Half reclining upon a sofa, Mme. Blanche was listening to a new book which Aunt Medea was reading aloud, and she did not even raise her head as the servant delivered his message.
“A man?” she asked, carelessly; “what man?”
She was expecting no one; it must be one of the laborers1 employed by Martial2.
“I cannot inform Madame,” replied the servant. “He is quite a young man; is dressed like a peasant, and is perhaps, seeking a place.”
“It is probably the marquis whom he desires to see.”
“Madame will excuse me, but he said particularly that he desired to speak to her.”
“Ask his name and his business, then. Go on, aunt,” she added; “we have been interrupted in the most interesting portion.”
But Aunt Medea had not time to finish the page when the servant reappeared.
“The man says Madame will understand his business when she hears his name.”
“And his name?”
“Chupin.”
It was as if a bomb-shell had exploded in the room.
Aunt Medea, with a shriek3, dropped her book, and sank back, half fainting, in her chair.
Blanche sprang up with a face as colorless as her white cashmere peignoir, her eyes troubled, her lips trembling.
“Chupin!” she repeated, as if she hoped the servant would tell her she had not understood him correctly; “Chupin!”
Then angrily:
“Tell this man that I will not see him, I will not see him, do you hear?”
But before the servant had time to bow respectfully and retire, the young marquise changed her mind.
“One moment,” said she; “on reflection I think I will see him. Bring him up.”
The servant withdrew, and the two ladies looked at each other in silent consternation5.
“It must be one of Chupin’s sons,” faltered6 Blanche, at last.
“Undoubtedly; but what does he desire?”
“Money, probably.” Aunt Medea lifted her eyes to heaven.
“God grant that he knows nothing of your meetings with his father! Blessed Jesus! what if he should know.”
“You are not going to despair in advance! We shall know all in a few moments. Pray be calm. Turn your back to us; look out into the street; do not let him see your face. But why is he so long in coming?”
Blanche was not deceived. It was Chupin’s eldest7 son; the one to whom the dying poacher had confided8 his secret.
Since his arrival in Paris he had been running the streets from morning until evening, inquiring everywhere and of everybody the address of the Marquis de Sairmeuse. At last he discovered it; and he lost no time in presenting himself at the Hotel Meurice.
He was now awaiting the result of his application at the entrance of the hotel, where he stood whistling, with his hands in his pockets, when the servant returned, saying:
“She consents to see you; follow me.”
Chupin obeyed; but the servant, greatly astonished, and on fire with curiosity, loitered by the way in the hope of obtaining some explanation from this country youth.
“I do not say it to flatter you, my boy,” he remarked, “but your name produced a great effect upon madame.”
The prudent10 peasant carefully concealed12 the joy he felt on receiving this information.
“How does it happen that she knows you?” pursued the servant. “Are you both from the same place?”
“I am her foster-brother.”
The servant did not believe a word of this response; but they had reached the apartment of the marquise, he opened the door and ushered13 Chupin into the room.
The peasant had prepared a little story in advance, but he was so dazzled by the magnificence around him that he stood motionless with staring eyes and gaping14 mouth. His wonder was increased by a large mirror opposite the door, in which he could survey himself from head to foot, and by the beautiful flowers on the carpet, which he feared to crush beneath his heavy shoes.
After a moment, Mme. Blanche decided15 to break the silence.
“What do you wish?” she demanded.
With many circumlocutions Chupin explained that he had been obliged to leave Sairmeuse on account of the numerous enemies he had there, that he had been unable to find his father’s hidden treasure, and that he was consequently without resources.
“Enough!” interrupted Mme. Blanche. Then in a manner not in the least friendly, she continued: “I do not understand why you should apply to me. You and all the rest of your family have anything but an enviable reputation in Sairmeuse; still, as you are from that part of the country, I am willing to aid you a little on condition that you do not apply to me again.”
Chupin listened to this homily with a half-cringing, half-impudent air; when it was finished he lifted his head, and said, proudly:
“I do not ask for alms.”
“What do you ask then?”
“My dues.”
The heart of Mme. Blanche sank, and yet she had courage to cast a glance of disdain16 upon the speaker, and said:
“Ah! do I owe you anything?”
“You owe me nothing personally, Madame; but you owe a heavy debt to my deceased father. In whose service did he perish? Poor old man! he loved you devotedly17. His last words were of you. ‘A terrible thing has just happened at the Borderie, my boy,’ said he. ‘The young marquise hated Marie-Anne, and she has poisoned her. Had it not been for me she would have been lost. I am about to die; let the whole blame rest upon me; it will not hurt me, and it will save the young lady. And afterward19 she will reward you; and as long as you keep the secret you will want for nothing.’”
Great as was his impudence20, he paused, amazed by the perfectly21 composed face of the listener.
In the presence of such wonderful dissimulation22 he almost doubted the truth of his father’s story.
The courage and heroism23 displayed by the marquise were really wonderful. She felt if she yielded once, she would forever be at the mercy of this wretch24, as she was already at the mercy of Aunt Medea.
“In other words,” said she, calmly, “you accuse me of the murder of Mademoiselle Lacheneur; and you threaten to denounce me if I do not yield to your demands.”
Chupin nodded his head in acquiescence25.
“Very well!” said the marquise; “since this is the case — go!”
It seemed, indeed, as if she would, by her audacity26, win this dangerous game upon which her future peace depended. Chupin, greatly abashed27, was standing28 there undecided what course to pursue when Aunt Medea, who was listening by the window, turned in affright, crying:
“Blanche! your husband — Martial! He is coming!”
The game was lost. Blanche saw her husband entering, finding Chupin, conversing29 with him, and discovering all!
Her brain whirled; she yielded.
She hastily thrust her purse in Chupin’s hand and dragged him through an inner door and to the servants’ staircase.
“Take this,” she said, in a hoarse30 whisper. “I will see you again. And not a word — not a word to my husband, remember!”
She had been wise to yield in time. When she re-entered the salon31, she found Martial there.
His head was bowed upon his breast; he held an open letter in his hand.
He looked up when his wife entered the room, and she saw a tear in his eye.
“What has happened?” she faltered.
Martial did not remark her emotion.
“My father is dead, Blanche,” he replied.
“The Duc de Sairmeuse! My God! how did it happen?”
“He was thrown from his horse, in the forest, near the Sanguille rocks.”
“Ah! it was there where my poor father was nearly murdered.”
“Yes, it is the very place.”
There was a moment’s silence.
Martial’s affection for his father had not been very deep, and he was well aware that his father had but little love for him. He was astonished at the bitter grief he felt on hearing of his death.
“From this letter which was forwarded by a messenger from Sairmeuse,” he continued, “I judge that everybody believes it to have been an accident; but I— I——”
“Well?”
“I believe he was murdered.”
An exclamation32 of horror escaped Aunt Medea, and Blanche turned pale.
“Murdered!” she whispered.
“Yes, Blanche; and I could name the murderer. Oh! I am not deceived. The murderer of my father is the same man who attempted to assassinate33 the Marquis de Courtornieu ——”
“Jean Lacheneur!”
Martial gravely bowed his head. It was his only reply.
“And you will not denounce him? You will not demand justice?”
Martial’s face grew more and more gloomy.
“What good would it do?” he replied. “I have no material proofs to give, and justice demands incontestable evidence.”
Then, as if communing with his own thoughts, rather than addressing his wife, he said, despondently34:
“The Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu have reaped what they have sown. The blood of murdered innocence35 always calls for vengeance36. Sooner or later, the guilty must expiate38 their crimes.”
Blanche shuddered39. Each word found an echo in her own soul. Had he intended his words for her, he would not have expressed himself differently.
“Martial,” said she, trying to arouse him from his gloomy revery, “Martial.”
He did not seem to hear her, and, in the same tone, he continued:
“These Lacheneurs were happy and honored before our arrival at Sairmeuse. Their conduct was above all praise; their probity40 amounted to heroism. We might have made them our faithful and devoted18 friends. It was our duty, as well as in our interests, to have done so. We did not understand this; we humiliated41, ruined, exasperated42 them. It was a fault for which we must atone43. Who knows but, in Jean Lacheneur’s place, I should have done what he has done?”
He was silent for a moment; then, with one of those sudden inspirations that sometimes enable one almost to read the future, he resumed:
“I know Jean Lacheneur. I alone can fathom44 his hatred45, and I know that he lives only in the hope of vengeance. It is true that we are very high and he is very low, but that matters little. We have everything to fear. Our millions form a rampart around us, but he will know how to open a breach47. And no precautions will save us. At the very moment when we feel ourselves secure, he will be ready to strike. What he will attempt, I know not; but his will be a terrible revenge. Remember my words, Blanche, if ruin ever threatens our house, it will be Jean Lacheneur’s work.”
Aunt Medea and her niece were too horror-stricken to articulate a word, and for five minutes no sound broke the stillness save Martial’s monotonous48 tread, as he paced up and down the room.
At last he paused before his wife.
“I have just ordered post-horses. You will excuse me for leaving you here alone. I must go to Sairmeuse at once. I shall not be absent more than a week.”
He departed from Paris a few hours later, and Blanche was left a prey49 to the most intolerable anxiety. She suffered more now than during the days that immediately followed her crime. It was not against phantoms50 she was obliged to protect herself now; Chupin existed, and his voice, even if it were not as terrible as the voice of conscience, might make itself heard at any moment.
If she had known where to find him, she would have gone to him, and endeavored, by the payment of a large sum of money, to persuade him to leave France.
But Chupin had left the hotel without giving her his address.
The gloomy apprehension51 expressed by Martial increased the fears of the young marquise. The mere4 sound of the name Lacheneur made her shrink with terror. She could not rid herself of the idea that Jean Lacheneur suspected her guilt37, and that he was watching her.
Her wish to find Marie-Anne’s infant was stronger than ever.
It seemed to her that the child might be a protection to her some day. But where could she find an agent in whom she could confide9?
At last she remembered that she had heard her father speak of a detective by the name of Chelteux, an exceedingly shrewd fellow, capable of anything, even honesty if he were well paid.
The man was really a miserable52 wretch, one of Fouche’s vilest53 instruments, who had served and betrayed all parties, and who, at last, had been convicted of perjury55, but had somehow managed to escape punishment.
After his dismissal from the police-force, Chelteux founded a bureau of private information.
After several inquiries56, Mme. Blanche discovered that he lived in the Place Dauphine; and she determined57 to take advantage of her husband’s absence to pay the detective a visit.
One morning she donned her simplest dress, and, accompanied by Aunt Medea, repaired to the house of Chelteux.
He was then, about thirty-four years of age, a man of medium height, of inoffensive mien58, and who affected59 an unvarying good-humor.
He invited his clients into a nicely furnished drawing-room, and Mme. Blanche at once began telling him that she was married, and living in the Rue46 Saint-Denis, that one of her sisters, who had lately died, had been guilty of an indiscretion, and that she was ready to make any sacrifice to find this sister’s child, etc., etc. A long story, which she had prepared in advance, and which sounded very plausible60.
Chelteux did not believe a word of it, however; for, as soon as it was ended, he tapped her familiarly on the shoulder, and said:
“In short, my dear, we have had our little escapades before our marriage.”
She shrank back as if from some venomous reptile61.
To be treated thus! she — a Courtornieu — Duchesse de Sairmeuse!
“I think you are laboring62 under a wrong impression,” she said, haughtily63.
He made haste to apologize; but while listening to further details given him by the young lady, he thought:
“What an eye! what a voice!— they are not suited to a denizen64 of the Saint-Denis!”
His suspicions were confirmed by the reward of twenty thousand francs, which Mme. Blanche imprudently promised him in case of success, and by the five hundred francs which she paid in advance.
“And where shall I have the honor of addressing my communications to you, Madame?” he inquired.
“Nowhere,” replied the young lady. “I shall be passing here from time to time, and I will call.”
When they left the house, Chelteux followed them.
“For once,” he thought, “I believe that fortune smiles upon me.”
To discover the name and rank of his new clients was but child’s play to Fouche’s former pupil.
His task was all the easier since they had no suspicion whatever of his designs. Mme. Blanche, who had heard his powers of discernment so highly praised, was confident of success.
All the way back to the hotel she was congratulating herself upon the step she had taken.
“In less than a month,” she said to Aunt Medea, “we shall have the child; and it will be a protection to us.”
But the following week she realized the extent of her imprudence. On visiting Chelteux again, she was received with such marks of respect that she saw at once she was known.
She made an attempt to deceive him, but the detective checked her.
“First of all,” he said, with a good-humored smile, “I ascertain65 the identity of the persons who honor me with their confidence. It is a proof of my ability, which I give, gratis66. But Madame need have no fears. I am discreet67 by nature and by profession. Many ladies of the highest ranks are in the position of Madame la Duchesse!”
So Chelteux still believed that the Duchesse de Sairmeuse was searching for her own child.
She did not try to convince him to the contrary. It was better that he should believe this than suspect the truth.
The condition of Mme. Blanche was now truly pitiable. She found herself entangled68 in a net, and each movement far from freeing her, tightened69 the meshes70 around her.
Three persons knew the secret that threatened her life and honor. Under these circumstances, how could she hope to keep that secret inviolate71? She was, moreover, at the mercy of three unscrupulous masters; and before a word, or a gesture, or a look from them, her haughty72 spirit was compelled to bow in meek73 subservience74.
And her time was no longer at her own disposal. Martial had returned; and they had taken up their abode75 at the Hotel de Sairmeuse.
The young duchess was now compelled to live under the scrutiny76 of fifty servants — of fifty enemies, more or less, interested in watching her, in criticising her every act, and in discovering her inmost thoughts.
Aunt Medea, it is true, was of great assistance to her. Blanche purchased a dress for her, whenever she purchased one for herself, took her about with her on all occasions, and the humble77 relative expressed her satisfaction in the most enthusiastic terms, and declared her willingness to do anything for her benefactress.
Nor did Chelteux give Mme. Blanche much more annoyance78. Every three months he presented a memorandum79 of the expenses of investigations80, which usually amounted to about ten thousand francs; and so long as she paid him it was plain that he would be silent.
He had given her to understand, however, that he should expect an annuity81 of twenty-four thousand francs; and once, when Mme. Blanche remarked that he must abandon the search, if nothing had been discovered at the end of two years:
“Never,” he replied: “I shall continue the search as long as I live.” But Chupin, unfortunately, remained; and he was a constant terror.
She had been compelled to give him twenty thousand francs, to begin with.
He declared that his younger brother had come to Paris in pursuit of him, accusing him of having stolen their father’s hoard82, and demanding his share with his dagger83 in his hand.
There had been a battle, and it was with a head bound up in a blood-stained linen84, that Chupin made his appearance before Mme. Blanche.
“Give me the sum that the old man buried, and I will allow my brother to think that I had stolen it. It is not very pleasant to be regarded as a thief, when one is an honest man, but I will bear it for your sake. If you refuse, I shall be compelled to tell him where I have obtained my money and how.”
If he possessed85 all the vices86, depravity, and coldblooded perversity87 of his father, this wretch had inherited neither his intelligence nor his finesse88.
Instead of taking the precautions which his interest required, he seemed to find a brutal89 pleasure in compromising the duchess.
He was a constant visitor at the Hotel de Sairmeuse. He came and went at all hours, morning, noon, and night, without troubling himself in the least about Martial.
And the servants were amazed to see their haughty mistress unhesitatingly leave everything at the call of this suspicious-looking character, who smelled so strongly of tobacco and vile54 brandy.
One evening, while a grand entertainment was in progress at the Hotel de Sairmeuse, he made his appearance, half drunk, and imperiously ordered the servants to go and tell Mme. Blanche that he was there, and that he was waiting for her.
She hastened to him in her magnificent evening-dress, her face white with rage and shame beneath her tiara of diamonds. And when, in her exasperation90, she refused to give the wretch what he demanded:
“That is to say, I am to starve while you are revelling91 here!” he exclaimed. “I am not such a fool. Give me money, and instantly, or I will tell all I know here and now!”
What could she do? She was obliged to yield, as she had always done before.
And yet he grew more and more insatiable every day. Money remained in his pockets no longer than water remains92 in a sieve93. But he did not think of elevating his vices to the proportions of the fortune which he squandered94. He did not even provide himself with decent clothing; from his appearance one would have supposed him a beggar, and his companions were the vilest and most degraded of beings.
One night he was arrested in a low den11, and the police, surprised at seeing so much gold in the possession of such a beggarly looking wretch, accused him of being a thief. He mentioned the name of the Duchesse de Sairmeuse.
An inspector95 of the police presented himself at the Hotel de Sairmeuse the following morning. Martial, fortunately, was in Vienna at the time.
And Mme. Blanche was forced to undergo the terrible humiliation96 of confessing that she had given a large sum of money to this man, whose family she had known, and who, she added, had once rendered her an important service.
Sometimes her tormentor97 changed his tactics.
For example, he declared that he disliked to come to the Hotel de Sairmeuse, that the servants treated him as if he were a mendicant98, that after this he would write.
And in a day or two there would come a letter bidding her bring such a sum, to such a place, at such an hour.
And the proud duchess was always punctual at the rendezvous99.
There was constantly some new invention, as if he found an intense delight in proving his power and in abusing it.
He had met, Heaven knows where! a certain Aspasie Clapard, to whom he took a violent fancy, and although she was much older than himself, he wished to marry her. Mme. Blanche paid for the wedding-feast.
Again he announced his desire of establishing himself in business, having resolved, he said, to live by his own exertions100. He purchased the stock of a wine merchant, which the duchess paid for, and which he drank in no time.
His wife gave birth to a child, and Mme. de Sairmeuse must pay for the baptism as she had paid for the wedding, only too happy that Chupin did not require her to stand as godmother to little Polyte. He had entertained this idea at first.
On two occasions Mme. Blanche accompanied her husband to Vienna and to London, whither he went charged with important diplomatic missions. She remained three years in foreign lands.
Each week during all that time she received one letter, at least, from Chupin.
Ah! many a time she envied the lot of her victim! What was Marie-Anne’s death compared with the life she led?
Her sufferings were measured by years, Marie-Anne’s by minutes; and she said to herself, again and again, that the torture of poison could not be as intolerable as her agony.
收听单词发音 |
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laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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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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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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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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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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devotedly
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| 专心地； 恩爱地； 忠实地； 一心一意地 | |
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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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afterward
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impudence
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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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dissimulation
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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acquiescence
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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standing
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conversing
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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assassinate
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| vt.暗杀，行刺，中伤 | |
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despondently
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innocence
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vengeance
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guilt
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expiate
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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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probity
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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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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phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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vilest
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| adj.卑鄙的( vile的最高级 )；可耻的；极坏的；非常讨厌的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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perjury
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| n.伪证；伪证罪 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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denizen
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| n.居民，外籍居民 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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inviolate
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| adj.未亵渎的，未受侵犯的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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subservience
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| n.有利，有益；从属（地位），附属性；屈从，恭顺；媚态 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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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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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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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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annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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finesse
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| n.精密技巧，灵巧，手腕 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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revelling
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| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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sieve
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| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
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squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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97
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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98
mendicant
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| n.乞丐；adj.行乞的 | |
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99
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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