This compromise quieted all the invalid7's uneasiness. He arose and went to see his mother a few moments, making her believe that a slight indisposition was responsible for the change in his countenance9. He asked to be excused from returning till the next day, and so for twenty-four hours, that is, until after the departure of Madame d'Arglade, he could give himself up to almost absolute repose10.
Throughout the day there subsisted11 between the Duke and Caroline an air of mutual12 intelligence and an exchange of glances which had for their subject only the Marquis and his health, but which completely deluded13 Léonie. She went away perfectly14 sure of her facts, but without saying anything to the Marchioness which could lead that old lady to suppose her possessed15 of any penetration16 whatever.
At the close of the week M. de Villemer was much better. Every symptom of aneurism had passed away, and under rational treatment he even regained a certain glow of health, as well as a mental serenity17, to which he had long been a stranger. No one for ten years had taken care of him with the assiduity, the devotedness19, the evenness of temper, the unheard-of charm, with which Mlle de Saint-Geneix contrived21 to surround him: we might even say he had never met with attentions at once so sensible and so tender, for his mother, aside from her lack of active physical strength, had shown herself excitable and over-anxious in the care she had lavished22 on him when his life had before been threatened. She had, indeed, at this time some suspicion of a relapse, when she saw her son more frequently with her, and consequently less devoted18 to his work; but when this idea occurred the crisis had already passed: the good understanding between the Duke and Caroline as to the need of tranquillity24, the absolute ignorance of the servants, few in numbers and therefore very busy, and the serenity of the Marquis himself, all tended to reassure25 her; and at the close of a fortnight she even observed that her son was regaining26 an air of youth and health at which she could but rejoice.
The condition of the Marquis had been carefully concealed28 from Madame d'Arglade. The Duke would in no wise give up the great marriage projected for his brother. He thought Léonie was a foolish chatterbox, and did not care to have it understood in society that his brother's health, at any moment, might give serious cause for alarm. The Duke had thoroughly29 warned Caroline on this point. He was playing with her, in the interests of his brother as he understood them, the double game of preparing her as far as possible, and little by little, for the exercise of an unlimited30 devotion; and to this end, he thought best to remind her, now and then, that the future well-being31 of the family rested entirely32 on the famous marriage. Caroline, then, had no chance to forget this; and relying on the integrity of the two brothers, on her own ideas of duty and the unselfishness of her heart, she walked resolutely33 toward an abyss which might have engulfed34 her. And thus the Duke, naturally kind, and animated35 by the best intentions toward his brother, was coolly working out the misery36 of a poor girl whose personal merit made her worthy37 of the highest places of happiness and consideration.
Fortunately for Mlle de Saint-Geneix, although the conscience of the Marquis was somewhat stupefied, it was not wholly asleep. Besides, his passion was made up of enthusiasm and sincere affection. He insisted that the Duke should be with them almost always, and in his abrupt38 sincerity39 he came near releasing Caroline from her attendance altogether, promising40 not to begin work again without her permission. The moment came even when he did give her this promise to induce her to cease her watch in the library; he had found her there more than once, a guardian41, gently and gayly "savage," over the books and portfolios42, placed, she said, under interdict43 till further orders; but the Duke counteracted44 the effect of this "imprudence" on his brother's part, by telling Caroline, in a very low voice, that she must not trust a promise, given in good faith to be sure, but which Urbain would not have it in his power to keep. "You don't know how absent-minded he is," said the Duke; "when an idea takes hold of him it masters him, and makes him forget all his promises. I have found him myself, more than twenty times, searching over these bookshelves while my back was turned, and when I called out, 'Here, here, you marauder!' he seemed startled out of a revery and looked at me with an air of great surprise."
So Caroline did not relax her watchfulness45. The library was much farther from her room than from that of the Marquis; but yet so near the centre of the house that the constant presence of the young lady reader in this room devoted to study was not likely to strike the servants as anything remarkable46. They saw her there often, sometimes alone, sometimes with the Duke or the Marquis, more frequently with both, although the Duke had a thousand pretexts47 for leaving her alone with his brother; but even then the doors always open, the book often in Caroline's hands, the evident interest with which she was reading, and lastly, more than all this, the real truth of the situation,—truth, which has more power than the best-planned deception,—removed every pretext48 and even every desire for malicious49 comment.
In this state of things Caroline was really happy, and often recurred50 to it in after years as the most delightful51 phase of her life. She had suffered from Urbain's coldness, but now she found him showing an unhoped-for kindness and a disposition8 to trust her again. As soon as all fears for his health were dispelled52, a bond was established between them, which, for Caroline, had not a single doubt or apprehension53. The Marquis enjoyed her reading exceedingly, and before long he even consented to let her help him with his work. She conducted investigations54 for him and took notes, which she classified in the very spirit he desired,—a spirit she seemed to divine wonderfully. In short, she rendered his studies so pleasant, and relieved him so cleverly from the dry and disagreeable portions, that he could once more betake himself to writing without pain or fatigue55.
The Marquis certainly needed a secretary far more than his mother did; but he had never been able to endure this interposition between himself and the objects of his researches. He saw very soon, however, that Caroline never led him off into ideas foreign to his own, but kept him from straying away himself into useless speculations56 and reveries. She had a remarkable clearness of judgment57, joined with a faculty58 rarely possessed by women, namely, that of order in the sequence of thought. She could remain absorbed in any pursuit a long while, without fatigue or faltering59. The Marquis made a discovery,—one that was destined60 to direct his future. He found himself in presence of a superior mind, not creative, indeed, but analytic61 in the highest degree,—just the organization he needed to give balance and scope to his own intellect.
Let us say, once for all, that M. de Villemer was a man of very sound understanding; but he had not found as yet, and was still awaiting, the crisis of its development. Hence the slow and painful progress of his work. He thought and wrote rapidly; but his conscientiousness62, as a philosopher and moralist, was always putting fresh obstacles in the way of his enthusiasm as an historian. He was the victim of his own scruples, like certain devotees, sincere but morbid63, who always imagine they have failed to tell their confessor the whole truth. He wanted to confess to the human race the truth about social science; and did not sufficiently64 admit that this science of truths and facts is, largely, a relative one, determined65 by the age in which one lives. He could not decide on his course. He strove to discover the meaning of facts long buried among the arcana of the past, and after he had, with great labor66, caught a few traces of these, he was surprised to find them often contradictory67, and in alarm would doubt his own discernment or his own impartiality68, would suspend judgment, laying aside his work, and for weeks and months would be the prey69 of terrible uncertainties70 and misgivings71.
Caroline, without knowing his book, which was still only half written, and which he concealed with a morbid timidity, soon divined the cause of his mental uneasiness from his conversation, and especially his remarks while she was reading aloud. She volunteered a few off-hand reflections of extreme simplicity72, but so plainly just and right as to be unanswerable. She was not perplexed73 by a little blot74 on a grand life or a tiny glimmer75 of reason in an age of delirium76. She thought the past must be viewed just as we look at paintings, from the distance required by the eye of each in order to take in the whole; and that, as the great masters have done in composing their pictures, we must learn to sacrifice the petty details, which sometimes really destroy the harmony of nature, and even her logic77. She called attention to the fact that we notice on a landscape, at every step, strange effects of light and shade, and the multitude will say, "How could a painter render that?" and the painter would reply, "By not rendering78 it at all."
She admitted that the historian is fettered79 more than the artist to accuracy in matters of fact, but she denied that there could be progress on any different principles in either case. The past and even the present of individual or collective life, according to her, take color and meaning only from their general tenor80 and results.
She ventured on these suggestions, cautiously putting them in the form of questions; without being positive, and as if willing to suppress them in case they were not approved; but M. de Villemer was struck with them, because he felt she had given expression to a certainty, an inward faith, and that if she consented to keep silence, she would still remain none the less convinced. He struggled a little, nevertheless, laying before her a number of facts which had delayed and troubled him. She passed judgment on them in one word, with the strong, good sense of a fresh mind and a pure heart, and he soon exclaimed with a glance at the Duke, "She finds the truth because she has it within her, and that is the first condition of clear insight. Never will the troubled conscience, never will the perverted81 mind, comprehend history."
"Perhaps," said she, "that is why history should not be too much made up from memoirs82, for these are nearly always the work of prejudice or passions of the moment. It is the fashion now to dig these out with great care, bringing forward many trifling83 facts not generally known, and which do not deserve to be known."
"Yes, you are right," replied the Marquis; "if the historian, instead of standing23 firm in his belief and worship of lofty things, lets himself be misled and distracted by trivial ones, truth loses all that reality usurps84."
If we relate these bits of conversation, perhaps a little out of the usual color of a romance, it is because they are necessary to explain the seriousness and apparent calmness of the relations that were growing up between the scholar and the humble85 lady-reader in the castle of Séval, in spite of the pains the Duke was taking to leave them as much as possible to the tender influences of youth and love. The Marquis felt that he belonged to Caroline, not only through his enthusiasm, his dreams, his need of throwing a kind of ideal about grace and beauty, but through his reason, his judgment, and through his present certainty that he had met that ideal. Henceforth Caroline was safe; she commanded respect by the weight of her character, and the Marquis stood in no further fear of losing control of his own impulses.
The Duke was at first astonished by this unlooked-for result of their intimacy86. His brother was cured, he was happy, he seemed to have conquered love by the very power of love itself; but the Duke was intelligent and he understood. He was even seized himself with a serious deference87 for Caroline. He took an interest in her reading, and soon, instead of falling asleep under the first few pages, he wanted to read in his turn and give them his impressions. He had no convictions, but, in the artist spirit, allowed himself to be moved and borne along by those of others. He had read but little on serious subjects, in the course of his life, but he had admirably retained all kinds of dates and proper names. So that he had in his fine memory, as one might say, a sort of network with large meshes88 to which the loose lines of his brother's studies could be tied. That is, he was a stranger to nothing except the logical and profound meanings of historical events. He did not lack prejudices; but excellence89 of style had a power over him which put them to silence, and before an eloquent90 page, whether of Bossuet or Rousseau, he felt the same enthusiasm.
Thus he also found himself pleasantly initiated91 into the pursuits of the Marquis and the society of Mlle de Saint-Geneix. What was really very good in him is that, from the day he first became aware of his brother's affection for Caroline, she ceased to be a woman in his eyes. He had nevertheless felt some emotion for several days in her presence, and the truth had come upon him unexpectedly in an hour of feverish92 spite. From day to day he abjured93 every evil thought, and, touched by seeing that the Marquis, after a terrible attack of jealousy94, had restored to him his entire confidence, he knew, for the first time in his life, what it was to feel a true and worthy friendship for a pretty woman.
In the month of July Caroline wrote to her sister thus:—
"Be easy about me, dear Camille, it is some time since I ceased to watch the invalid, for the invalid has never before been so well; but I have always kept up the practice of rising at day-break in the summer season, and every morning I have several hours I can devote to the work he is kindly95 permitting me to share with him. Just now he is himself sleeping a good sound sleep, for he retires at ten o'clock, and I am allowed here to do the same, and I often have precious intervals96 of freedom even in the daytime. Our proximity97 to the baths of Évaux and the road to Vichy brings us visitors at the very hours when in Paris the Marchioness used to shut herself up; she says this disturbs and wearies her, and yet, all the while, she is delighted! The great correspondence suffers under it, but even the correspondence itself has diminished, since the marriage of the Marquis was projected. This scheme so absorbs Madame de Villemer, that she cannot help confiding98 it or hinting something about it to all her old friends; after which she will reflect seriously, admitting the imprudence of saying much about it, and that she ought not to rely on the discretion99 of so many people; and then we throw into the fire the letters she has just dictated100. This it is that leads her to say so often: 'Bah! let us stop writing, I would rather say nothing at all than not to mention things that interest me.'
"When she has visitors she makes a sign that I may go and join the Marquis, for she knows now that I am taking notes for him. Since his illness is over, I thought there ought to be no mystery made about so simple a thing, and she is quite willing to have me relieve her son from any wearisome portions of his work. She is very curious to know what this book so carefully concealed can possibly be; but there is no danger, of my betraying anything, for I don't know a single word in it. I only know that just now we are deep in the history of France, and more especially in the age of Richelieu; but what I need not mention to any one here is, that I anticipate a great divergence101 in opinion between the son and the mother on a host of grave matters.
"Do not blame me for having taken on myself a double task, and for having gained, as you put it, two masters in the place of one. With the Marchioness the task is sacred, and I have an affectionate pleasure in it; with her son the task is agreeable, and I put into it that kind of veneration103 of which I have often told you. I enjoy the idea of having contributed to his recovery, of having managed to take care of him without making him impatient, of having gently persuaded him to live a little more as people ought to live in order to be well. I have even taken advantage of his passion for study by telling him that his genius will feel the effects of disease, and that I have no faith in the intellectual clearness of fever. You have no idea how good he has been to me, how patiently he has taken rebuke104, and how he has even let himself be scolded by this young-lady sister of yours; how he has thanked me for my interest in him, and submitted to all my prescriptions105. It has gone so far that at table, even, he consults me with his eyes as to what he shall eat, and when we go out for a walk he has no more mind of his own than a child as to the little journey which the Duke and I insist on making him take. He has a charming disposition, and every day I discover some new trait in his character. I did think he was a little whimsical and decidedly obstinate106; but, poor fellow! it was the crisis that was threatening his life. He has, on the contrary, a gentleness and evenness of temper which is beyond everything; and the charm of familiar intercourse107 with him resembles nothing so much as the beauty, of the waters flowing through our valley, always limpid108, always plentiful109, borne along in a strong and even current, never ruffled110 or capricious. And to follow out this comparison, I might say that his mind has also flowery banks and oases111 of verdure where one can pause and dream delightfully112, for he is full of poetry; and I always wonder how he has ever subjected the warmth of his imagination to the rigid113 demands of history.
"What is more, he pretends that all this is a discovery of mine, and that he is just beginning to perceive it himself. The other day we were looking at the beautiful pastures full of sheep and goats in a ravine crossing that of the Char20. At the farther end of this sharp cut, there is a casing of rugged114 rocks, and some of their notches115 rise so far above the plateau that, in comparison with the lower level, it is really a mountain; and these beautiful rocks of lilac-gray form a crest116, sufficiently imposing117 to conceal27 the flat country that lies behind, so you cannot see from here the upper part of the plateau, and you might imagine yourself in some nook of Switzerland. At least, this is what M. de Villemer tells me, to console me for the way in which the Marchioness scouts118 my admiration119. 'Don't worry about that,' said he, 'and don't think it necessary to have seen many sublime120 things in order to have the conception and the sensation of sublimity121. There is grandeur122 everywhere for those who carry this faculty within themselves; it is not an illusion which they cherish either; it is a revelation of what really exists in nature in a manner more or less pronounced. For dull senses, there must be coarse signs of the power and dimensions of things. This is why many people who go to Scotland, looking for the pictures described by Walter Scott, cannot find them, and pretend that the poet has overpraised his country. His pictures are there, nevertheless, I am very sure, and if you should go there, you would find them at once.'
"I confessed to him that real immensity tempted123 me greatly; that I often saw, in dreams, inaccessible124 mountains and giddy abysses; that, before an engraving125 representing the furious waterfalls in Sweden or the bergs that stray from Arctic seas, I have been carried away with wild imaginations of independence, and that there is no tale of distant explorations with enough of suffering and danger in it to take away my regret at not having shared them.
"'And yet,' said he, 'before a charming little landscape like this you seemed happy and really satisfied a moment ago. Do you then really feel more in need of emotions and surprises than of tenderness and safety? See how beautiful it is, this stillness! How this hour of reflected lights, barred across with lengthening126 shadows, this water, in spray which seems caressing127 the sides of the rock, this motionless leafage looking as if it were silently drinking in the gold of the last sunbeams, how truly indeed is all this serene128 and thoughtful solemnity the expression of the beautiful and good in nature! I never used to know all this myself. It has not impressed me strongly until lately. I have always been living in the midst of dust and death, or among abstractions. I used, indeed, to dream over the pictures of history, the phantasmagoria of the past. I have sometimes seen the fleet of Cleopatra sailing to the verge102 of the horizon; in the silence of the night I have thought I heard the warlike trumpets129 of Roncesvalles; but it was the dominion130 of a dream, and the reality did not speak to me. But when I saw you gazing at the horizon without saying a word, with an air of content that was like nothing else in the world, I asked myself what could be the secret of your joy; and, if I must tell you all, your selfish patient was a little jealous of everything that charmed you. He set himself perturbedly to work at gazing too, when he settled the point at once; for he felt that he loved what you loved.'
"You understand perfectly, my dear little sister, that in talking to me thus the Marquis told an audacious falsehood, for one can but see from all his remarks, and his manner of making them, that he has the true artist enthusiasm for nature, as well as for all else that is lovely; but he is so grateful to me, and so full of honest kindliness131, that he misrepresents things in perfect good faith, and imagines himself indebted to me for something new in his intellectual life."
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1
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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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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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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subsisted
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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devotedness
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char
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| v.烧焦；使...燃烧成焦炭 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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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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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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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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portfolios
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| n.投资组合( portfolio的名词复数 )；（保险）业务量；（公司或机构提供的）系列产品；纸夹 | |
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interdict
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| v.限制；禁止；n.正式禁止；禁令 | |
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counteracted
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| 对抗，抵消( counteract的过去式 ) | |
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watchfulness
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| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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pretexts
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| n.借口，托辞( pretext的名词复数 ) | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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54
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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55
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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56
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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57
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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58
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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59
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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60
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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61
analytic
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| adj.分析的，用分析方法的 | |
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62
conscientiousness
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| 责任心 | |
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63
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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64
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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65
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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66
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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67
contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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68
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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69
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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70
uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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71
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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72
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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73
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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74
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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75
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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76
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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77
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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78
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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79
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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81
perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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82
memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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83
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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84
usurps
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的第三人称单数 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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85
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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86
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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87
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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88
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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89
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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90
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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91
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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92
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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93
abjured
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| v.发誓放弃( abjure的过去式和过去分词 )；郑重放弃（意见）；宣布撤回（声明等）；避免 | |
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94
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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96
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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97
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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98
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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99
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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100
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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101
divergence
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| n.分歧，岔开 | |
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102
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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103
veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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104
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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105
prescriptions
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| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
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106
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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107
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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108
limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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109
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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110
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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111
oases
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲( oasis的名词复数 )；（困苦中）令人快慰的地方（或时刻）；乐土；乐事 | |
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112
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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113
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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114
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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115
notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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116
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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117
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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118
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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119
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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120
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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121
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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122
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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123
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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124
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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125
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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126
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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127
caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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128
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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129
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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130
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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131
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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