老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
II Page 2
Thus Sophia was left side by side with the vermilion cloak. Shewas quite helpless. All the pride of a married woman had abandonedher. She stood transfixed by intense shame, staring painfully at apillar, to avoid the universal assault of eyes. She felt like anindiscreet little girl, and she looked like one. No youthfulradiant beauty of features, no grace and style of a Parisiandress, no certificate of a ring, no premature initiation into themysteries, could save her from the appearance of a raw fool whosefoolishness had been her undoing. Her face changed to its reddest,and remained at that, and all the fundamental innocence of hernature, which had been overlaid by the violent experiences of herbrief companionship with Gerald, rose again to the surface withthat blush. Her situation drew pity from a few hearts and acareless contempt from the rest. But since once more it was aquestion of ces Anglais, nobody could be astonished.
Without moving her head, she twisted her eyes to the clock: half-past two. The fiddler ceased his dance and made a collection inhis tasselled cap. The vermilion cloak threw a coin into the cap.Sophia stared at it moveless, until the fiddler, tired of waiting,passed to the next table and relieved her agony. She had no moneyat all. She set herself to watch the clock; but its fingers wouldnot stir.
With an exclamation the lady of the cloak got up and peered out ofthe window, chatted with waiters, and then removed herself and hercloak to the next table, where she was received with amiablesympathy by the three lorettes, Chirac, and the other two men. Theparty surreptitiously examined Sophia from time to time. ThenChirac went outside with the head-waiter, returned, consulted withhis friends, and finally approached Sophia. It was twenty minutespast three.
He renewed his magnificent bow. "Madame," he said carefully, "willyou allow me to bring you to your hotel?"
He made no reference to Gerald, partly, doubtless, because hisEnglish was treacherous on difficult ground.
Sophia had not sufficient presence of mind to thank her saviour.
"But the bill?" she stammered. "The bill isn't paid."
saviour. carried awaylike something obscene; and on his arm?
He did not instantly understand her. But one of the waiters hadcaught the sound of a familiar word, and sprang forward with aslip of paper on a plate.
"I have no money," said Sophia, with a feeble smile.
"Je vous arrangerai ca," he said. "What name of the hotel?Meurice, is it not?"
"Hotel Meurice," said Sophia. "Yes."
He spoke to the head-waiter about the bill, which was carried awaylike something obscene; and on his arm, which he punctiliouslyoffered and she could not refuse, Sophia left the scene of herignominy. She was so distraught that she could not manage hercrinoline in the doorway. No sign anywhere outside of Gerald orhis foe!
He put her into an open carriage, and in five minutes they hadclattered down the brilliant silence of the Rue de la Paix,through the Place Vendome into the Rue de Rivoli; and the night-porter of the hotel was at the carriage-step.
"I tell them at the restaurant where you gone," said Chirac, bare-headed under the long colonnade of the street. "If your husband isthere, I tell him. Till to-morrow ...!"
His manners were more wonderful than any that Sophia had everimagined. He might have been in the dark Tuileries on the oppositeside of the street, saluting an empress, instead of taking leaveof a raw little girl, who was still too disturbed even to thankhim.
She fled candle in hand up the wide, many-cornered stairs; Geraldmight be already in the bedroom, ... drunk! There was a chance.But the gilt-fringed bedroom was empty. She sat down at thevelvet-covered table amid the shadows cast by the candle thatwavered in the draught from the open window. And she set her teethand a cold fury possessed her in the hot and languorous night.Gerald was an imbecile. That he should have allowed himself to gettipsy was bad enough, but that he should have exposed her to thehorrible situation from which Chirac had extricated her, wasunspeakably disgraceful. He was an imbecile. He had no commonsense. With all his captivating charm, he could not be relied uponnot to make himself and her ridiculous, tragically ridiculous.Compare him with Mr. Chirac! She leaned despairingly on the table.She would not undress. She would not move. She had to realize herposition; she had to see it.
Folly! Folly! Fancy a commercial traveller throwing a compromisingpiece of paper to the daughter of his customer in the shop itself:that was the incredible folly with which their relations hadbegun! And his mad gesture at the pit-shaft! And his scheme forbringing her to Paris unmarried! And then to-night! Monstrousfolly! Alone in the bedroom she was a wise and a disillusionedwoman, wiser than any of those dolls in the restaurant.
And had she not gone to Gerald, as it were, over the dead body ofher father, through lies and lies and again lies? That was how shephrased it to herself. ... Over the dead body of her father! Howcould such a venture succeed? How could she ever have hoped thatit would succeed? In that moment she saw her acts with theterrible vision of a Hebrew prophet.
She thought of the Square and of her life there with her motherand Sophia. Never would her pride allow her to return to thatlife, not even if the worst happened to her that could happen. Shewas one of those who are prepared to pay without grumbling forwhat they have had.
There was a sound outside. She noticed that the dawn had begun.The door opened and disclosed Gerald.
They exchanged a searching glance, and Gerald shut the door.Gerald infected the air, but she perceived at once that he wassobered. His lip was bleeding.
"Mr. Chirac brought me home," she said.
"So it seems," said Gerald, curtly. "I asked you to wait for me.Didn't I say I should come back?"
He was adopting the injured magisterial tone of the man who isridiculously trying to conceal from himself and others that he hasrecently behaved like an ass.
She resented the injustice. "I don't think you need talk likethat," she said.
"Like what?" he bullied her, determined that she should be in thewrong.
And what a hard look on his pretty face!
Her prudence bade her accept the injustice. She was his. Rapt awayfrom her own world, she was utterly dependent on his good nature.
"I knocked my chin against the damned balustrade, comingupstairs," said Gerald, gloomily.
She knew that was a lie. "Did you?" she replied kindly. "Let mebathe it."