老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
III
Their relations were permanently changed. For several days theydid not meet at all; and when at the end of the week Chirac wasobliged at last to face Sophia in order to pay his bill, he had amost grievous expression. It was obvious that he consideredhimself a criminal without any defence to offer for his crime. Heseemed to make no attempt to hide his state of mind. But he saidnothing. As for Sophia, she preserved a mien of amiablecheerfulness. She exerted herself to convince him by her attitudethat she bore no resentment, that she had determined to forget theincident, that in short she was the forgiving angel of his dreams.She did not, however, succeed entirely in being quite natural.Confronted by his misery, it would have been impossible for her tobe quite natural, and at the same time quite cheerful!
A little later the social atmosphere of the flat began to growquerulous, disputatious and perverse. The nerves of everybody wereseriously strained. This applied to the whole city. Days of heavyrains followed the sharp frosts, and the town was, as it were,sodden with woe. The gates were closed. And though nine-tenths ofthe inhabitants never went outside the gates, the definite andabsolute closing of them demoralized all hearts. Gas was no longersupplied. Rats, cats, and thorough-bred horses were being eatenand pronounced 'not bad.' The siege had ceased to be a novelty.Friends did not invite one another to a 'siege-dinner' as to apicnic. Sophia, fatigued by regular overwork, became weary of thesituation. She was angry with the Prussians for dilatoriness, andwith the French for inaction, and she poured out her Englishspleen on her boarders. The boarders told each other in secretthat the patronne was growing formidable. Chiefly she bore agrudge against the shopkeepers; and when, upon a rumour of peace,the shop-windows one day suddenly blossomed with prodigiousquantities of all edibles, at highest prices, thus proving thatthe famine was artificially created, Sophia was furious. M. Niepcein particular, though he sold goods to her at a special discount,suffered indignities. A few days later that benign and fatherlyman put himself lamentably in the wrong by attempting to introduceinto his room a charming young creature who knew how to besympathetic. Sophia, by an accident unfortunate for the grocer,caught them in the corridor. She was beside herself, but the onlyoutward symptoms were a white face and a cold steely voice thatgrated like a rasp on the susceptibilities of the adherents ofAphrodite. At this period Sophia had certainly developed into atermagant--without knowing it!
She would often insist now on talking about the siege, and hearingeverything that the men could tell her. Her comments, made withoutthe least regard for the justifiable delicacy of their feelings asFrenchmen, sometimes led to heated exchanges. When all Montmartreand the Quartier Breda was impassioned by the appearance fromoutside of the Thirty-second battalion, she took the side of thepopulace, and would not credit the solemn statement of thejournalists, proved by documents, that these maltreated soldierswere not cowards in flight. She supported the women who had spitin the faces of the Thirty-second. She actually said that if shehad met them, she would have spit too. Really, she was convincedof the innocence of the Thirty-second, but something prevented herfrom admitting it. The dispute ended with high words betweenherself and Chirac.
The next day Chirac came home at an unusual hour, knocked at thekitchen door, and said:
"I must give notice to leave you."
"Why?" she demanded curtly.
She was kneading flour and water for a potato-cake. Her potato-cakes were the joy of the household.
"My paper has stopped!" said Chirac.
"Oh!" she added thoughtfully, but not looking at him. "That is noreason why you should leave."
"Yes," he said. "This place is beyond my means. I do not need totell you that in ceasing to appear the paper has omitted to payits debts. The house owes me a month's salary. So I must leave."
"No!" said Sophia. "You can pay me when you have money."
looking at him. "That is noreason why you should leave.", but not.
He shook his head. "I have no intention of accepting yourkindness."
"Haven't you got any money?" she abruptly asked.
"None," said he. "It is the disaster--quite simply!"
"Then you will be forced to get into debt somewhere."
"Truly, Chirac," she exclaimed, with a cajoling voice, "you arenot reasonable."
"Nevertheless it is like that!" he said with decision.
day Chirac came home at an unusual hour, .
"Eh, well!" she turned on him menacingly. "It will not be likethat! You understand me? You will stay. And you will pay me whenyou can. Otherwise we shall quarrel. Do you imagine I shalltolerate your childishness? Just because you were angry lastnight----"
"It is not that," he protested." You ought to know it is notthat."(She did.)" It is solely that I cannot permit myself to----"
"Enough!" she cried peremptorily, stopping him. And then in aquieter tone, "And what about Carlier? Is he also in the ditch?"
"Ah! he has money," said Chirac, with sad envy.
"You also, one day," said she. "You stop--in any case until afterChristmas, or we quarrel. Is it agreed?" Her accent had softened.
"You are too good!" he yielded. "I cannot quarrel with you. But itpains me to accept--"
"Oh!" she snapped, dropping into the vulgar idiom, "you make mesweat with your stupid pride. Is it that that you call friendship?Go away now. How do you wish that I should succeed with this cakewhile you station yourself there to distract me?"