At half-past two they were alone in the little salon1 of the restaurant, and vaguely2 in their dreamy and feverish3 minds that were too preoccupied4 to control with precision their warm, relaxed bodies, there floated the illusion that the restaurant belonged to them and that in it they were at home. It was no longer a restaurant, but a retreat and shelter from hard life. The chef and his wife were dozing5 in an inner room. The champagne6 was drunk; the adorable cheese was eaten; and they were sipping7 Marc de Bourgogne. They sat at right angles to one another, close to one another, with brains aswing; full of good nature and quick sympathy; their flesh content and yet expectant. In a pause of the conversation (which, entirely8 banal9 and fragmentary, had seemed to reach the acme10 of agreeableness), Chirac put his hand on the hand of Sophia as it rested limp on the littered table. Accidentally she caught his eye; she had not meant to do so. They both became self-conscious. His thin, bearded face had more than ever that wistfulness which always softened11 towards him the uncompromisingness of her character. He had the look of a child. For her, Gerald had sometimes shown the same look. But indeed she was now one of those women for whom all men, and especially all men in a tender mood, are invested with a certain incurable12 quality of childishness. She had not withdrawn13 her hand at once, and so she could not withdraw it at all.
He gazed at her with timid audacity15. Her eyes were liquid.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"I was asking myself what I should have done if you had refused to come."
"And what SHOULD you have done?"
"Assuredly something terribly inconvenient," he replied, with the large importance of a man who is in the domain16 of pure supposition. He leaned towards her. "My very dear friend," he said in a different voice, getting bolder.
It was infinitely17 sweet to her, voluptuously18 sweet, this basking19 in the heat of temptation. It certainly did seem to her, then, the one real pleasure in the world. Her body might have been saying to his: "See how ready I am!" Her body might have been saying to his: "Look into my mind. For you I have no modesty20. Look and see all that is there." The veil of convention seemed to have been rent. Their attitude to each other was almost that of lover and mistress, between whom a single glance may be charged with the secrets of the past and promises for the future. Morally she was his mistress in that moment.
He released her hand and put his arm round her waist.
"I love thee," he whispered with great emotion.
Her face changed and hardened. "You must not do that," she said, coldly, unkindly, harshly. She scowled21. She would not abate22 one crease23 in her forehead to the appeal of his surprised glance. Yet she did not want to repulse24 him. The instinct which repulsed25 him was not within her control. Just as a shy man will obstinately27 refuse an invitation which he is hungering to accept, so, though not from shyness, she was compelled to repulse Chirac. Perhaps if her desires had not been laid to sleep by excessive physical industry and nervous strain, the sequel might have been different.
Chirac, like most men who have once found a woman weak, imagined that he understood women profoundly. He thought of women as the Occidental thinks of the Chinese, as a race apart, mysterious but capable of being infallibly comprehended by the application of a few leading principles of psychology28. Moreover he was in earnest; he was hard driven, and he was honest. He continued, respectfully obedient in withdrawing his arm:
"Very dear friend," he urged with undaunted confidence, "you must know that I love you."
She shook her head impatiently, all the time wondering what it was that prevented her from slipping into his arms. She knew that she was treating him badly by this brusque change of front; but she could not help it. Then she began to feel sorry for him.
"We have been very good friends," he said. "I have always admired you enormously. I did not think that I should dare to love you until that day when I overheard that old villain29 Niepce make his advances. Then, when I perceived my acute jealousy30, I knew that I was loving you. Ever since, I have thought only of you. I swear to you that if you will not belong to me, it is already finished for me! Altogether! Never have I seen a woman like you! So strong, so proud, so kind, and so beautiful! You are astonishing, yes, astonishing! No other woman could have drawn14 herself out of an impossible situation as you have done, since the disappearance31 of your husband. For me, you are a woman unique. I am very sincere. Besides, you know it ... Dear friend!"
She shook her head passionately32.
She did not love him. But she was moved. And she wanted to love him. She wanted to yield to him, only liking33 him, and to love afterwards. But this obstinate26 instinct held her back. "I do not say, now," Chirac went on. "Let me hope."
The Latin theatricality34 of his gestures and his tone made her sorrowful for him.
"My poor Chirac!" she plaintively35 murmured, and began to put on her gloves.
"I shall hope!" he persisted.
She pursed her lips. He seized her violently by the waist. She drew her face away from his, firmly. She was not hard, not angry now. Disconcerted by her compassion36, he loosed her.
"My poor Chirac," she said, "I ought not to have come. I must go. It is perfectly37 useless. Believe me."
"No, no!" he whispered fiercely.
She stood up and the abrupt38 movement pushed the table gratingly across the floor. The throbbing39 spell of the flesh was snapped like a stretched string, and the scene over. The landlord, roused from his doze40, stumbled in. Chirac had nothing but the bill as a reward for his pains. He was baffled.
They left the restaurant, silently, with a foolish air.
Dusk was falling on the mournful streets, and the lamp-lighters were lighting41 the miserable42 oil lamps that had replaced gas. They two, and the lamplighters, and an omnibus were alone in the streets. The gloom was awful; it was desolating43. The universal silence seemed to be the silence of despair. Steeped in woe44, Sophia thought wearily upon the hopeless problem of existence. For it seemed to her that she and Chirac had created this woe out of nothing, and yet it was an incurable woe!
1 salon | |
n.[法]沙龙;客厅;营业性的高级服务室 | |
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2 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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3 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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4 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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5 dozing | |
v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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6 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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7 sipping | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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8 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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9 banal | |
adj.陈腐的,平庸的 | |
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10 acme | |
n.顶点,极点 | |
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11 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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12 incurable | |
adj.不能医治的,不能矫正的,无救的;n.不治的病人,无救的人 | |
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13 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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14 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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15 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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16 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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17 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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18 voluptuously | |
adv.风骚地,体态丰满地 | |
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19 basking | |
v.晒太阳,取暖( bask的现在分词 );对…感到乐趣;因他人的功绩而出名;仰仗…的余泽 | |
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20 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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21 scowled | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22 abate | |
vi.(风势,疼痛等)减弱,减轻,减退 | |
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23 crease | |
n.折缝,褶痕,皱褶;v.(使)起皱 | |
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24 repulse | |
n.击退,拒绝;vt.逐退,击退,拒绝 | |
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25 repulsed | |
v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 );驳斥;拒绝 | |
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26 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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27 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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28 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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29 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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30 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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31 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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32 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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33 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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34 theatricality | |
n.戏剧风格,不自然 | |
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35 plaintively | |
adv.悲哀地,哀怨地 | |
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36 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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37 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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38 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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39 throbbing | |
a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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40 doze | |
v.打瞌睡;n.打盹,假寐 | |
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41 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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42 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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43 desolating | |
毁坏( desolate的现在分词 ); 极大地破坏; 使沮丧; 使痛苦 | |
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44 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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