TOWARDS the middle of February the Gadfly went to Leghorn. Gemma had introduced him to a young Englishman there, a shipping-agent of liberal views, whom she and her husband had known in England. He had on several occasions performed little services for the Florentine radicals1: had lent money to meet an unforeseen emergency, had allowed his business address to be used for the party's letters, etc.; but always through Gemma's mediumship, and as a private friend of hers. She was, therefore, according to party etiquette2, free to make use of the connexion in any way that might seem good to her. Whether any use could be got out of it was quite another question. To ask a friendly sympathizer to lend his address for letters from Sicily or to keep a few documents in a corner of his counting-house safe was one thing; to ask him to smuggle3 over a transport of firearms for an insurrection was another; and she had very little hope of his consenting.
"You can but try," she had said to the Gadfly; "but I don't think anything will come of it. If you were to go to him with that recommendation and ask for five hundred scudi, I dare say he'd give them to you at once--he's exceedingly generous, --and perhaps at a pinch he would lend you his passport or hide a fugitive4 in his cellar; but if you mention such a thing as rifles he will stare at you and think we're both demented."
"Perhaps he may give me a few hints, though, or introduce me to a friendly sailor or two," the Gadfly had answered. "Anyway, it's worth while to try."
One day at the end of the month he came into her study less carefully dressed than usual, and she saw at once from his face that he had good news to tell.
"Ah, at last! I was beginning to think something must have happened to you!"
"I thought it safer not to write, and I couldn't get back sooner."
"You have just arrived?"
"Yes; I am straight from the diligence; I looked in to tell you that the affair is all settled."
"Do you mean that Bailey has really consented to help?"
"More than to help; he has undertaken the whole thing,--packing, transports,--everything. The rifles will be hidden in bales of merchandise and will come straight through from England. His partner, Williams, who is a great friend of his, has consented to see the transport off from Southampton, and Bailey will slip it through the custom house at Leghorn. That is why I have been such a long time; Williams was just starting for Southampton, and I went with him as far as Genoa."
"To talk over details on the way?"
"Yes, as long as I wasn't too sea-sick to talk about anything."
"Are you a bad sailor?" she asked quickly, remembering how Arthur had suffered from sea-sickness one day when her father had taken them both for a pleasure-trip.
"About as bad as is possible, in spite of having been at sea so much. But we had a talk while they were loading at Genoa. You know Williams, I think? He's a thoroughly5 good fellow, trustworthy and sensible; so is Bailey, for that matter; and they both know how to hold their tongues."
"It seems to me, though, that Bailey is running a serious risk in doing a thing like this."
"So I told him, and he only looked sulky and said: 'What business is that of yours?' Just the sort of thing one would expect him to say. If I met Bailey in Timbuctoo, I should go up to him and say: 'Good-morning, Englishman.'"
"But I can't conceive how you managed to get their consent; Williams, too; the last man I should have thought of."
"Yes, he objected strongly at first; not on the ground of danger, though, but because the thing is 'so unbusiness-like.' But I managed to win him over after a bit. And now we will go into details."
. . . . .
When the Gadfly reached his lodgings6 the sun had set, and the blossoming pyrus japonica that hung over the garden wall looked dark in the fading light. He gathered a few sprays and carried them into the house. As he opened the study door, Zita started up from a chair in the corner and ran towards him.
"Oh, Felice; I thought you were never coming!"
His first impulse was to ask her sharply what business she had in his study; but, remembering that he had not seen her for three weeks, he held out his hand and said, rather frigidly7:
"Good-evening, Zita; how are you?"
She put up her face to be kissed, but he moved past as though he had not seen the gesture, and took up a vase to put the pyrus in. The next instant the door was flung wide open, and the collie, rushing into the room, performed an ecstatic dance round him, barking and whining8 with delight. He put down the flowers and stooped to pat the dog.
"Well, Shaitan, how are you, old man? Yes, it's really I. Shake hands, like a good dog!"
The hard, sullen9 look came into Zita's face.
"Shall we go to dinner?" she asked coldly. "I ordered it for you at my place, as you wrote that you were coming this evening."
He turned round quickly.
"I am v-v-very sorry; you sh-should not have waited for me! I will just get a bit tidy and come round at once. P-perhaps you would not mind putting these into water."
When he came into Zita's dining room she was standing10 before a mirror, fastening one of the sprays into her dress. She had apparently11 made up her mind to be good-humoured, and came up to him with a little cluster of crimson12 buds tied together.
"Here is a buttonhole for you; let me put it in your coat."
All through dinner-time he did his best to be amiable13, and kept up a flow of small-talk, to which she responded with radiant smiles. Her evident joy at his return somewhat embarrassed him; he had grown so accustomed to the idea that she led her own life apart from his, among such friends and companions as were congenial to her, that it had never occurred to him to imagine her as missing him. And yet she must have felt dull to be so much excited now.
"Let us have coffee up on the terrace," she said; "it is quite warm this evening."
"Very well. Shall I take your guitar? Perhaps you will sing."
She flushed with delight; he was critical about music and did not often ask her to sing.
On the terrace was a broad wooden bench running round the walls. The Gadfly chose a corner with a good view of the hills, and Zita, seating herself on the low wall with her feet on the bench, leaned back against a pillar of the roof. She did not care much for scenery; she preferred to look at the Gadfly.
"Give me a cigarette," she said. "I don't believe I have smoked once since you went away."
"Happy thought! It's just s-s-smoke I want to complete my bliss14."
She leaned forward and looked at him earnestly.
"Are you really happy?"
The Gadfly's mobile brows went up.
"Yes; why not? I have had a good dinner; I am looking at one of the m-most beautiful views in Europe; and now I'm going to have coffee and hear a Hungarian folk-song. There is nothing the matter with either my conscience or my digestion15; what more can man desire?"
"I know another thing you desire."
"What?"
"That!" She tossed a little cardboard box into his hand.
"B-burnt almonds! Why d-didn't you tell me before I began to s-smoke?" he cried reproachfully.
"Why, you baby! you can eat them when you have done smoking. There comes the coffee."
The Gadfly sipped16 his coffee and ate his burnt almonds with the grave and concentrated enjoyment17 of a cat drinking cream.
"How nice it is to come back to d-decent coffee, after the s-s-stuff one gets at Leghorn!" he said in his purring drawl.
"A very good reason for stopping at home now you are here."
"Not much stopping for me; I'm off again to-morrow."
The smile died on her face.
"To-morrow! What for? Where are you going to?"
"Oh! two or three p-p-places, on business."
It had been decided18 between him and Gemma that he must go in person into the Apennines to make arrangements with the smugglers of the frontier region about the transporting of the firearms. To cross the Papal frontier was for him a matter of serious danger; but it had to be done if the work was to succeed.
"Always business!" Zita sighed under her breath; and then asked aloud:
"Shall you be gone long?"
"No; only a fortnight or three weeks, p-p-probably."
"I suppose it's some of THAT business?" she asked abruptly19.
"'That' business?"
"The business you're always trying to get your neck broken over--the everlasting20 politics."
"It has something to do with p-p-politics."
Zita threw away her cigarette.
"You are fooling me," she said. "You are going into some danger or other."
"I'm going s-s-straight into the inf-fernal regions," he answered languidly. "D-do you happen to have any friends there you want to send that ivy21 to? You n-needn't pull it all down, though."
She had fiercely torn off a handful of the climber from the pillar, and now flung it down with vehement22 anger.
"You are going into danger," she repeated; "and you won't even say so honestly! Do you think I am fit for nothing but to be fooled and joked with? You will get yourself hanged one of these days, and never so much as say good-bye. It's always politics and politics--I'm sick of politics!"
"S-so am I," said the Gadfly, yawning lazily; "and therefore we'll talk about something else-- unless you will sing."
"Well, give me the guitar, then. What shall I sing?"
"The ballad23 of the lost horse; it suits your voice so well."
She began to sing the old Hungarian ballad of the man who loses first his horse, then his home, and then his sweetheart, and consoles himself with the reflection that "more was lost at Mohacz field." The song was one of the Gadfly's especial favourites; its fierce and tragic24 melody and the bitter stoicism of the refrain appealed to him as no softer music ever did.
Zita was in excellent voice; the notes came from her lips strong and clear, full of the vehement desire of life. She would have sung Italian or Slavonic music badly, and German still worse; but she sang the Magyar folk-songs splendidly.
The Gadfly listened with wide-open eyes and parted lips; he had never heard her sing like this before. As she came to the last line, her voice began suddenly to shake.
"Ah, no matter! More was lost----"
She broke down with a sob25 and hid her face among the ivy leaves.
"Zita!" The Gadfly rose and took the guitar from her hand. "What is it?"
She only sobbed26 convulsively, hiding her face in both hands. He touched her on the arm.
"Tell me what is the matter," he said caressingly27.
"Let me alone!" she sobbed, shrinking away. "Let me alone!"
He went quietly back to his seat and waited till the sobs28 died away. Suddenly he felt her arms about his neck; she was kneeling on the floor beside him.
"Felice--don't go! Don't go away!"
"We will talk about that afterwards," he said, gently extricating29 himself from the clinging arms. "Tell me first what has upset you so. Has anything been frightening you?"
She silently shook her head.
"Have I done anything to hurt you?"
"No." She put a hand up against his throat.
"What, then?"
"You will get killed," she whispered at last. "I heard one of those men that come here say the other day that you will get into trouble--and when I ask you about it you laugh at me!"
"My dear child," the Gadfly said, after a little pause of astonishment30, "you have got some exaggerated notion into your head. Very likely I shall get killed some day--that is the natural consequence of being a revolutionist. But there is no reason to suppose I am g-g-going to get killed just now. I am running no more risk than other people."
"Other people--what are other people to me? If you loved me you wouldn't go off this way and leave me to lie awake at night, wondering whether you're arrested, or dream you are dead whenever I go to sleep. You don't care as much for me as for that dog there!"
The Gadfly rose and walked slowly to the other end of the terrace. He was quite unprepared for such a scene as this and at a loss how to answer her. Yes, Gemma was right; he had got his life into a tangle31 that he would have hard work to undo32.
"Sit down and let us talk about it quietly," he said, coming back after a moment. "I think we have misunderstood each other; of course I should not have laughed if I had thought you were serious. Try to tell me plainly what is troubling you; and then, if there is any misunderstanding, we may be able to clear it up."
"There's nothing to clear up. I can see you don't care a brass33 farthing for me."
"My dear child, we had better be quite frank with each other. I have always tried to be honest about our relationship, and I think I have never deceived you as to----"
"Oh, no! you have been honest enough; you have never even pretended to think of me as anything else but a prostitute,--a trumpery34 bit of second-hand35 finery that plenty of other men have had before you--"
"Hush36, Zita! I have never thought that way about any living thing."
"You have never loved me," she insisted sullenly37.
"No, I have never loved you. Listen to me, and try to think as little harm of me as you can."
"Who said I thought any harm of you? I----"
"Wait a minute. This is what I want to say: I have no belief whatever in conventional moral codes, and no respect for them. To me the relations between men and women are simply questions of personal likes and dislikes------"
"And of money," she interrupted with a harsh little laugh. He winced38 and hesitated a moment.
"That, of course, is the ugly part of the matter. But believe me, if I had thought that you disliked me, or felt any repulsion to the thing, I would never have suggested it, or taken advantage of your position to persuade you to it. I have never done that to any woman in my life, and I have never told a woman a lie about my feeling for her. You may trust me that I am speaking the truth----"
He paused a moment, but she did not answer.
"I thought," he went on; "that if a man is alone in the world and feels the need of--of a woman's presence about him, and if he can find a woman who is attractive to him and to whom he is not repulsive39, he has a right to accept, in a grateful and friendly spirit, such pleasure as that woman is willing to give him, without entering into any closer bond. I saw no harm in the thing, provided only there is no unfairness or insult or deceit on either side. As for your having been in that relation with other men before I met you, I did not think about that. I merely thought that the connexion would be a pleasant and harmless one for both of us, and that either was free to break it as soon as it became irksome. If I was mistaken --if you have grown to look upon it differently-- then----"
He paused again.
"Then?" she whispered, without looking up.
"Then I have done you a wrong, and I am very sorry. But I did not mean to do it."
"You 'did not mean' and you 'thought'---- Felice, are you made of cast iron? Have you never been in love with a woman in your life that you can't see I love you?"
A sudden thrill went through him; it was so long since anyone had said to him: "I love you." Instantly she started up and flung her arms round him.
"Felice, come away with me! Come away from this dreadful country and all these people and their politics! What have we got to do with them? Come away, and we will be happy together. Let us go to South America, where you used to live."
The physical horror of association startled him back into self-control; he unclasped her hands from his neck and held them in a steady grasp.
"Zita! Try to understand what I am saying to you. I do not love you; and if I did I would not come away with you. I have my work in Italy, and my comrades----"
"And someone else that you love better than me!" she cried out fiercely. "Oh, I could kill you! It is not your comrades you care about;
it's---- I know who it is!"
"Hush!" he said quietly. "You are excited and imagining things that are not true."
"You suppose I am thinking of Signora Bolla? I'm not so easily duped! You only talk politics with her; you care no more for her than you do for me. It's that Cardinal40!"
The Gadfly started as if he had been shot.
"Cardinal?" he repeated mechanically.
"Cardinal Montanelli, that came here preaching in the autumn. Do you think I didn't see your face when his carriage passed? You were as white as my pocket-handkerchief! Why, you're shaking like a leaf now because I mentioned his name!"
He stood up.
"You don't know what you are talking about," he said very slowly and softly. "I--hate the Cardinal. He is the worst enemy I have."
"Enemy or no, you love him better than you love anyone else in the world. Look me in the face and say that is not true, if you can!"
He turned away, and looked out into the garden. She watched him furtively41, half-scared at what she had done; there was something terrifying in his silence. At last she stole up to him, like a frightened child, and timidly pulled his sleeve. He turned round.
"It is true," he said.
快到二月底的时候，牛虻去了一趟里窝那。琼玛把他引见给了在那里担任船运经理的一位英国青年。她和她的丈夫是在英国认识他的。他曾数次给玛志尼党的佛罗伦萨支部帮过小忙，还曾借钱应付意外的紧急情况，也曾允许使用他的商业地址收寄党的信件，等等。但是这一切都是通过琼玛去做工作，看在他和她的私人交情份上。因此根据党内惯例，她有权利用这层关系去做在她看来是有益的事情。至于这样做有没有用，那是另外一个问题。请求一位友好的同情者出借他的地址，收寄发自西西里的信件，或者在他的帐房保险箱的一角存放几份文件，这是一回事。请他私运武器旨在发动起义则是另外一回事。至于他能否同意，她不抱什么希望。
“你只能碰碰运气，”她对牛虻说，“但是我并不认为会有什么结果。如果你带着介绍信去找他，请他借五百斯库多，我敢说他会立即借给你——他这个人特别慷慨——也许会在危急关头把他的护照借给你，而且也会把一个逃犯藏在他的地窖里。但是如果你提到诸如枪支这类的事情，他会瞪眼望着你，并且认为我们都在发神经。”
“他也许会给我几个暗示，或者把我引见给一两位友好的水手。”牛虻回答，“反正值得碰碰运气。”
月底的一天，他走进她的书房，穿得不像平常那样讲究。
从他的脸上，她立即就看出他有好消息要告诉她。
“啊，你终于来了！我开始以为你一定出了什么事！”
“我还是认为不写信要更安全，而且我也不能早点回来。”
“你刚到吗？”
“对，我下了公共马车就直接赶了回来。我过来就想告诉你一声，那事全都办妥了。”
“你是说贝利真的已经答应帮助吗？”
“岂止是帮助。他把全部工作都承担下来了——装货、运输——一切事情。枪支将被藏在货包里，直接从英国运来。他的合伙人威廉姆斯是他的好友，此人同意负责南汉普顿那边的启运，贝利会设法把货混过里窝那的海关。所以我在那里待了那么长的时间。威廉姆斯刚刚动身去南汉普顿，我一直把他送到热那亚。”
“途中讨论了细节吗？”
“对，在我晕船不那么厉害时，我们就说个没完。”
“你还晕船吗？”她赶紧问道。她想起了曾有一天，她的父亲带着他们去海上游览时，亚瑟因为晕船吃了不少苦头。
“晕得厉害，尽管以前经常出海。但是他们在热那亚装船时，我们还是深谈了一次。我想你认识威廉姆斯吧？他真是一个好人，可靠而又明智。贝利也是这样的人。而且他俩都知道怎样才能做到不走漏风声。”
“我倒觉得贝利这样做是有点冒险。”
“我也是这么告诉他的，他只是面带怒色说道：‘这与你有何相干？’这正是我所希望他说出的话。如果我在廷巴克图见到贝利，我就会走到他跟前说：‘早晨好，英国人。’”
“但我想不出你怎样才使他们同意的，我没有想到威廉姆斯也会同意。”
“是啊，他先是表示强烈反对，并不是因为危险，而是因为这事‘这么不像回事’。但是花了一点时间，我还是把他争取过来了。现在我们就来谈谈具体事项吧。”
当牛虻回到他的寓所时，太阳已经落山了。盛开的日本榅桲花垂挂在花园的墙上，在落日的余晖中显得那么暗淡。他摘了几枝，把它们带进了屋里。当他打开书房的门时，绮达从角落的一张椅子里一跳而起，朝他跑过来。
“噢，费利斯，我还以为你永远也不回来了！”
一时冲动之下，牛虻想要厉声问她在他的书房里干什么，但是转念一想，已有三个星期没有见到她了。于是他伸出了手，有点生硬地问道：“晚安，绮达。你好吗？”
她扬起头让他亲吻，但是他走了过去，好像没有看见这个举动。他拿过一只花瓶，把榅桲花插了进去。就在这时，门被撞开了，那只柯利狗闯进屋里，激动地围着他乱转，兴奋地叫个没完没了。他放下了花，弯腰拍拍那只狗。
“呃，谢坦。老伙计，你好吗？对，真是我。握握手吧，应该像个好狗！”
绮达的脸上露出生硬而又愠怒的表情。
“我们出去吃饭吧？”她冷冷地问道。“我在我那儿给你订了饭，因为你写信说你今天傍晚回来。”
他迅速转过身来。
“非、非、非常抱歉，你就不、不该等我！我要收拾一下，马上就过来。也、也许你不介意我把这些放进水里吧。”
当他走进绮达的餐厅时，她正站在一扇镜子前，把一枝榅桲花系在她的裙子上。她显然已经拿定了主意，显出心情愉快的样子。她走到他跟前，手里拿着一小束扎在一起的鲜红色的花蕾。
“这是给你的插花，让我把它别在你的外衣上。”
他在吃饭的时候尽量显得和颜悦色，一直跟她闲聊着天儿，她则报以灿烂的微笑。见到他回来，她显然感到非常高兴，这使他有些尴尬。他已经习惯于认为她已离他而去，生活在与她意气相投的朋友和伙伴中间。他从没想过她会思念自己。现在她这么激动，那么在此之前她一定觉得百无聊赖。
“我们上阳台去喝咖啡吧，”她说，“今晚十分暖和。”
“很好。要我带上你的吉他吗？也许你会唱歌。”
她兴奋得满脸通红。他对音乐非常挑剔，并不经常请她唱歌。
沿着阳台的墙壁有一圈宽木凳子。牛虻选择了能够一览山间秀色的角落，绮达坐在矮墙上，脚搭在木凳上，背靠在屋顶的柱子上。她并不留意景色，她喜欢望着牛虻。
“给我一支香烟，”她说，“在你走后，我相信我没抽过一支烟。”
“好主意！我正想抽根烟，尽兴享受这融融之乐。”
她倾身向前，情真意切地望着他。
“你真的高兴吗？”
牛虻那双好动的眉毛扬了起来。
“对，为什么不呢？我吃了一顿饭，正在欣赏欧洲的美景，现在又要一边喝着咖啡，一边欣赏匈牙利的民歌。我的良心和我的消化系统都没出什么毛病，一个人还想希望得到什么？”
“我知道你还希望得到一样东西。”
“什么？”
“这个！”她往他手里扔去一个纸盒子。
“炒杏仁！你为什么不在我抽烟之前告诉我呢？”他带着责备的口吻说道。
“嗨，你这个小宝贝！你可以抽完烟再吃。咖啡来了。”
牛虻一边喝着咖啡，一边吃着炒杏仁，就像一只舔着奶油的小猫那样神情专注，享受着这一切。
“在里窝那吃过那种东西以后，回来品尝正宗的咖啡真是好极了！”他拖长声音说道。
“既然你在这儿，回家歇歇就有了一个好理由。”
“我可没有多少时间啊，明天我又得动身。”
那个笑容从她脸上消失了。
“明天！干什么？你要到哪儿去？”
“噢！要去两三个地方，公事。”
他和琼玛已经作了决定，他要去亚平宁山区一趟，找到边境那边的私贩子，安排武器私运的事宜。穿过教皇领地对他来说是件极其危险的事情，但是想要做成这事只得如此。
“总是公事！”绮达小声叹息了一声，然后大声问道：“你要出去很长时间吗？”
“不，也就两三个星期，很、很、很可能是这样。”
“我想是去做那事吧？”她突然问道。
“什么事？”
“你总是冒着生命危险去做的事情——没完没了的政治。”
“这与政、政、政治是有点关系。”
绮达扔掉她的香烟。
“你是在骗我，”她说，“你会遇到这样或者那样的危险。”
“我要直接去闯地、地狱，”他懒洋洋地回答，“你、你碰巧那儿有朋友，想要让我捎去常青藤吗？其实你不、不必把它摘下来。”
她从柱子上用力扯下一把藤子，一气之下又把它扔了下来。
“你会遇到危险的，”她重复说道，“你甚至都不愿说句实话！你认为我只配受人愚弄，受人嘲笑吗？总有一天你会被绞死，可你连句道别的话都不说。总是政治，政治——我讨厌政治！”
“我、我也是。”牛虻说道，并且懒懒地打着呵欠。“所以我们还是谈点别的东西吧——要不，你就唱首歌吧。”
“那好，把吉他拿给我。我唱什么呢？”
“那支《失马谣》吧，这歌非常适合你的嗓子。”
她开始唱起那首古老的匈牙利民谣，歌中唱的是一个人先失去了他的马，然后失去了他的房子，然后又失去了他的情人，他安慰自己，想起了“莫哈奇战场失去的更多更多”。
年虻特别喜欢这首歌，它那激烈悲怆的曲调和副歌之中所含的那种苦涩的禁欲主义使他怦然心动，那些缠绵的乐曲却没有使他产生这样的感觉。
绮达的嗓音发挥得淋漓尽致，双唇唱出的音符饱满而又清脆，充满了渴望生活的强烈感情。她唱起意大利和斯拉夫民歌会很差劲，唱起德国民歌则更差，但是她唱起匈牙利民歌来却非常出色。
牛虻听着她唱歌，瞪着眼睛，张着嘴巴。他从没听过她这样唱歌。当她唱到最后一行时，她的声音突然颤抖起来。
啊，没有关系！失去的更多更多……
她泣不成声，停下了歌声。她把脸藏在常青藤里。
“绮达！”牛虻起身从她手里拿过吉他。“怎么啦？”
她只是一个劲儿地抽泣，双手捂住脸。他碰了一下她的胳膊。
“告诉我是怎么回事。”他温柔地说。
“别管我！”她抽泣着，身体直往后缩。“别管我！”
他快步回到他的座位，等着哭泣声停下来。突然之间，牛虻感到她的双臂搂住了他的脖子。她就跪在他的身边。
“费利斯——别走！不要走！”
“我们回头再谈这个。”他说，并且轻轻地挣脱那只勾住他的胳膊。“先告诉我是什么让你如此心烦意乱。有什么事儿吓着你了吗？”
她默默地摇了摇头。
“我做了什么伤害你的事吗？”
“没有。”她伸出一只手抚摸他的喉咙。
“那是什么呢？”
“你会被杀死的，”最后她轻声地说道，“那天有些人到我这儿来，我听其中有个人说你会有麻烦——在我问你的时候，你却笑我！”
“我亲爱的孩子，”牛虻吃惊不小，过了一会儿说道，“你的脑子里装进了一些不着边际的念头。可能有那么一天我会被杀死——这是成为一位革命党人的自然结果。但是没有理由怀疑我现在就—就会被杀死。我冒的险并不比别人大。”
“别人——别人与我有什么关系？如果你爱我，你就不会这样走开，丢下我孤枕难眠，担心你被捕了，或者在睡着时就会梦见你已死了。你对我的关心程度，还不及你关心那只狗呢！”
牛虻站了起来，慢步走到阳台的另一头。他没有料到会碰上这样的场面，不知如何回答她才好。对，琼玛说得对，他使他的生活陷入一个他很难解脱的纠葛之中。
过了一会儿，他走了回来。“坐下来我们心平气和地谈谈，”也说，“我看我们误解了对方。如果我认为你是认真的，那么我当然就不应该笑你。尽量清楚地告诉我，是什么使你感到心烦意乱。如果有什么误解，我们也许就能把它澄清。”
“没有什么要澄清的。我看得出来，你对我毫不在乎。”
“我亲爱的孩子，我们彼此之间最好还是坦诚相待。我总是努力抱着坦诚的态度处理我们之间的关系，我认为我从来没有欺骗过你——”
“噢，的确没有！你一直都很诚实，你甚至从来都不装装样子，只把我当成一个妓女——从旧货店买的一件花衣裳，在你之前曾被许多男人占有过——”
“嘘，绮达！我从来就不曾把一个活人想成这样。”
“你从来没爱过我。”她气呼呼地坚持说道。
“没有，我从来就没有爱过你。听我说，尽量不要以为我是存心不良。”
“谁说过我以为你存心不良？”
“等一等。我想说的是我并不相信世俗的道德准则，而且我也不尊重它们。对我来说，男女之间的关系只是个人喜好和厌恶的问题——”
“还是一个钱的关系。”她打断了他的话，并且冷笑了一声。他直往后缩，犹豫了一会儿。
“那当然是这个问题丑陋的地方。但是相信我，如果我认为你不喜欢我，或者对这事感到厌恶，那么我永远都不会提出我们处下去，而且也不会利用你的处境，劝说你同意我们相处。我这一辈子从没对任何女人做过这事，我也从没对任何一个女人虚情假意。你可以相信我说的是真话——”
他停顿了一会儿，但是她没有回答。
“我以为，”他接着说道，“如果一个男人在这个世界上独自一身，并且感到需要——需要一个女人陪在他的身边，如果他能找到一个吸引他的女人，而且他并不觉得她讨厌，那么他就有权抱着感激和友好的态度，接受一个女人愿意给予他的喜悦，不必缔结更加密切的关系。我看这事没有什么坏处，只要公平对待双方，不要相互侮辱、相互欺骗。至于在我认识你之前，你曾与其他男人有过关系，我对此没有想过。我只是想过这层关系对我们两人都是愉快的，不会伤害谁。一旦这层关系变得让人感到厌倦，那么我们都有权割断这层关系。如果我错了——如果你已经从另外一个角度看待这层关系——那么——”
他又顿了一下。
“那么？”她小声说道，头也没抬一下。
“那么我就使你受了委屈，我非常抱歉。但是我并不是存心这样。”
“你‘并不存心’，你‘以为’——费利斯，你是铁石心肠的人吗？你这一生从没爱过一个女人，竟然看不出我爱你吗？”
他突然打了一个激灵。已经很久没人对他说：“我爱你。”
她随后跳了起来，张开双臂抱住他。
“费利斯，和我一起走吧！离开这个可怕的国家，离开这些人，离开他们的政治！我们与他们有什么关系？走吧，我们在一起会非常幸福的。我们去南美，到你曾经居住过的地方。”
联想所引发的肉体恐惧使他醒悟过来，并且恢复了自制。
他把她的双手从脖子上掰开，然后紧紧地握住它们。
“绮达！请你明白我对你讲的话。我并不爱你，即使我爱你，我也不会和你一起走开。我在意大利有我的工作，有我的同志——”
“还有一个你更爱的人吗？”她恶狠狠地叫道。“噢，我真想杀死你！你关心的并不是你的同志们。我知道你关心谁！”
“嘘！”他平静地说道，“你太激动了，尽想些并不真实的事情。”
“你以为我想到了波拉夫人吗？我不会那么容易上当的！你同她只谈政治，你对她并不见得比对我更关心。是红衣主教！”
牛虻吓了一跳，好像被枪击中了一样。
“红衣主教？”他机械地重复了一下。
“就是秋天到这里来布道的蒙泰尼里红衣主教。在他的马车经过时，你以为我没有看见你的脸吗？你脸色煞白，就像我口袋里的手绢一样！怎么，因为我说出了他的名字，所以你现在就像树叶一样颤抖吗？”
他站了起来。
“我不知道你在说些什么，”他缓慢而又温柔地说道，“我——恨那位红衣主教。他是我最大的敌人。”
“不管是不是敌人，你都爱他，爱他甚于这个世界上的任何人。看着我的脸，如果你敢的话，你就说这不是真的！”
他调过头去，望着花园。她偷偷地看着他，有点害怕她所做的事情。他的沉默有点让人感到恐惧。最后她偷偷走到他跟前，就像是一个受惊的小孩，羞答答地扯着他的袖子。他转过身来。
“是真的。”他说。
收听单词发音 |
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radicals
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| n.激进分子( radical的名词复数 )；根基；基本原理；[数学]根数 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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frigidly
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| adv.寒冷地；冷漠地；冷淡地；呆板地 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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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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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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extricating
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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