly I am better, I shall look after business again.'
'But they say it is your wife who is not very well,' interrupted the retired tanner bluntly.
'My wife! There is nothing the matter with her! It is a pack of falsehoods! There is nothing the matter with her—nothing at all. People say things against us because—because we keep quietly at home. Ill, indeed! my wife! She is very strong, and never even has so much the matter with her as—as a headache.'
He went on speaking in short sentences, stammering38 and hesitating in the uneasy way of a man who is telling falsehoods; full too of the embarrassment39 of a whilom gossip who has become tongue-tied. The retired traders shook their heads with pitying looks, and the captain tapped his forehead with his finger. A former hatter of the suburbs who had scrutinised Mouret from his cravat40 to the bottom button of his overcoat, was now absorbed in the examination of his[Pg 233] boots. The lace of the one on the left foot had come undone41, and this seemed to the hatter a most extraordinary circumstance. He nudged his neighbours' elbows, and winked as he called their attention to the loosened lace. Soon the whole bench had eyes for nothing else but the lace. It was the last proof. The men shrugged42 their shoulders in a way that seemed to imply that they had lost their last spark of hope.
'Mouret,' said the captain, in a paternal43 fashion, 'fasten up your boot-lace.'
Mouret glanced at his feet, but did not seem to understand; and he went on talking. Then, as no one replied, he became silent, and after standing there for a moment or two longer he quietly continued his walk.
'He will fall, I'm sure,' exclaimed the master-tanner, who had risen from his seat that he might keep Mouret longer in view.
When Mouret got to the end of the Cours Sauvaire, and passed in front of the Young Men's Club, he was again greeted with the low laughs which had followed him since he had set foot out of doors. He could distinctly see Séverin Rastoil, who was standing at the door of the club, pointing him out to a group of young men. Clearly, he thought, it was himself who was thus providing sport for the town. He bent44 his head and was seized with a kind of fear, which he could not explain to himself, as he hastily stepped past the houses. Just as he was about to turn into the Rue Canquoin, he heard a noise behind him, and, turning his head, he saw three lads following him; two of them were big, impudent-looking boys, while the third was a very little one, with a serious face. The latter was holding in his hand a dirty orange which he had picked out of the gutter. Mouret made his way along the Rue Canquoin, and then, crossing the Place des Récollets, he reached the Rue de la Banne. The lads were still following him.
'Do you want your ears pulled?' he called out, suddenly stepping up to them.
They dashed on one side, shouting and laughing, and made their escape on their hands and knees. Mouret turned very red, realising that he was an object of ridicule45. He felt a perfect fear of crossing the Place of the Sub-Prefecture, and passing in front of the Rougons' windows with a following of street-arabs, whom he could hear, increasing in numbers and boldness, behind him. As he went on, he was obliged to step[Pg 234] out of his way to avoid his mother-in-law, who was returning from vespers with Madame de Condamin.
'Wolf! wolf!' cried the lads.
Mouret, with perspiration46 breaking out on his brow, and his feet stumbling against the flag-stones, overheard old Madame Rougon say to the wife of the conservator of rivers and forests:
'See! there he is, the scoundrel! It is disgraceful; we can't tolerate it much longer.'
Thereupon Mouret could no longer restrain himself from setting off at a run. With swinging arms and a look of distraction47 upon his face, he rushed into the Rue Balande while some ten or a dozen street-arabs dashed after him. It seemed to him as though all the shopkeepers of the Rue de la Banne, the market-women, the promenaders of the Cours, the young men from the club, the Rougons, the Condamins—all the people of Plassans, in fact—were surging onwards behind his back, breaking out into laughs and jeers48, as he sped up the hilly street. The lads stamped and slid over the pavement, making indeed as much noise in that usually quiet neighbourhood as a pack of hounds might have made.
'Catch him!' they screamed.
'Hie! What a scarecrow he looks in that overcoat of his!'
'Some of you go round by the Rue Taravelle, and then you'll nab him!'
'Cut along! cut along as hard as you can go!'
Mouret, now quite frantic49, made a desperate rush towards his door, but his foot slipped and he tumbled upon the foot-pavement, where he lay for a few moments, utterly50 overcome. The lads, afraid lest he should kick out at them, formed a circle around and vented51 screams of triumph, while the smallest of them, gravely stepping forward, threw the rotten orange at Mouret. It flattened52 itself against his left eye. He rose up with difficulty, and went in to his house without attempting to wipe himself. Rose was forced to come out with a broom and drive the young ragamuffins away.
From that Sunday forward all Plassans was convinced that Mouret was a lunatic who ought to be placed under restraint. The most surprising statements were made in support of this belief. It was said, for instance, that he shut himself up for days together in a perfectly53 empty room which had not been touched with a broom for a whole year; and[Pg 235] those who circulated this story vouched54 for its truth, as they had it, they said, from Mouret's own cook. The accounts differed as to what he did in that empty room. The cook said that he pretended to be dead, a statement which thrilled the whole neighbourhood with horror. The market-people firmly believed that he kept a coffin55 concealed56 in the room, laid himself at full length in it, with his eyes open and his hands upon his breast, and remained like that from morning till night.
'The attack had been threatening him for a long time past,' Olympe remarked in every shop she entered. 'It was brooding in him; he had for a long time been very melancholy57 and low-spirited, hiding in out-of-the-way corners, just like an animal, you know, that feels ill. The very first day I set foot in the house I said to my husband, "The landlord seems to be in a bad way." His eyes were quite yellow and he had such a queer look about him. Afterwards he went on in the strangest way; he had all sorts of extraordinary whims58 and crotchets. He used to count every lump of sugar, and lock everything up, even the bread. He was so dreadfully miserly that his poor wife hadn't even a pair of boots to put on. Ah! poor thing, she has a dreadful time of it, and I pity her from the bottom of my heart. Imagine the life she leads with a madman who can't even behave decently at table! He throws his napkin away in the middle of dinner, and stalks off, looking stupefied, after having made a horrible mess in his plate. And such a temper he has, too! He used to make the most terrible scenes just because the mustard pot wasn't in its right place. But now he doesn't speak at all, though he glares like a wild beast, and springs at people's throats without uttering a word. Ah! I could tell you some strange stories, if I liked.'
When she had thus excited her listeners' curiosity, and they began to press her with questions, she added:
'No, no; it is no business of mine. Madame Mouret is a perfect saint, and bears her suffering like a true Christian60. She has her own ideas on the matter, and one must respect them. But, would you believe it, he tried to cut her throat with a razor!'
The story she told was always the same, but it never failed to produce a great effect. Fists were clenched61, and women talked of strangling Mouret. If any incredulous person shook his head, he was put to confusion by a summons to explain[Pg 236] the dreadful scenes which took place every night. Only a madman, people said, was capable of flying in that way at his wife's throat the moment she went to bed. There was a spice of mystery in the affair which helped materially to spread the story about the town. For nearly a month the rumours62 went on gaining strength. Yet, in spite of Olympe's tragical63 gossipings, peace had been restored at the Mourets' and the nights now passed in quietness. Marthe exhibited much nervous impatience64 when her friends, without openly speaking on the subject, advised her to be very careful.
'You will only go your own way, I suppose,' said Rose. 'Well, you'll see, he will begin again, and we shall find you murdered one of these fine mornings.'
Madame Rougon now ostentatiously called at the house every other day. She entered it with an air of extreme uneasiness, and, as soon as the door was opened, she asked Rose:
'Well! has anything happened to-day?'
Then, as soon as she caught sight of her daughter, she kissed her, and threw her arms round her with a great show of affection, as though she had been afraid that she might not find her alive. She passed the most dreadful nights, she said; she trembled at every ring of the bell, imagining that it was the signal of the tidings of some dreadful calamity65; and she no longer had any pleasure in living. When Marthe told her that she was in no danger whatever she looked at her with an expression of admiration66, and exclaimed:
'You are a perfect angel! If I were not here to look after you, you would allow yourself to be murdered without raising even a sigh. But make yourself easy; I am watching over you, and am taking all precautions. The first time your husband raises his little finger against you, he will hear from me.'
She did not explain herself any further. The truth of the matter was that she had visited every official in Plassans, and had in this way confidentially68 related her daughter's troubles to the mayor, the sub-prefect, and the presiding judge of the tribunal, making them promise to observe absolute secrecy69 about the matter.
'It is a mother in despair who tells you this,' she said with tears in her eyes. 'I am giving the honour and reputation of my poor child into your keeping. My husband would take to his bed if there were to be a public scandal, but I can't[Pg 237] wait till there is some fatal catastrophe70. Advise me, and tell me what I ought to do.'
The officials showed her the greatest sympathy and kindness. They did their best to reassure71 her, they promised to keep a careful watch over Madame Mouret without in any way letting it be known, and to take some active step at the slightest sign of danger. In her interviews with Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies and Monsieur Rastoil, she drew their especial attention to the fact that, as they were her son-in-law's immediate72 neighbours, they would be able to interfere73 at once in the event of anything going wrong.
This story of a lunatic in his senses, who awaited the stroke of midnight to become mad, imparted much interest to the meetings of the guests in Mouret's garden. They showed great alacrity74 in going to greet Abbé Faujas. The priest came downstairs at four o'clock, and did the honours of the arbour with much urbanity, but in talking he persisted in keeping in the background, merely nodding in answer to what was said to him. For the first few days, only indirect allusions75 were made to the drama which was being acted in the house, but one Tuesday Monsieur Maffre, who was gazing at it with an uneasy expression, fixing his eyes upon one of the windows of the first floor, ventured to ask:
'That is the room, isn't it?'
Then, in low tones, the two parties began to discuss the strange story which was exciting the neighbourhood. The priest made some vague remarks: it was very sad, and much to be regretted, said he, and then he pitied everybody, without venturing to say anything more explicit76.
'But you, Doctor,' asked Madame de Condamin of Doctor Porquier, 'you who are the family doctor, what do you think about it all?'
Doctor Porquier shook his head for some time before making any reply. He at first affected77 a discreet78 reserve.
'It is a very delicate matter,' he muttered. 'Madame Mouret is not robust79, and as for Monsieur Mouret——'
'I have seen Madame Rougon,' said the sub-prefect. 'She is very uneasy.'
'Her son-in-law has always been obnoxious80 to her,' Monsieur de Condamin exclaimed bluntly. 'I met Mouret myself at the club the other day, and he gave me a beating at piquet. He seemed to me to be as sensible as ever. The good man was never a Solomon, you know.'
[Pg 238]
'I have not said that he is mad, in the common interpretation81 of the word,' said the doctor, thinking that he was being attacked: 'but neither will I say that I think it prudent82 to allow him to remain at large.'
This statement caused considerable emotion, and Monsieur Rastoil instinctively83 glanced at the wall which separated the two gardens. Every face was turned towards the doctor.
'I once knew,' he continued, 'a charming lady, who kept up a large establishment, giving dinner-parties, receiving the most distinguished84 members of society, and showing much sense and wit in her conversation. Well, when that lady retired to her bedroom, she locked herself in, and spent a part of the night in crawling round the room on her hands and knees, barking like a dog. The people in the house long imagined that she really had a dog in the room with her. This lady was an example of what we doctors call lucid85 madness.'
Abbé Surin's face was wreathed with twinkling smiles as he glanced at Monsieur Rastoil's daughters, who appeared much amused by this story of a fashionable lady turning herself into a dog. Doctor Porquier blew his nose very gravely.
'I could give you a score of other similar instances,' he continued, 'of people who appeared to be in full possession of their senses, and who yet committed the most extravagant86 actions as soon as they found themselves alone.'
'For my part,' said Abbé Bourrette, 'I once had a very strange penitent87. She had a mania88 for killing89 flies, and could never see one without feeling an irresistible90 desire to capture it. She used to keep them at home strung upon knitting needles. When she came to confess, she would weep bitterly and accuse herself of the death of the poor creatures, and believe that she was damned. But I could never correct her of the habit.'
This story was very well received, and even Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies and Monsieur Rastoil themselves condescended91 to smile.
'There is no great harm done,' said the doctor, 'so long as one confines one's self to killing flies. But the conduct of all lucid madmen is not so innocent as that. Some of them torture their families by some concealed vice93, which has reached the degree of a mania; there are other wretched ones who drink and give themselves up to secret debauchery, or[Pg 239] who steal because they can't help stealing, or who are mad with pride or jealousy94 or ambition. They are able to control themselves in public, to carry out the most complicated schemes and projects, to converse95 rationally and without giving any one any reason to suspect their mental weakness, but as soon as they get back to their own private life, and are alone with their victims, they surrender themselves to their delirious96 ideas and become brutal97 savages98. If they don't murder straight out, they do it gradually.'
'Well, now, what about Monsieur Mouret?' asked Madame de Condamin.
'Monsieur Mouret has always been a teasing, restless, despotic sort of man. His cerebral100 derangement101 has increased with his years. I should not hesitate now to class him amongst dangerous madmen. I had a patient who used to shut herself up, just as he does, in an unoccupied room, and spend the whole day in contriving102 the most abominable103 actions.'
'But, doctor, if that is your opinion, you ought to proffer104 your advice,' exclaimed Monsieur Rastoil; 'you ought to warn those who are concerned.'
Doctor Porquier seemed slightly embarrassed.
'Well, we will see about it,' he said, smiling again with his fashionable doctor's smile. 'If it should be necessary and matters should become serious, I will do my duty.'
'Pooh!' cried Monsieur de Condamin satirically; 'the greatest lunatics are not those who have the reputation of being so. No brain is sound for a mad-doctor. The doctor here has just been reciting to us a page out of a book on lucid madness, which I have read, and which is as interesting as a novel.'
Abbé Faujas had been listening with curiosity, though he had taken no part in the conversation. Then, as soon as there was a pause, he remarked that their talk about mad people had a depressing effect upon the ladies, and suggested that the subject should be changed. Everybody's curiosity was fully59 awakened105, however, and the two sets of guests began to keep a sharp watch upon Mouret's behaviour. The latter now came out into the garden for an hour a day, while the Faujases remained at table with his wife. Directly he appeared there, he came under the active surveillance of the Rastoils and the frequenters of the Sub-Prefecture. He could not stand for a moment in front of a bed of vegetables or[Pg 240] examine a plant, or even make a gesture of any sort, without exciting in the gardens on his right and left the most unfavourable comments. Everyone was turning against him. Monsieur de Condamin was the only person who still defended him. One day the fair Octavie said to him as they were at luncheon106:
'What difference can it make to you whether Mouret is mad or not?'
'To me, my dear? Absolutely none,' he said in astonishment.
'Very well, then, allow that he is mad, since everyone says he is. I don't know why you always persist in holding a contrary opinion to your wife's. It won't prove to your advantage, my dear. Have the intelligence, at Plassans, not to be too intelligent.'
Monsieur de Condamin smiled.
'You are right, my dear, as you always are,' he said gallantly108; 'you know that I have put my fortune in your hands—don't wait dinner for me. I am going to ride to Saint-Eutrope to have a look at some timber they are felling.'
Then he left the room, biting the end off a cigar.
Madame de Condamin was well aware that he had a flame for a young girl in the neighbourhood of Saint-Eutrope; but she was very tolerant and had even saved him twice from the consequences of scandalous intrigues109. On his side, he felt very easy about his wife; he knew that she was much too prudent to give cause for scandal at Plassans.
'You would never guess how Mouret spends his time in that room where he shuts himself up!' the conservator of rivers and forests said the next morning when he called at the Sub-Prefecture. 'He is counting all the s's in the Bible. He is afraid of making any mistake about the matter, and he has already recommenced counting them for the third time. Ah! you were quite right; he is cracked from top to bottom!'
From this time forward Monsieur de Condamin was very hard upon Mouret. He even exaggerated matters and used all his skill to invent absurd stories to scare the Rastoils; but it was Monsieur Maffre whom he made his special victim. He told him one day that he had seen Mouret standing at one of the windows overlooking the street in a state of complete nudity, having only a woman's cap on his head and bowing[Pg 241] to the empty air. Another day he asserted with amazing assurance that he had seen Mouret dancing like a savage99 in a little wood three leagues away; and when the magistrate110 seemed to doubt this story, he appeared to be vexed111 and declared that Mouret might very easily have got down out of his house by the water-spout without being noticed. The frequenters of the Sub-Prefecture smiled, but the next morning the Rastoils' cook spread these extraordinary stories about the town, where the legend of the man who beat his wife was assuming extraordinary proportions.
One afternoon Aurélie, the elder of Monsieur Rastoil's two daughters, related with a blushing face how on the previous night, having gone to look out of her window about midnight, she had seen their neighbour promenading112 about his garden, carrying a big altar candle. Monsieur de Condamin thought the girl was making fun of him, but she gave the most minute details.
'He held the candle in his left hand; and he knelt down on the ground and dragged himself along on his knees, sobbing113 as he did so.'
'Can it be possible that he has committed a murder and has buried the body of his victim in his garden?' exclaimed Monsieur Maffre, who had turned quite pale.
Then the two sets of guests agreed to watch some evening till midnight if necessary, to clear the matter up. The following night, indeed, they kept on the alert, in both gardens, but Mouret did not appear. Three nights were wasted in the same way. The Sub-Prefecture party was going to abandon the watch, and Madame de Condamin declared that she could not stay any longer under the chestnut114 trees, where it was so dreadfully dark, when all at once a light was seen flickering115 through the inky blackness of the ground floor of Mouret's house. When Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies' attention was drawn116 to this, he slipped into the Impasse117 des Chevillottes to invite the Rastoils to come on to his terrace, which overlooked the neighbouring garden. The presiding judge, who was on the watch with his daughters behind the cascade118, hesitated for a moment, reflecting whether he might not compromise himself politically by going to the sub-prefect's in this way, but as the night was very black, and his daughter Aurélie was most anxious to have the truth of her report manifested, he followed Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies with stealthy steps through the darkness. It was in this manner that a[Pg 242] representative of Legitimacy119 at Plassans for the first time entered the grounds of a Bonapartist official.
'Don't make a noise,' whispered the sub-prefect. 'Lean over the terrace.'
There Monsieur Rastoil and his daughters found Doctor Porquier and Madame de Condamin and her husband. The darkness was so dense120 that they exchanged salutations without being able to see one another. Then they all held their breath. Mouret had just appeared upon the steps, with a candle, which was stuck in a great kitchen candlestick.
'You see he has got a candle,' whispered Aurélie.
No one dissented121. The fact was quite incontrovertible; Mouret certainly was carrying a candle. He came slowly down the steps, turned to the left and then stood motionless before a bed of lettuces122. Then he raised his candle to throw a light upon the plants. His face looked quite yellow amidst the black night.
'What a dreadful face!' exclaimed Madame de Condamin. 'I shall dream of it, I'm certain. Is he asleep, doctor?'
'No, no,' replied Doctor Porquier, 'he is not a somnambulist; he is wide awake. Do you notice how fixed123 his gaze is? Observe, too, the abruptness124 of his movements——'
'Hush125! hush!' interrupted Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies; 'we don't require a lecture just now.'
The most complete silence then fell. Mouret had stridden over the box-edging and was kneeling in the midst of the lettuces. He held his candle down, and began searching along the trenches126 underneath127 the spreading leaves of the plants. Every now and then he made a slight examination and seemed to be crushing something and stamping it into the ground. This went on for nearly half an hour.
'He is crying; it is just as I told you,' Aurélie complacently128 remarked.
'It is really very terrifying,' Madame de Condamin exclaimed nervously129. 'Pray let us go back into the house.'
Mouret dropped his candle and it went out. They could hear him uttering exclamations of annoyance130 as he went back up the steps, stumbling against them in the dark. The Rastoil girls broke out into little cries of terror, and did not quite recover from their fright till they were again in the brightly lighted drawing-room, where Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies insisted upon the company refreshing131 themselves with some tea and biscuits. Madame de Condamin, who was[Pg 243] still trembling with alarm, huddled132 up on a couch, said, with a touching133 smile, that she had never felt so overcome before, not even on the morning when she had had the reprehensible134 curiosity to go and see a criminal executed.
'It is strange,' remarked Monsieur Rastoil, who had been buried in thought for a moment or two; 'but Mouret looked as if he were searching for slugs amongst his lettuces. The gardens are quite ravaged135 by them, and I have been told that they can only be satisfactorily exterminated136 in the night-time.'
'Slugs, indeed!' cried Monsieur de Condamin. 'Do you suppose he troubles himself about slugs? Do people go hunting for slugs with a candle? No; I agree with Monsieur Maffre in thinking that there is some crime at the bottom of the matter. Did this man Mouret ever have a servant who disappeared mysteriously? There ought to be an inquiry137 made.'
Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies thought that his friend the conservator of rivers and forests was theorising a little further than the facts warranted. He took a sip23 at his tea and said:
'No, no; my dear sir. He is mad and has extraordinary fancies, but that is all. It is quite bad enough as it is.'
He then took a plate of biscuits, handed it to Monsieur Rastoil's daughter with a gallant107 bow, and after putting it down again continued:
'And to think this wretched man has mixed himself up in politics! I don't want to insinuate138 anything against your alliance with the Republicans, my dear judge, but you must allow that in Mouret the Marquis de Lagrifoul had a very peculiar supporter.'
Monsieur Rastoil, who had become very grave, made a vague gesture, without saying anything.
'And he still busies himself with these matters. It is politics, perhaps, which have turned his brain,' said the fair Octavie, as she delicately wiped her lips. 'They say he takes the greatest interest in the approaching elections, don't they, my dear?'
She addressed this question to her husband, casting a glance at him as she spoke139.
'He is quite bursting over the matter!' cried Monsieur de Condamin. 'He declares that he can entirely140 control the election, and can have a shoemaker returned if he chooses.'
'You are exaggerating,' said Doctor Porquier. 'He no[Pg 244] longer has the influence he used to have; the whole town jeers at him.'
'Ah! you are mistaken! If he chooses, he can lead the old quarter of the town and a great number of villages to the poll. He is mad, it is true, but that is a recommendation. I myself consider him still a very sensible person, for a Republican.'
This attempt at wit met with distinct success. Monsieur Rastoil's daughters broke out into school-girl laughs and the presiding judge himself nodded his head in approval. He threw off his serious expression, and, without looking at the sub-prefect, he said:
'Lagrifoul has not rendered us, perhaps, the services we had a right to expect, but a shoemaker would be really too disgraceful for Plassans!'
Then, as though he wanted to prevent any further remarks on the subject, he added quickly: 'Why, it is half-past one o'clock! This is quite an orgie we are having, my dear sub-prefect; we are all very much obliged to you.'
Madame de Condamin wrapped her shawl round her shoulders and contrived141 to have the last word.
'Well,' she said, 'we really must not let the election be controlled by a man who goes and kneels down in the middle of a bed of lettuces after twelve o'clock at night.'
That night became quite historical, and Monsieur de Condamin derived142 much amusement from relating the details of what had occurred to Monsieur de Bourdeu, Monsieur Maffre, and the priests, who had not seen Mouret with his candle. Three days later all the neighbourhood was asserting that the madman who beat his wife had been seen walking about with his head enveloped143 in a sheet. Meantime, the afternoon assemblies under the arbour were much exercised by the possible candidature of Mouret's radical144 shoemaker. They laughed as they studied each other's demeanour. It was a sort of political pulse-feeling. Certain confidential67 statements of his friend the presiding judge induced Monsieur de Bourdeu to believe that a tacit understanding might be arrived at between the Sub-Prefecture and the moderate opposition145 to promote the candidature of himself, and thus inflict146 a crushing defeat upon the Republicans. Possessed147 by this idea, he waxed more and more sarcastic148 against the Marquis de Lagrifoul, and made the most of the latter's blunders in the Chamber149. Monsieur Delangre, who only called at long[Pg 245] intervals150, alleging151 the pressure of his municipal duties as an excuse for his infrequent appearance, smiled softly at each fresh sally of the ex-prefect.
'You've only got to bury the marquis, now, your reverence,' he said one day in Abbé Faujas's ear.
Madame de Condamin, who heard him, turned her head and laid her finger upon her lips with a pretty look of mischief152.
Abbé Faujas now allowed politics to be mentioned in his presence. He even occasionally expressed an opinion in favour of the union of all honest and religious men. Thereupon all present, Monsieur Péqueur des Saulaies, Monsieur Rastoil, Monsieur de Bourdeu, and even Monsieur Maffre, grew quite warm in their expressions of desire for such an agreement. It would be so very easy, they said, for men with a stake in the country to come to an understanding together to work for the firm establishment of the great principles without which no society could hold together. Then the conversation turned upon property, and family and religion. Sometimes Mouret's name was mentioned, and Monsieur de Condamin once said:
'I never let my wife come here without feeling uneasy. I am really getting alarmed. You will see some strange things happen at the next elections if that man is still at liberty.'
Trouche did his best to frighten Abbé Faujas during the interviews which he had with him every morning. He told him the most alarming stories. The working men of the old quarter of the town, said he, were showing too much interest in Mouret; they talked of coming to see him, of judging his condition for themselves, and taking his advice.
As a rule, the priest merely shrugged his shoulders; but one day Trouche came away from him looking quite delighted. He went off to Olympe and kissed her, exclaiming:
'This time, my dear, I've managed it!'
'Has he given you leave?' she asked.
'Yes, full leave. We shall be delightfully153 comfortable when we have got rid of the old man.'
Olympe was still in bed. She dived under the bed-clothes, and wriggled154 about and laughed gleefully.
'We shall have everything to do as we like with, then, sha'n't we? I shall take another bedroom, and go out into[Pg 246] the garden whenever I like, and do all my cooking in the kitchen. My brother will have to let us do all that. You must have managed to frighten him very much.'
It was not till about ten o'clock that evening that Trouche made his appearance at the low café where he was accustomed to meet Guillaume Porquier and other wild young fellows. They joked him about the lateness of the hour, and playfully accused him of having been out on the ramparts courting one of the girls of the Home of the Virgin155. Jests of this kind generally pleased him, but that night he remained very grave. He declared that he had been engaged with business—very serious business. It was only about midnight, when he had emptied the decanters on the counter, that he became more expansive. Then he began to talk familiarly to Guillaume, leaning the while against the wall, stammering, and lighting156 his pipe afresh between every two sentences.
'I saw your father this evening. He is a very good fellow. I wanted a paper from him. He was very kind, very kind indeed. He gave it to me. I have it here in my pocket. He didn't want to give it me at first, though. He said it was only the family's business. But I told him, "I am the family; I have got the wife's orders." You know her, don't you? a dear little woman. She seemed quite pleased when I went to talk the matter over with her beforehand. Then he gave me the paper. You can feel it here in my pocket.'
Guillaume looked at him, concealing157 his extreme curiosity with an incredulous laugh.
'I'm telling you the truth,' continued the drunkard. 'The paper's here in my pocket. Can't you feel it?'
'Oh, it's only a newspaper!' said Guillaume.
At this, Trouche sniggered, and drew a large envelope from the pocket of his overcoat, and laid it on the table amidst the cups and glasses. For a moment, though Guillaume had reached out his hand, he prevented him from taking it, but then he allowed him to have it, laughing loudly the while. The paper proved to be a most detailed158 statement by Doctor Porquier with respect to the mental condition of Fran?ois Mouret, householder, of Plassans.
'Are they going to shut him up, then?' asked Guillaume, handing back the paper.
'That's no business of yours, my boy,' replied Trouche, who had now become distrustful again. 'This paper here is for his wife. I am merely a friend who is glad to do a[Pg 247] service. She will act as she pleases. However, she can't go on letting herself be half murdered, poor lady!'
By the time they were turned out of the café he was so drunk that Guillaume had to accompany him to the Rue Balande. He wanted to lie down and go to sleep on every seat on the Cours Sauvaire. When they reached the Place of the Sub-Prefecture, he began to shed tears and stutter:
'I've no friends now; everyone despises me just because I'm poor. But you are a good-hearted young fellow, and you shall come and have coffee with us when we get into possession. If the Abbé interferes159 with us, we'll send him to keep the other one company. He isn't very sharp, the Abbé, in spite of all his grand airs. I can persuade him into believing anything. But you are a real friend, aren't you? Mouret is done for, old chap; we'll drink his wine together.'
When Guillaume had seen Trouche to his door, he walked back through the sleeping town and went and whistled softly before Monsieur Maffre's house. It was a signal he was making. The young Maffres, whom their father locked up in their bedroom, opened a window on the first floor and descended92 to the ground by the help of the bars with which the ground-floor windows were protected. Every night they thus went off to the haunts of vice in the company of Guillaume Porquier.
'Well,' he said to them, when they had reached the dark paths near the ramparts, 'we needn't trouble ourselves now. If my father talks any more about sending me off anywhere, I shall have something serious to say to him. I'll bet you that I can get elected into the Young Men's Club whenever I like now.'
The following night Marthe had a dreadful attack. She had been present in the morning at a long religious ceremony, the whole of which Olympe had insisted upon seeing. When Rose and the lodgers160 ran into the room upon hearing her piercing screams, they found her lying at the foot of the bed with her forehead gashed161 open. Mouret was kneeling in the midst of the bed-clothes, trembling all over.
'He has killed her this time!' cried the cook.
She seized Mouret in her arms, although he was in his night-dress, pushed him out of the room and into his office—the door of which was on the other side of the landing—then she went back to get a mattress162 and some blankets, which she threw to him. Trouche had set off at a run for Doctor[Pg 248] Porquier. When the doctor arrived he dressed Marthe's wound. If the cut had been a trifle lower down, he said, it would have been fatal. Downstairs in the hall, he declared in the presence of them all that it was necessary to take some active steps, and that Madame Mouret's life could no longer be left at the mercy of a violent madman.
The next morning Marthe was obliged to keep her bed. She was still slightly delirious, and fancied that she saw an iron hand driving a flaming sword into her skull163. Rose absolutely declined to allow Mouret to enter the room. She served him his lunch on a dusty table in his own office. He was still gazing at his plate with a look of stupefaction when Rose ushered164 into the room three men dressed in black.
'Are you the doctors?' he asked. 'How is she getting on?'
'She is better than she was,' replied one of the men.
Mouret began to cut his bread mechanically as though he were going to eat it.
'I wish the children were here,' he said. 'They would look after her, and we should be more lively. It is since the children went away that she has been ill. I am no longer good for anything.'
He raised a piece of bread to his mouth, and heavy tears trickled165 down his face. The man who had already spoken to him now said, casting at the same time a glance at his companions:
'Shall we go and fetch your children?'
'I should like it very much,' replied Mouret, rising from his seat. 'Let us start at once.'
As he went downstairs he saw no one except Trouche and his wife, who were leaning over the balustrade on the second floor, following each step he took with gleaming eyes. Olympe hurried down behind him and rushed into the kitchen, where Rose, in a state of great emotion, was watching out of the window. When a carriage, which was waiting at the door, had driven off with Mouret, she sprang up the staircase again, four steps at a time, and seizing Trouche by his shoulders, made him dance round the landing in a paroxysm of delight.
'He's packed off!' she cried.
Marthe kept her bed for a week. Her mother came to see her every afternoon and manifested the greatest affection. The Faujases and the Trouches succeeded each other in[Pg 249] attendance at her bedside; and even Madame de Condamin called to see her several times. Nothing was said about Mouret, and Rose told her mistress that she thought he had gone to Marseilles. When Marthe, however, was able to come downstairs again, and took her place at table in the dining-room, she began to manifest some astonishment, and inquired uneasily where her husband was.
'Now, my dear lady, don't distress20 yourself,' said Madame Faujas, 'or you will make yourself ill again. It was absolutely necessary that something should be done, and your friends felt bound to consult together and take steps for your protection.'
'You've no reason to regret him, I'm sure,' cried Rose harshly. 'The whole neighbourhood breathes more freely now that he's no longer here. One was always afraid of him setting the place on fire or rushing out into the street with a knife. I used to hide all the knives in my kitchen and Monsieur Rastoil's cook did the same. And your poor mother nearly died of fright. Everybody who has been here while you have been ill, those ladies and gentlemen, they all said to me as I let them out, "It is a good riddance for Plassans." A place is always on the alert when a man like that is free to go about as he likes.'
Marthe listened to this stream of words with dilated166 eyes and pale face. She had let her spoon fall from her hand, and she gazed out of the window in front of her as though some dreadful vision rising from behind the fruit-trees in the garden was filling her with terror.
'Les Tulettes! Les Tulettes!' she gasped167, as she buried her face in her trembling hands.
She fell backwards and was fainting away, when Abbé Faujas, who had finished his soup, grasped her hands, pressing them tightly, and saying in his softest tone:
'Show yourself strong before this trial which God is sending you. He will afford you consolation168 if you do not prove rebellious—He will grant you the happiness you deserve.'
At the pressure of the priest's hands and the tender tone of his voice, Marthe revived and sat up again with flushing cheeks.
'Oh, yes!' she cried, as she burst into sobs169, 'I have great need of happiness; promise me great happiness, I beg you.'
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1
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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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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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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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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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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millers
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| n.（尤指面粉厂的）厂主( miller的名词复数 )；磨房主；碾磨工；铣工 | |
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facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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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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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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42
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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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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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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48
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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49
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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51
vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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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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54
vouched
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| v.保证( vouch的过去式和过去分词 )；担保；确定；确定地说 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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56
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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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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58
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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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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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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64
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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67
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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69
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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70
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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71
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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72
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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73
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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74
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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75
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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76
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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77
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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78
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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79
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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80
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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81
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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82
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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83
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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84
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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85
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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86
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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87
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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88
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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89
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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90
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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91
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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92
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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93
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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94
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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95
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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96
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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97
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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98
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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99
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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100
cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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101
derangement
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| n.精神错乱 | |
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102
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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103
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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104
proffer
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| v.献出，赠送；n.提议，建议 | |
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105
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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106
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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107
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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108
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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109
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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110
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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111
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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112
promenading
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| v.兜风( promenade的现在分词 ) | |
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113
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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114
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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115
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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116
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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impasse
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| n.僵局；死路 | |
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118
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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119
legitimacy
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| n.合法，正当 | |
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120
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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121
dissented
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| 不同意，持异议( dissent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
lettuces
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| n.莴苣，生菜（ lettuce的名词复数 ）；生菜叶 | |
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123
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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124
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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125
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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126
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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128
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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129
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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130
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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131
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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132
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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133
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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134
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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135
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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136
exterminated
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| v.消灭，根绝( exterminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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138
insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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139
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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140
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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141
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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142
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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143
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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145
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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146
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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147
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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148
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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149
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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150
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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151
alleging
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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152
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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153
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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154
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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155
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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156
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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157
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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158
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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159
interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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160
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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161
gashed
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| v.划伤，割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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163
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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164
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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166
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
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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168
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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169
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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