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The Haunted Hotel-Part17_WILKIE COLLINS (1824-1899)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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on the first floor? It will be at your service to-morrow--



a charming room. In the mean time, we will do the best we can

for you, to-night.'



A man who is the successful manager of a theatre is probably

the last man in the civilizeduniverse who is capable of being



impressed with favourable opinions of his fellow-creatures.

Francis privately set the manager down as a humbug, and the story



about the numbering of the rooms as a lie.

On the day of his arrival, he dined by himself in the restaurant,



before the hour of the table d'hote, for the express purpose of questioning

the waiter, without being overheard by anybody. The answer led him



to the conclusion that '13 A' occupied the situation in the hotel which

had been described by his brother and sister as the situation of '14.'



He asked next for the Visitors' List; and found that the French gentleman

who then occupied '13 A,' was the proprietor of a theatre in Paris,



personally well known to him. Was the gentleman then in the hotel?

He had gone out, but would certainly return for the table d'hote.



When the public dinner was over, Francis entered the room, and was

welcomed by his Parisian colleague, literally, with open arms.



'Come and have a cigar in my room,' said the friendly Frenchman.

'I want to hear whether you have really engaged that woman at Milan



or not.' In this easy way, Francis found his opportunity of comparing

the interior of the room with the description which he had heard of it



at Milan.

Arriving at the door, the Frenchman bethought himself of his



travelling companion. 'My scene-painter is here with me,' he said,

'on the look-out for materials. An excellent fellow, who will take it



as a kindness if we ask him to join us. I'll tell the porter to send

him up when he comes in.' He handed the key of his room to Francis.



'I will be back in a minute. It's at the end of the corridor--

13 A.'



Francis entered the room alone. There were the decorations on

the walls and the ceiling, exactly as they had been described to him!



He had just time to perceive this at a glance, before his attention

was diverted to himself and his own sensations, by a grotesquely



disagreeable occurrence which took him completely by surprise.

He became conscious of a mysteriouslyoffensive odour in the room,



entirely new in his experience of revolting smells. It was composed

(if such a thing could be) of two mingling exhalations,



which were separately-discoverable exhalations nevertheless.

This strange blending of odours consisted of something faintly



and unpleasantly aromatic, mixed with another underlying smell,

so unutterably sickening that he threw open the window, and put his



head out into the fresh air, unable to endure the horribly infected

atmosphere for a moment longer.



The French proprietor joined his English friend, with his cigar

already lit. He started back in dismay at a sight terrible to his



countrymen in general--the sight of an open window. 'You English

people are perfectly mad on the subject of fresh air!' he exclaimed.



'We shall catch our deaths of cold.'

Francis turned, and looked at him in astonishment. 'Are you really



not aware of the smell there is in the room?' he asked.

'Smell!' repeated his brother-manager. 'I smell my own good cigar.



Try one yourself. And for Heaven's sake shut the window!'

Francis declined the cigar by a sign. 'Forgive me,' he said.



'I will leave you to close the window. I feel faint and giddy--

I had better go out.' He put his handkerchief over his nose and mouth,



and crossed the room to the door.

The Frenchman followed the movements of Francis, in such a state



of bewilderment that he actually forgot to seize the opportunity

of shutting out the fresh air. 'Is it so nasty as that?' he asked,



with a broad stare of amazement.

'Horrible!' Francis muttered behind his handkerchief.



'I never smelt anything like it in my life!'

There was a knock at the door. The scene-painter appeared.



His employerinstantly asked him if he smelt anything.

'I smell your cigar. Delicious! Give me one directly!'



'Wait a minute. Besides my cigar, do you smell anything else--vile,

abominable, overpowering, indescribable, never-never-never-smelt before?'






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