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The Merry Men-Part26_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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he was fascinating the boy, or the boy was fascinating him. He

busied himself over the sick man: he put questions, he felt the



pulse, he jested, he grew a little hot and swore: and still,

whenever he looked round, there were the brown eyes waiting for his



with the same inquiring, melancholy gaze.

At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He remembered



the look now. The little fellow, although he was as straight as a

dart, had the eyes that go usually with a crooked back; he was not



at all deformed, and yet a deformed person seemed to be looking at

you from below his brows. The Doctor drew a long breath, he was so



much relieved to find a theory (for he loved theories) and to

explain away his interest.



For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual haste, and,

still kneeling with one knee on the floor, turned a little round



and looked the boy over at his leisure. The boy was not in the

least put out, but looked placidly back at the Doctor.



'Is this your father?' asked Desprez.

'Oh, no,' returned the boy; 'my master.'



'Are you fond of him?' continued the Doctor.

'No, sir,' said the boy.



Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances.

'That is bad, my man,' resumed the latter, with a shade of



sternness. 'Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal

their sentiments; and your master here is dying. If I have watched



a bird a little while stealing my cherries, I have a thought of

disappointment when he flies away over my garden wall, and I see



him steer for the forest and vanish. How much more a creature such

as this, so strong, so astute, so richly endowed with faculties!



When I think that, in a few hours, the speech will be silenced, the

breathextinct, and even the shadow vanished from the wall, I who



never saw him, this lady who knew him only as a guest, are touched

with some affection.'



The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be reflecting.

'You did not know him,' he replied at last, 'he was a bad man.'



'He is a little pagan,' said the landlady. 'For that matter, they

are all the same, these mountebanks, tumblers, artists, and what



not. They have no interior.'

But the Doctor was still scrutinising the little pagan, his



eyebrows knotted and uplifted.

'What is your name?' he asked.



'Jean-Marie,' said the lad.

Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden flashes of



excitement, and felt his head all over from an ethnological point

of view.



'Celtic, Celtic!' he said.

'Celtic!' cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the



word with hydrocephalous. 'Poor lad! is it dangerous?'

'That depends,' returned the Doctor grimly. And then once more



addressing the boy: 'And what do you do for your living, Jean-

Marie?' he inquired.



'I tumble,' was the answer.

'So! Tumble?' repeated Desprez. 'Probably healthful. I hazard



the guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a healthful way of

life. And have you never done anything else but tumble?'



'Before I learned that, I used to steal,' answered Jean-Marie

gravely.



'Upon my word!' cried the doctor. 'You are a nice little man for

your age. Madame, when my CONFRERE comes from Bourron, you will



communicate my unfavourable opinion. I leave the case in his

hands; but of course, on any alarming symptom, above all if there



should be a sign of rally, do not hesitate to knock me up. I am a

doctor no longer, I thank God; but I have been one. Good night,



madame. Good sleep to you, Jean-Marie.'

CHAPTER II. MORNING TALK



DOCTOR DESPREZ always rose early. Before the smoke arose, before

the first cart rattled over the bridge to the day's labour in the



fields, he was to be found wandering in his garden. Now he would

pick a bunch of grapes; now he would eat a big pear under the



trellice; now he would draw all sorts of fancies on the path with

the end of his cane; now he would go down and watch the river



running endlessly past the timber landing-place at which he moored

his boat. There was no time, he used to say, for making theories



like the early morning. 'I rise earlier than any one else in the




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