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The Arrow of Gold-Part10_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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disguise. They are plotting the ruin of all the institutions to



which I am devoted. But I have never tried to spoil your little

game, Rita. After all, it's but a little game. You know very well



that two or three fearless articles, something in my style, you

know, would soon put a stop to all that underhand backing of your



king. I am calling him king because I want to be polite to you.

He is an adventurer, a blood-thirsty, murderousadventurer, for me,



and nothing else. Look here, my dear child, what are you knocking

yourself about for? For the sake of that bandit? Allons donc! A



pupil of Henry Allegre can have no illusions of that sort about any

man. And such a pupil, too! Ah, the good old days in the



Pavilion! Don't think I claim any particular intimacy. It was

just enough to enable me to offer my services to you, Rita, when



our poor friend died. I found myself handy and so I came. It so

happened that I was the first. You remember, Rita? What made it



possible for everybody to get on with our poor dear Allegre was his

complete, equable, and impartialcontempt for all mankind. There



is nothing in that against the purest democratic principles; but

that you, Rita, should elect to throw so much of your life away for



the sake of a Royal adventurer, it really knocks me over. For you

don't love him. You never loved him, you know."



He made a snatch at her hand, absolutely pulled it away from under

her head (it was quite startling) and retaining it in his grasp,



proceeded to a paternal patting of the most impudent kind. She let

him go on with apparent insensibility. Meanwhile his eyes strayed



round the table over our faces. It was very trying. The stupidity

of that wandering stare had a paralysing power. He talked at large



with husky familiarity.

"Here I come, expecting to find a good sensible girl who had seen



at last the vanity of all those things; half-light in the rooms;

surrounded by the works of her favourite poets, and all that sort



of thing. I say to myself: I must just run in and see the dear

wise child, and encourage her in her good resolutions. . . And I



fall into the middle of an intime lunch-party. For I suppose it is

intime. Eh? Very? H'm, yes . . . "



He was really appalling. Again his wandering stare went round the

table, with an expression incredibly incongruous with the words.



It was as though he had borrowed those eyes from some idiot for the

purpose of that visit. He still held Dona Rita's hand, and, now



and then, patted it.

"It's discouraging," he cooed. "And I believe not one of you here



is a Frenchman. I don't know what you are all about. It's beyond

me. But if we were a Republic - you know I am an old Jacobin,



sans-culotte and terrorist - if this were a real Republic with the

Convention sitting and a Committee of Public Safety attending to



national business, you would all get your heads cut off. Ha, ha .

. . I am joking, ha, ha! . . . and serve you right, too. Don't



mind my little joke."

While he was still laughing he released her hand and she leaned her



head on it again without haste. She had never looked at him once.

During the rather humiliating silence that ensued he got a leather



cigar case like a small valise out of his pocket, opened it and

looked with critical interest at the six cigars it contained. The



tireless femme-de-chambre set down a tray with coffee cups on the

table. We each (glad, I suppose, of something to do) took one, but



he, to begin with, sniffed at his. Dona Rita continued leaning on

her elbow, her lips closed in a reposeful expression of peculiar



sweetness. There was nothing drooping in her attitude. Her face

with the delicate carnation of a rose and downcast eyes was as if



veiled in firm immobility and was so appealing that I had an insane

impulse to walk round and kiss the forearm on which it was leaning;



that strong, well-shaped forearm, gleaming not like marble but with

a living and warm splendour. So familiar had I become already with



her in my thoughts! Of course I didn't do anything of the sort.

It was nothing uncontrollable, it was but a tender longing of a



most respectful and purelysentimental kind. I performed the act

in my thought quietly, almost solemnly, while the creature with the



silver hair leaned back in his chair, puffing at his cigar, and




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