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The Arrow of Gold-Part14_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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mistaken in you, that's all.' With that he pretends to dash a tear

from his eye-crocodile! - and goes out, leaving me in my fur by the



blazing fire, my teeth going like castanets. . . Did you ever hear

of anything so stupid as this affair?" she concluded in a tone of



extreme candour and a profound unreadable stare that went far

beyond us both. And the stillness of her lips was so perfect



directly she ceased speaking that I wondered whether all this had

come through them or only had formed itself in my mind.



Presently she continued as if speaking for herself only.

"It's like taking the lids off boxes and seeing ugly toads staring



at you. In every one. Every one. That's what it is having to do

with men more than mere - Good-morning - Good evening. And if you



try to avoid meddling with their lids, some of them will take them

off themselves. And they don't even know, they don't even suspect



what they are showing you. Certain confidences - they don't see it

- are the bitterest kind of insult. I suppose Azzolati imagines



himself a noble beast of prey. Just as some others imagine

themselves to be most delicate, noble, and refined gentlemen. And



as likely as not they would trade on a woman's troubles - and in

the end make nothing of that either. Idiots!"



The utter absence of all anger in this spokenmeditation gave it a

character of touchingsimplicity. And as if it had been truly only



a meditation we conducted ourselves as though we had not heard it.

Mills began to speak of his experiences during his visit to the



army of the Legitimist King. And I discovered in his speeches that

this man of books could be graphic and picturesque. His admiration



for the devotion and bravery of the army was combined with the

greatest distaste for what he had seen of the way its great



qualities were misused. In the conduct of this great enterprise he

had seen a deplorable levity of outlook, a fatal lack of decision,



an absence of any reasoned plan.

He shook his head.



"I feel that you of all people, Dona Rita, ought to be told the

truth. I don't know exactly what you have at stake."



She was rosy like some impassive statue in a desert in the flush of

the dawn.



"Not my heart," she said quietly. "You must believe that."

"I do. Perhaps it would have been better if you. . . "



"No, Monsieur le Philosophe. It would not have been better. Don't

make that serious face at me," she went on with tenderness in a



playful note, as if tenderness had been her inheritance of all time

and playfulness the very fibre of her being. "I suppose you think



that a woman who has acted as I did and has not staked her heart on

it is . . . How do you know to what the heart responds as it beats



from day to day?"

"I wouldn't judge you. What am I before the knowledge you were



born to? You are as old as the world."

She accepted this with a smile. I who was innocently watching them



was amazed to discover how much a fleeting thing like that could

hold of seduction without the help of any other feature and with



that unchanging glance.

"With me it is pun d'onor. To my first independent friend."



"You were soon parted," ventured Mills, while I sat still under a

sense of oppression.



"Don't think for a moment that I have been scared off," she said.

"It is they who were frightened. I suppose you heard a lot of



Headquarters gossip?"

"Oh, yes," Mills said meaningly. "The fair and the dark are



succeeding each other like leaves blown in the wind dancing in and

out. I suppose you have noticed that leaves blown in the wind have



a look of happiness."

"Yes," she said, "that sort of leaf is dead. Then why shouldn't it



look happy? And so I suppose there is no uneasiness, no occasion

for fears amongst the 'responsibles.'"



"Upon the whole not. Now and then a leaf seems as if it would

stick. There is for instance Madame . . ."



"Oh, I don't want to know, I understand it all, I am as old as the

world."



"Yes," said Mills thoughtfully, "you are not a leaf, you might have

been a tornado yourself."



"Upon my word," she said, "there was a time that they thought I

could carry him off, away from them all - beyond them all. Verily,



I am not very proud of their fears. There was nothing reckless

there worthy of a great passion. There was nothing sad there



worthy of a great tenderness."




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