Undine had gained her point, and the entresol of the Hotel de Chelles reopened its doors for the season.
Hubert and his wife, in expectation of the birth of an heir, had withdrawn1 to the sumptuous3 chateau4 which General Arlington had hired for them near Compiegne, and Undine was at least spared the sight of their bright windows and animated5 stairway. But she had to take her share of the felicitations which the whole far-reaching circle of friends and relations distributed to every member of Hubert's family on the approach of the happy event. Nor was this the hardest of her trials. Raymond had done what she asked--he had stood out against his mother's protests, set aside considerations of prudence6, and consented to go up to Paris for two months; but he had done so on the understanding that during their stay they should exercise the most unremitting economy. As dinner-giving put the heaviest strain on their budget, all hospitality was suspended; and when Undine attempted to invite a few friends informally she was warned that she could not do so without causing the gravest offense7 to the many others genealogically entitled to the same attention.
Raymond's insistence8 on this rule was simply part of an elaborate and inveterate9 system of "relations" (the whole of French social life seemed to depend on the exact interpretation10 of that word), and Undine felt the uselessness of struggling against such mysterious inhibitions. He reminded her, however, that their inability to receive would give them all the more opportunity for going out, and he showed himself more socially disposed than in the past. But his concession11 did not result as she had hoped. They were asked out as much as ever, but they were asked to big dinners, to impersonal12 crushes, to the kind of entertainment it is a slight to be omitted from but no compliment to be included in. Nothing could have been more galling13 to Undine, and she frankly14 bewailed the fact to Madame de Trezac.
"Of course it's what was sure to come of being mewed up for months and months in the country. We're out of everything, and the people who are having a good time are simply too busy to remember us. We're only asked to the things that are made up from visiting-lists."
Madame de Trezac listened sympathetically, but did not suppress a candid15 answer.
"It's not altogether that, my dear; Raymond's not a man his friends forget. It's rather more, if you'll excuse my saying so, the fact of your being--you personally--in the wrong set."
"The wrong set? Why, I'm in HIS set--the one that thinks itself too good for all the others. That's what you've always told me when I've said it bored me."
"Well, that's what I mean--" Madame de Trezac took the plunge16. "It's not a question of your being bored."
Undine coloured; but she could take the hardest thrusts where her personal interest was involved. "You mean that I'M the bore, then?"
"Well, you don't work hard enough--you don't keep up. It's not that they don't admire you--your looks, I mean; they think you beautiful; they're delighted to bring you out at their big dinners, with the Sevres and the plate. But a woman has got to be something more than good-looking to have a chance to be intimate with them: she's got to know what's being said about things. I watched you the other night at the Duchess's, and half the time you hadn't an idea what they were talking about. I haven't always, either; but then I have to put up with the big dinners."
Undine winced17 under the criticism; but she had never lacked insight into the cause of her own failures, and she had already had premonitions of what Madame de Trezac so bluntly phrased. When Raymond ceased to be interested in her conversation she had concluded it was the way of husbands; but since then it had been slowly dawning on her that she produced the same effect on others. Her entrances were always triumphs; but they had no sequel. As soon as people began to talk they ceased to see her. Any sense of insufficiency exasperated18 her, and she had vague thoughts of cultivating herself, and went so far as to spend a morning in the Louvre and go to one or two lectures by a fashionable philosopher. But though she returned from these expeditions charged with opinions, their expression did not excite the interest she had hoped. Her views, if abundant, were confused, and the more she said the more nebulous they seemed to grow. She was disconcerted, moreover, by finding that everybody appeared to know about the things she thought she had discovered, and her comments clearly produced more bewilderment than interest.
Remembering the attention she had attracted on her first appearance in Raymond's world she concluded that she had "gone off" or grown dowdy19, and instead of wasting more time in museums and lecture-halls she prolonged her hours at the dress-maker's and gave up the rest of the day to the scientific cultivation20 of her beauty.
"I suppose I've turned into a perfect frump down there in that wilderness," she lamented21 to Madame de Trezac, who replied inexorably: "Oh, no, you're as handsome as ever; but people here don't go on looking at each other forever as they do in London."
Meanwhile financial cares became more pressing. A dunning letter from one of her tradesmen fell into Raymond's hands, and the talk it led to ended in his making it clear to her that she must settle her personal debts without his aid. All the "scenes" about money which had disturbed her past had ended in some mysterious solution of her difficulty. Disagreeable as they were, she had always, vulgarly speaking, found they paid; but now it was she who was expected to pay. Raymond took his stand without ill-temper or apology: he simply argued from inveterate precedent22. But it was impossible for Undine to understand a social organization which did not regard the indulging of woman as its first purpose, or to believe that any one taking another view was not moved by avarice23 or malice24; and the discussion ended in mutual25 acrimony.
The morning afterward26, Raymond came into her room with a letter in his hand.
"Is this your doing?" he asked. His look and voice expressed something she had never known before: the disciplined anger of a man trained to keep his emotions in fixed27 channels, but knowing how to fill them to the brim.
The letter was from Mr. Fleischhauer, who begged to transmit to the Marquis de Chelles an offer for his Boucher tapestries28 from a client prepared to pay the large sum named on condition that it was accepted before his approaching departure for America.
"What does it mean?" Raymond continued, as she did not speak.
"How should I know? It's a lot of money," she stammered29, shaken out of her self-possession. She had not expected so prompt a sequel to the dealer's visit, and she was vexed30 with him for writing to Raymond without consulting her. But she recognized Moffatt's high-handed way, and her fears faded in the great blaze of the sum he offered.
Her husband was still looking at her. "It was Fleischhauer who brought a man down to see the tapestries one day when I was away at Beaune?"
He had known, then--everything was known at Saint Desert!
She wavered a moment and then gave him back his look.
"Yes--it was Fleischhauer; and I sent for him."
"You sent for him?"
He spoke31 in a voice so veiled and repressed that he seemed to be consciously saving it for some premeditated outbreak. Undine felt its menace, but the thought of Moffatt sent a flame through her, and the words he would have spoken seemed to fly to her lips.
"Why shouldn't I? Something had to be done. We can't go on as we are. I've tried my best to economize--I've scraped and scrimped, and gone without heaps of things I've always had. I've moped for months and months at Saint Desert, and given up sending Paul to school because it was too expensive, and asking my friends to dine because we couldn't afford it. And you expect me to go on living like this for the rest of my life, when all you've got to do is to hold out your hand and have two million francs drop into it!"
Her husband stood looking at her coldly and curiously32, as though she were some alien apparition33 his eyes had never before beheld34.
"Ah, that's your answer--that's all you feel when you lay hands on things that are sacred to us!" He stopped a moment, and then let his voice break out with the volume she had felt it to be gathering35. "And you're all alike," he exclaimed, "every one of you. You come among us from a country we don't know, and can't imagine, a country you care for so little that before you've been a day in ours you've forgotten the very house you were born in--if it wasn't torn down before you knew it! You come among us speaking our language and not knowing what we mean; wanting the things we want, and not knowing why we want them; aping our weaknesses, exaggerating our follies36, ignoring or ridiculing37 all we care about--you come from hotels as big as towns, and from towns as flimsy as paper, where the streets haven't had time to be named, and the buildings are demolished38 before they're dry, and the people are as proud of changing as we are of holding to what we have--and we're fools enough to imagine that because you copy our ways and pick up our slang you understand anything about the things that make life decent and honourable39 for us!"
He stopped again, his white face and drawn2 nostrils40 giving him so much the look of an extremely distinguished41 actor in a fine part that, in spite of the vehemence42 of his emotion, his silence might have been the deliberate pause for a replique. Undine kept him waiting long enough to give the effect of having lost her cue--then she brought out, with a little soft stare of incredulity: "Do you mean to say you're going to refuse such an offer?"
"Ah--!" He turned back from the door, and picking up the letter that lay on the table between them, tore it in pieces and tossed the pieces on the floor. "That's how I refuse it!"
The violence of his tone and gesture made her feel as though the fluttering strips were so many lashes43 laid across her face, and a rage that was half fear possessed44 her.
"How dare you speak to me like that? Nobody's ever dared to before. Is talking to a woman in that way one of the things you call decent and honourable? Now that I know what you feel about me I don't want to stay in your house another day. And I don't mean to--I mean to walk out of it this very hour!"
For a moment they stood face to face, the depths of their mutual incomprehension at last bared to each other's angry eyes; then Raymond, his glance travelling past her, pointed45 to the fragments of paper on the floor.
"If you're capable of that you're capable of anything!" he said as he went out of the room.
收听单词发音 |
1
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
sumptuous
|
|
| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
chateau
|
|
| n.城堡，别墅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
prudence
|
|
| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
offense
|
|
| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
insistence
|
|
| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
inveterate
|
|
| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
interpretation
|
|
| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
concession
|
|
| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
impersonal
|
|
| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
galling
|
|
| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
plunge
|
|
| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
winced
|
|
| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
exasperated
|
|
| adj.恼怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
dowdy
|
|
| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
cultivation
|
|
| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
lamented
|
|
| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
precedent
|
|
| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
avarice
|
|
| n.贪婪；贪心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
mutual
|
|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
tapestries
|
|
| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
stammered
|
|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
vexed
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
follies
|
|
| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
ridiculing
|
|
| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
demolished
|
|
| v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
nostrils
|
|
| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
vehemence
|
|
| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
lashes
|
|
| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |