A gently ascending1 road, more than two miles in length, shaded by a quadruple row of venerable elms, led from the village to the Chateau2 de Sairmeuse.
Nothing could be more beautiful than this avenue, a fit approach to a palace; and the stranger who beheld3 it could understand the naively4 vain proverb of the country: “He does not know the real beauty of France, who has never seen Sairmeuse nor the Oiselle.”
The Oiselle is the little river which one crosses by means of a wooden bridge on leaving the village, and whose clear and rapid waters give a delicious freshness to the valley.
At every step, as one ascends5, the view changes. It is as if an enchanting6 panorama7 were being slowly unrolled before one.
On the right you can see the saw-mills of Fereol. On the left, like an ocean of verdure, the forest of Dolomien trembles in the breeze. Those imposing8 ruins on the other side of the river are all that remain of the feudal9 manor10 of the house of Breulh. That red brick mansion11, with granite12 trimmings, half concealed14 by a bend in the river, belongs to the Baron15 d’Escorval.
And, if the day is clear, one can easily distinguish the spires16 of Montaignac in the distance.
This was the path traversed by M. Lacheneur after Chupin had delivered his message.
But what did he care for the beauties of the landscape!
Upon the church porch he had received his death-wound; and now, with a tottering17 and dragging step, he dragged himself along like one of those poor soldiers, mortally wounded upon the field of battle, who go back, seeking a ditch or quiet spot where they can lie down and die.
He seemed to have lost all thought of his surroundings — all consciousness of previous events. He pursued his way, lost in his reflections, guided only by force of habit.
Two or three times his daughter, Marie-Anne, who was walking by his side, addressed him; but an “Ah! let me alone!” uttered in a harsh tone, was the only response she could draw from him.
Evidently he had received a terrible blow; and undoubtedly18, as often happens under such circumstances, the unfortunate man was reviewing all the different phases of his life.
At twenty Lacheneur was only a poor ploughboy in the service of the Sairmeuse family.
His ambition was modest then. When stretched beneath a tree at the hour of noonday rest, his dreams were as simple as those of an infant.
“If I could but amass19 a hundred pistoles,” he thought, “I would ask Father Barrois for the hand of his daughter Martha; and he would not refuse me.” A hundred pistoles! A thousand francs!— an enormous sum for him who, in two years of toil20 and privation had only laid by eleven louis, which he had placed carefully in a tiny box and hidden in the depths of his straw mattress21.
Still he did not despair. He had read in Martha’s eyes that she would wait.
And Mlle. Armande de Sairmeuse, a rich old maid, was his god-mother; and he thought, if he attacked her adroitly22, that he might, perhaps, interest her in his love-affair.
Then the terrible storm of the revolution burst over France.
With the fall of the first thunder-bolts, the Duke of Sairmeuse left France with the Count d’Artois. They took refuge in foreign lands as a passer-by seeks shelter in a doorway23 from a summer shower, saying to himself: “This will not last long.”
The storm did last, however; and the following year Mlle. Armande, who had remained at Sairmeuse, died.
The chateau was then closed, the president of the district took possession of the keys in the name of the government, and the servants were scattered24.
Lacheneur took up his residence in Montaignac.
Young, daring, and personally attractive, blessed with an energetic face, and an intelligence far above his station, it was not long before he became well known in the political clubs.
For three months Lacheneur was the tyrant25 of Montaignac.
But this metier of public speaker is by no means lucrative26, so the surprise throughout the district was immense, when it was ascertained27 that the former ploughboy had purchased the chateau, and almost all the land belonging to his old master.
It is true that the nation had sold this princely domain28 for scarcely a twentieth part of its real value. The appraisement29 was sixty-nine thousand francs. It was giving the property away.
And yet, it was necessary to have this amount, and Lacheneur possessed30 it, since he had poured it in a flood of beautiful louis d’or into the hands of the receiver of the district.
From that moment his popularity waned31. The patriots32 who had applauded the ploughboy, cursed the capitalist. He discreetly33 left them to recover from their rage as best they could, and returned to Sairmeuse. There everyone bowed low before Citoyen Lacheneur.
Unlike most people, he did not forget his past hopes at the moment when they might be realized.
He married Martha Barrois, and, leaving the country to work out its own salvation34 without his assistance, he gave his time and attention to agriculture.
Any close observer, in those days, would have felt certain that the man was bewildered by the sudden change in his situation.
His manner was so troubled and anxious that one, to see him, would have supposed him a servant in constant fear of being detected in some indiscretion.
He did not open the chateau, but installed himself and his young wife in the cottage formerly35 occupied by the head game-keeper, near the entrance of the park.
But, little by little, with the habit of possession, came assurance.
The Consulate36 had succeeded the Directory, the Empire succeeded the Consulate, Citoyen Lacheneur became M. Lacheneur.
Appointed mayor two years later, he left the cottage and took possession of the chateau.
The former ploughboy slumbered38 in the bed of the Ducs de Sairmeuse; he ate from the massive plate, graven with their coat-of-arms; he received his visitors in the magnificent salon39 in which the Ducs de Sairmeuse had received their friends in years gone by.
To those who had known him in former days, M. Lacheneur had become unrecognizable. He had adapted himself to his lofty station. Blushing at his own ignorance; he had found the courage — wonderful in one of his age — to acquire the education which he lacked.
Then, all his undertakings40 were successful to such a degree that his good fortune had become proverbial. That he took any part in an enterprise, sufficed to make it turn out well.
His wife had given him two lovely children, a son and a daughter.
His property, managed with a shrewdness and sagacity which the former owners had not possessed, yielded him an income of at least sixty thousand francs.
How many, under similar circumstances, would have lost their heads! But he, M. Lacheneur, had been wise enough to retain his sang-froid.
In spite of the princely luxury that surrounded him, his own habits were simple and frugal41. He had never had an attendant for his own person. His large income he consecrated42 almost entirely43 to the improvement of his estate or to the purchase of more land. And yet, he was not avaricious44. In all that concerned his wife or children, he did not count the cost. His son, Jean, had been educated in Paris; he wished him to be fitted for any position. Unwilling45 to consent to a separation from his daughter, he had procured46 a governess to take charge of her education.
Sometimes his friends accused him of an inordinate47 ambition for his children; but he always shook his head sadly, as he replied:
“If I can only insure them a modest and comfortable future! But what folly48 it is to count upon the future. Thirty years ago, who could have foreseen that the Sairmeuse family would be deprived of their estates?”
With such opinions he should have been a good master; he was, but no one thought the better of him on that account. His former comrades could not forgive him for his sudden elevation49.
They seldom spoke50 of him without wishing his ruin in ambiguous words.
Alas51! the evil days came. Toward the close of the year 1812, he lost his wife, the disasters of the year 1813 swept away a large portion of his personal fortune, which had been invested in a manufacturing enterprise.
Compromised by the first Restoration, he was obliged to conceal13 himself for a time; and to cap the climax52, the conduct of his son, who was still in Paris, caused him serious disquietude.
Only the evening before, he had thought himself the most unfortunate of men.
But here was another misfortune menacing him; a misfortune so terrible that all the others were forgotten.
From the day on which he had purchased Sairmeuse to this fatal Sunday in August, 1815, was an interval53 of twenty years.
Twenty years! And it seemed to him only yesterday that, blushing and trembling, he had laid those piles of louis d’or upon the desk of the receiver of the district.
Had he dreamed it?
He had not dreamed it. His entire life, with its struggles and its miseries54, its hopes and its fears, its unexpected joys and its blighted55 hopes, all passed before him.
Lost in these memories, he had quite forgotten the present situation, when a commonplace incident, more powerful than the voice of his daughter, brought him back to the terrible reality. The gate leading to the Chateau de Sairmeuse, to his chateau, was found to be locked.
He shook it with a sort of rage; and, being unable to break the fastening, he found some relief in breaking the bell.
On hearing the noise, the gardener came running to the scene of action.
“Why is this gate closed?” demanded M. Lacheneur, with unwonted violence of manner. “By what right do you barricade56 my house when I, the master, am without?”
The gardener tried to make some excuse.
“Hold your tongue!” interrupted M. Lacheneur. “I dismiss you; you are no longer in my service.”
He passed on, leaving the gardener petrified57 with astonishment58, crossed the court-yard — a court-yard worthy59 of the mansion, bordered with velvet60 turf, with flowers, and with dense61 shrubbery.
In the vestibule, inlaid with marble, three of his tenants62 sat awaiting him, for it was on Sunday that he always received the workmen who desired to confer with him.
They rose at his approach, and removed their hats deferentially63. But he did not give them time to utter a word.
“Who permitted you to enter here?” he said, savagely64, “and what do you desire? They sent you to play the spy on me, did they? Leave, I tell you!”
The three farmers were even more bewildered and dismayed than the gardener had been, and their remarks must have been interesting.
But M. Lacheneur could not hear them. He had opened the door of the grand salon, and dashed in, followed by his frightened daughter.
Never had Marie-Anne seen her father in such a mood; and she trembled, her heart torn by the most frightful65 presentiments66.
She had heard it said that oftentimes, under the influence of some dire37 calamity67, unfortunate men have suddenly lost their reason entirely; and she was wondering if her father had become insane.
It would seem, indeed, that such was the case. His eyes flashed, convulsive shudders68 shook his whole body, a white foam69 gathered on his lips.
He made the circuit of the room as a wild beast makes the circuit of his cage, uttering harsh imprecations and making frenzied70 gestures.
His actions were strange, incomprehensible. Sometimes he seemed to be trying the thickness of the carpet with the toe of his boot; sometimes he threw himself upon a sofa or a chair, as if to test its softness.
Occasionally, he paused abruptly71 before some one of the valuable pictures that covered the walls, or before a bronze. One might have supposed that he was taking an inventory72, and appraising73 all the magnificent and costly74 articles which decorated this apartment, the most sumptuous75 in the chateau.
“And I must renounce76 all this!” he exclaimed, at last.
These words explained everything.
“No, never!” he resumed, in a transport of rage; “never! never! I cannot! I will not!”
Now Marie-Anne understood it all. But what was passing in her father’s mind? She wished to know; and, leaving the low chair in which she had been seated, she went to her father’s side.
“Are you ill, father?” she asked, in her sweet voice; “what is the matter? What do you fear? Why do you not confide77 in me?— Am I not your daughter? Do you no longer love me?”
At the sound of this dear voice, M. Lacheneur trembled like a sleeper78 suddenly aroused from the terrors of a nightmare, and he cast an indescribable glance upon his daughter.
“Did you not hear what Chupin said to me?” he replied, slowly. “The Duc de Sairmeuse is at Montaignac; he will soon be here; and we are dwelling79 in the chateau of his fathers, and his domain has become ours!”
The vexed80 question regarding the national lands, which agitated81 France for thirty years, Marie understood, for she had heard it discussed a thousand times.
“Ah, well, dear father,” said she, “what does that matter, even if we do hold the property? You have bought it and paid for it, have you not? So it is rightfully and lawfully82 ours.”
M. Lacheneur hesitated a moment before replying.
But his secret suffocated83 him. He was in one of those crises in which a man, however strong he may be, totters84 and seeks some support, however fragile.
“You would be right, my daughter,” he murmured, with drooping85 head, “if the money that I gave in exchange for Sairmeuse had really belonged to me.”
At this strange avowal86 the young girl turned pale and recoiled87 a step.
“What?” she faltered88; “this gold was not yours, my father? To whom did it belong? From whence did it come?”
The unhappy man had gone too far to retract89.
“I will tell you all, my daughter,” he replied, “and you shall judge. You shall decide. When the Sairmeuse family fled from France, I had only my hands to depend upon, and as it was almost impossible to obtain work, I wondered if starvation were not near at hand.
“Such was my condition when someone came after me one evening to tell me that Mademoiselle Armande de Sairmeuse, my godmother, was dying, and wished to speak with me. I ran to the chateau.
“The messenger had told the truth. Mademoiselle Armande was sick unto death. I felt this on seeing her upon her bed, whiter than wax.
“Ah! if I were to live a hundred years, never should I forget her face as it looked at that moment. It was expressive90 of a strength of will and an energy that would hold death at bay until the task upon which she had determined91 was performed.
“When I entered the room I saw a look of relief appear upon her countenance92.
“‘How long you were in coming!’ she murmured faintly.
“I was about to make some excuse, when she motioned me to pause, and ordered the women who surrounded her to leave the room.
“As soon as we were alone:
“‘You are an honest boy,’, said she, ‘and I am about to give you a proof of my confidence. People believe me to be poor, but they are mistaken. While my relatives were gayly ruining themselves, I was saving the five hundred louis which the duke, my brother, gave me each year.’
“She motioned me to come nearer, and to kneel beside her bed.
“I obeyed, and Mademoiselle Armande leaned toward me, almost glued her lips to my ear, and added:
“‘I possess eighty thousand francs.’
“I felt a sudden giddiness, but my godmother did not notice it.
“‘This amount,’ she continued, ‘is not a quarter part of the former income from our family estates. But now, who knows but it will, one day, be the only resource of the Sairmeuse? I am going to place it in your charge, Lacheneur. I confide it to your honor and to your devotion. The estates belonging to the emigrants93 are to be sold, I hear. If such an act of injustice94 is committed, you will probably be able to purchase our property for seventy thousand francs. If the property is sold by the government, purchase it; if the lands belonging to the emigrants are not sold, take that amount to the duke, my brother, who is with the Count d’Artois. The surplus, that is to say, the ten thousand francs remaining, I give to you — they are yours.’
“She seemed to recover her strength. She raised herself in bed, and, holding the crucifix attached to her rosary to my lips, she said:
“‘Swear by the image of our Saviour95, that you will faithfully execute the last will of your dying godmother.’
“I took the required oath, and an expression of satisfaction overspread her features.
“‘That is well,’ she said; ‘I shall die content. You will have a protector on high. But this is not all. In times like these in which we live, this gold will not be safe in your hands unless those about you are ignorant that you possess it. I have been endeavoring to discover some way by which you could remove it from my room, and from the chateau, without the knowledge of anyone; and I have found a way. The gold is here in this cupboard, at the head of my bed, in a stout96 oaken chest. You must find strength to move the chest — you must. You can fasten a sheet around it and let it down gently from the window into the garden. You will then leave the house as you entered it, and as soon as you are outside, you must take the chest and carry it to your home. The night is very dark, and no one will see you, if you are careful. But make haste; my strength is nearly gone.’
“The chest was heavy, but I was very strong.
“In less than ten minutes the task of removing the chest from the chateau was accomplished97, without a single sound that would betray us. As I closed the window, I said:
“‘It is done, godmother.’
“‘God be praised!’ she whispered; ‘Sairmeuse is saved!’
“I heard a deep sigh. I turned; she was dead.”
This scene that M. Lacheneur was relating rose vividly98 before him.
To feign99, to disguise the truth, or to conceal any portion of it was an impossibility.
He forgot himself and his daughter; he thought only of the dead woman, of Mlle. Armande de Sairmeuse.
And he shuddered100 on pronouncing the words: “She was dead.” It seemed to him that she was about to speak, and to insist upon the fulfilment of his pledge.
After a moment’s silence, he resumed, in a hollow voice:
“I called for aid; it came. Mademoiselle Armande was adored by everyone; there was great lamentation101, and a half hour of indescribable confusion followed her death. I was able to withdraw, unnoticed, to run into the garden, and to carry away the oaken chest. An hour later, it was concealed in the miserable102 hovel in which I dwelt. The following year I purchased Sairmeuse.”
He had confessed all; and he paused, trembling, trying to read his sentence in the eyes of his daughter.
“And can you hesitate?” she demanded.
“Ah! you do not know ——”
“I know that Sairmeuse must be given up.”
This was the decree of his own conscience, that faint voice which speaks only in a whisper, but which all the tumult103 on earth cannot overpower.
“No one saw me take away the chest,” he faltered. “If anyone suspected it, there is not a single proof against me. But no one does suspect it.”
Marie-Anne rose, her eyes flashed with generous indignation.
“My father!” she exclaimed; “oh! my father!”
Then, in a calmer tone, she added:
“If others know nothing of this, can you forget it?”
M. Lacheneur appeared almost ready to succumb104 to the torture of the terrible conflict raging in his soul.
“Return!” he exclaimed. “What shall I return? That which I have received? So be it. I consent. I will give the duke the eighty thousand francs; to this amount I will add the interest on this sum since I have had it, and — we shall be free of all obligation.”
The girl sadly shook her head.
“Why do you resort to subterfuges105 which are so unworthy of you?” she asked, gently. “You know perfectly106 well that it was Sairmeuse which Mademoiselle Armande intended to intrust to the servant of her house. And it is Sairmeuse which must be returned.”
The word “servant” was revolting to a man, who, at least, while the empire endured, had been a power in the land.
“Ah! you are cruel, my daughter,” he said, with intense bitterness; “as cruel as a child who has never suffered — as cruel as one who, having never himself been tempted107, is without mercy for those who have yielded to temptation.
“It is one of those acts which God alone can judge, since God alone can read the depths of one’s secret soul.
“I am only a depositary, you tell me. It was, indeed, in this light that I formerly regarded myself.
“If your poor sainted mother was still alive, she would tell you the anxiety and anguish108 I felt on being made the master of riches which were not mine. I trembled lest I should yield to their seductions; I was afraid of myself. I felt as a gambler might feel who had the winnings of others confided109 to his care; as a drunkard might feel who had been placed in charge of a quantity of the most delicious wines.
“Your mother would tell you that I moved heaven and earth to find the Duc de Sairmeuse. But he had left the Count d’Artois, and no one knew where he had gone or what had become of him. Ten years passed before I could make up my mind to inhabit the chateau — yes, ten years — during which I had the furniture dusted each morning as if the master was to return that evening.
“At last I ventured. I had heard Monsieur d’Escorval declare that the duke had been killed in battle. I took up my abode110 here. And from day to day, in proportion as the domain of Sairmeuse became more beautiful and extensive beneath my care, I felt myself more and more its rightful owner.”
But this despairing pleading in behalf of a bad cause produced no impression upon Marie-Anne’s loyal heart.
“Restitution must be made,” she repeated. M. Lacheneur wrung111 his hands.
“Implacable!” he exclaimed; “she is implacable. Unfortunate girl! does she not understand that it is for her sake I wish to remain where I am? I am old, and I am familiar with toil and poverty; idleness has not removed the callosities from my hands. What do I require to keep me alive until the day comes for me to take my place in the graveyard112? A crust of bread and an onion in the morning, a porringer of soup in the evening, and for the night a bundle of straw. I could easily earn that. But you, unhappy child! and your brother, what will become of you?”
“We must not discuss nor haggle113 with duty, my father. I think, however, that you are needlessly alarmed. I believe the duke is too noble-hearted ever to allow you to suffer want after the immense service you have rendered him.”
The old servitor of the house of Sairmeuse laughed a loud, bitter laugh.
“You believe that!” said he; “then you do not know the nobles who have been our masters for ages. ‘A., you are a worthy fellow!’— very coldly said — will be the only recompense I shall receive; and you will see us, me, at my plough; you, out at service. And if I venture to speak of the ten thousand francs that were given me, I shall be treated as an impostor, as an impudent114 fool. By the holy name of God this shall not be!”
“Oh, my father!”
“No! this shall not be. And I realize — as you cannot realize — the disgrace of such a fall. You think you are beloved in Sairmeuse? You are mistaken. We have been too fortunate not to be the victims of hatred115 and jealousy116. If I fall to-morrow, you will see all who kissed your hands to-day fall upon you to tear you to pieces!”
His eye glittered; he believed he had found a victorious117 argument.
“And then you, yourself, will realize the horror of the disgrace. It will cost you the deadly anguish of a separation from him whom your heart has chosen.”
He had spoken truly, for Marie-Anne’s beautiful eyes filled with tears.
“If what you say proves true, father,” she murmured, in an altered voice, “I may, perhaps, die of sorrow; but I cannot fail to realize that my confidence and my love has been misplaced.”
“And you still insist upon my returning Sairmeuse to its former owner?”
“Honor speaks, my father.”
M. Lacheneur made the arm-chair in which he was seated tremble by a violent blow of his fist.
“And if I am just as obstinate,” he exclaimed —“if I keep the property — what will you do?”
“I shall say to myself, father, that honest poverty is better than stolen wealth. I shall leave this chateau, which belongs to the Duc de Sairmeuse, and I shall seek a situation as a servant in the neighborhood.”
M. Lacheneur sank back in his arm-chair sobbing118. He knew his daughter’s nature well enough to be assured that what she said, that she would do.
But he was conquered; his daughter had won the battle. He had decided119 to make the heroic sacrifice.
“I will relinquish120 Sairmeuse,” he faltered, “come what may ——”
He paused suddenly; a visitor was entering the room.
It was a young man about twenty years of age, of distinguished121 appearance, but with a rather melancholy122 and gentle manner.
His eyes when he entered the apartment encountered those of Marie-Anne; he blushed slightly, and the girl half turned away, crimsoning123 to the roots of her hair.
“Monsieur,” said the young man, “my father sends me to inform you that the Duc de Sairmeuse and his son have just arrived. They have asked the hospitality of our cure.”
M. Lacheneur rose, unable to conceal his frightful agitation124.
“You will thank the Baron d’Escorval for his attention, my dear Maurice,” he responded. “I shall have the honor of seeing him to-day, after a very momentous125 step which we are about to take, my daughter and I.”
Young d’Escorval had seen, at the first glance, that his presence was inopportune, so he remained only a few moments.
But as he was taking leave, Marie-Anne found time to say, in a low voice:
“I think I know your heart, Maurice; this evening I shall know it certainly.”
收听单词发音 |
1
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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beheld
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| 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 | |
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naively
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| adv. 天真地 | |
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ascends
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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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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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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amass
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| vt.积累，积聚 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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appraisement
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| n.评价，估价；估值 | |
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30
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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31
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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32
patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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33
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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34
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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35
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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36
consulate
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| n.领事馆 | |
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37
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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38
slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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39
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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40
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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41
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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42
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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43
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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44
avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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45
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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46
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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47
inordinate
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| adj.无节制的；过度的 | |
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48
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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49
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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50
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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51
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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52
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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53
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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54
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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55
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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56
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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57
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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58
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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59
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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60
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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62
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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63
deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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64
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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65
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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66
presentiments
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| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
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67
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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68
shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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69
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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70
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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71
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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72
inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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73
appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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74
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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75
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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76
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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77
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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78
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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79
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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80
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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81
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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82
lawfully
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| adv.守法地，合法地；合理地 | |
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83
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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84
totters
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的第三人称单数 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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85
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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86
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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87
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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88
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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89
retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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90
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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91
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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92
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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93
emigrants
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| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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94
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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95
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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97
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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98
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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99
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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100
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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101
lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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102
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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103
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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104
succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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105
subterfuges
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| n.（用说谎或欺骗以逃脱责备、困难等的）花招，遁词( subterfuge的名词复数 ) | |
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106
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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107
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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108
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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109
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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110
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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111
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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112
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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113
haggle
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| vi.讨价还价，争论不休 | |
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114
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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115
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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116
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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117
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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118
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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119
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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120
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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121
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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122
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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123
crimsoning
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| 变为深红色（crimson的现在分词形式） | |
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124
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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125
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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