Mr. Briggerland did not enthuse over any form of sport or exercise. His hobbies were confined to the handsome motor-cycle, which not only provided him with recreation, but had, on occasion, been of assistance in the carrying out of important plans, formulated1 by his daughter.
He stopped at Mentone for breakfast and climbed the hill to Grimaldi after passing the frontier station at Pont St. Louis. He had all the morning before him, and there was no great hurry. At Ventimille he had a second breakfast, for the morning was keen and his appetite was good. He loafed through the little town, with a cigar between his teeth, bought some curios at a shop and continued his leisurely2 journey.
His objective was San Remo. There was a train at one o'clock which would bring him and his machine back to Monte Carlo, where it was his intention to spend the remainder of the afternoon. At Pont St. Louis he had had a talk with the Customs Officer.
"No, m'sieur, there are very few travellers on the road in the morning," said the official. "It is not until late in the afternoon that the traffic begins. Times have changed on the Riviera, and so many people go to Cannes. The old road is almost now deserted3."
At eleven o'clock Mr. Briggerland came to a certain part of the road and found a hiding-place for his motor-cycle--a small plantation4 of olive trees on the hill side. Incidentally it was an admirable resting place, for from here he commanded an extensive view of the western road.
Lydia's journey had been no less enjoyable. She, too, had stopped at Mentone to explore the town, and had left Pont St. Louis an hour after Mr. Briggerland had passed.
The road to San Remo runs under the shadow of steep hills through a bleak5 stretch of country from which even the industrious6 peasantry of northern Italy cannot win a livelihood7. Save for isolated8 patches of cultivated land, the hills are bare and menacing.
With these gaunt plateaux on one side and the rock-strewn seashore on the other, there was little to hold the eye save an occasional glimpse of the Italian town in the far distance. There was a wild uncouthness9 about the scenery which awed10 the girl. Sometimes the car would be running so near the sea level that the spray of the waves hit the windows; sometimes it would climb over an out-jutting headland and she would look down upon a bouldered beach a hundred feet below.
It was on the crest11 of a headland that the car stopped.
Here the road ran out in a semi-circle so that from where she sat she could not see its continuation either before or behind. Ahead it slipped round the shoulder of a high and over-hanging mass of rock, through which the road must have been cut. Behind it dipped down to a cove12, hidden from sight.
"There is the Lovers' Chair, mademoiselle," said Mordon.
Half a dozen feet beneath the road level was a broad shelf of rock. A few stone steps led down and she followed them. The Lovers' Chair was carved in the face of the rock and she sat down to view the beauty of the scene. The solitude13, the stillness which only the lazy waves broke, the majesty14 of the setting, brought a strange peace to her. Beyond the edge of the ledge15 the cliff fell sheer to the water, and she shivered as she stepped back from her inspection16.
Mordon did not see her go. He sat on the running board of his car, his pale face between his hands, a prey17 to his own gloomy thoughts. There must be a development, he told himself. He was beginning to get uneasy, and for the first time he doubted the sincerity18 of the woman who had been to him as a goddess.
He did not hear Mr. Briggerland, for the dark man was light of foot, when he came round the shoulder of the hill. Mordon's back was toward him. Suddenly the chauffeur19 looked round.
"M'sieur," he stammered20, and would have risen, but Briggerland laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Do not rise, Francois," he said pleasantly. "I am afraid I was hasty last night."
"M'sieur, it was I who was hasty," said Mordon huskily, "it was unpardonable...."
"Nonsense," Briggerland patted the man's shoulder. "What is that boat out there--a man o' war, Francois?"
Francois Mordon turned his head toward the sea, and Briggerland pointed21 the ivory-handled pistol he had held behind his back and shot him dead.
The report of the revolver thrown down by the rocks came to Lydia like a clap of thunder. At first she thought it was a tyre burst and hurried up the steps to see.
Mr. Briggerland was standing22 with his back to the car. At his feet was the tumbled body of Mordon.
"Mr.--Brig...!" she gasped23, and saw the revolver in his hand. With a cry she almost flung herself down the steps as the revolver exploded. The bullet ripped her hat from her head, and she flung up her hands, thinking she had been struck.
Then the dark face showed over the parapet and again the revolver was presented. She stared for a second into his benevolent24 eyes, and then something hit her violently and she staggered back, and dropped over the edge of the shelf down, straight down into the sea below.
1 formulated | |
v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
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2 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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3 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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4 plantation | |
n.种植园,大农场 | |
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5 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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6 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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7 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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8 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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9 uncouthness | |
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10 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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12 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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13 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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14 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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15 ledge | |
n.壁架,架状突出物;岩架,岩礁 | |
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16 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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17 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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18 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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19 chauffeur | |
n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机;v.为…开车 | |
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20 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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22 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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23 gasped | |
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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24 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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