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Maitre Cornelius-Part4_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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"The devil!" thought he, "plainly the king comes here, as they say he



does; he couldn't take more precautions at Plessis."

He waited for more than a quarter of an hour in the street. After that



lapse of time, he heard Cornelius saying to his sister, "Close the

traps of the door."



A clinking of chains resounded from within. Philippe heard the bolts

run, the locks creak, and presently a small low door, iron-bound,



opened to the slightest distance through which a man could pass. At

the risk of tearing off his clothing, Philippe squeezed himself rather



than walked into La Malemaison. A toothless old woman with a hatchet

face, the eyebrows projecting like the handles of a cauldron, the nose



and chin so near together that a nut could scarcely pass between them,

--a pallid, haggard creature, her hollow temples composed apparently



of only bones and nerves,--guided the "soi-disant" foreigner silently

into a lower room, while Cornelius followed prudently behind him.



"Sit there," she said to Philippe, showing him a three-legged stool

placed at the corner of a carved stone fireplace, where there was no



fire.

On the other side of the chimney-piece was a walnut table with twisted



legs, on which was an egg in a plate and ten or a dozen little bread-

sops, hard and dry and cut with studied parsimony. Two stools placed



beside the table, on one of which the old woman sat down, showed that

the miserly pair were eating their suppers. Cornelius went to the door



and pushed two iron shutters into their place, closing, no doubt, the

loopholes through which they had been gazing into the street; then he



returned to his seat. Philippe Goulenoire (so called) next beheld the

brother and sister dipping their sops into the egg in turn, and with



the utmostgravity and the same precision with which soldiers dip

their spoons in regular rotation into the mess-pot. This performance



was done in silence. But as he ate, Cornelius examined the false

apprentice with as much care and scrutiny as if he were weighing an



old coin.

Philippe, feeling that an icy mantle had descended on his shoulders,



was tempted to look about him; but, with the circumspection dictated

by all amorous enterprises, he was careful not to glance, even



furtively, at the walls; for he fully understood that if Cornelius

detected him, he would not allow so inquisitive a person to remain in



his house. He contented himself, therefore, by looking first at the

egg and then at the old woman, occasionally contemplating his future



master.

Louis XI.'s silversmith resembled that monarch. He had even acquired



the same gestures, as often happens where persons dwell together in a

sort of intimacy. The thick eyebrows of the Fleming almost covered his



eyes; but by raising them a little he could flash out a lucid,

penetrating, powerful glance, the glance of men habituated to silence,



and to whom the phenomenon of the concentration of inward forces has

become familiar. His thin lips, vertically wrinkled, gave him an air



of indescribable craftiness. The lower part of his face bore a vague

resemblance to the muzzle of a fox, but his lofty, projecting



forehead, with many lines, showed great and splendid qualities and a

nobility of soul, the springs of which had been lowered by experience



until the cruel teachings of life had driven it back into the farthest

recesses of this most singular human being. He was certainly not an



ordinary miser; and his passion covered, no doubt, extreme enjoyments

and secret conceptions.



"What is the present rate of Venetian sequins?" he said abruptly to

his future apprentice.



"Three-quarters at Brussels; one in Ghent."

"What is the freight on the Scheldt?"



"Three sous parisis."

"Any news at Ghent?"



"The brother of Lieven d'Herde is ruined."

"Ah!"



After giving vent to that exclamation, the old man covered his knee




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