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Modeste Mignon-Part2_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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"He's one of the pistons of the big engine called 'Commerce,'" said

poor Butscha, whose clever mind made itself felt occasionally by such



little sayings timidly jerked out.

The four Latournelles bowed with the most respectful deference to an



old lady dressed in black velvet, who did not rise from the armchair

in which she was seated, for the reason that both eyes were covered



with the yellow film produced by cataract. Madame Mignon may be

sketched in one sentence. Her augustcountenance of the mother of a



family attracted instant notice as that of one whose irreproachable

life defies the assaults of destiny, which nevertheless makes her the



target of its arrows and a member of the unnumbered tribe of Niobes.

Her blonde wig, carefully curled and well arranged upon her head,



became the cold white face which resembled that of some burgomaster's

wife painted by Hals or Mirevelt. The extreme neatness of her dress,



the velvet boots, the lace collar, the shawl evenly folded and put on,

all bore testimony to the solicitous care which Modeste bestowed upon



her mother.

When silence was, as the notary had predicted, restored in the pretty



salon, Modeste, sitting beside her mother, for whom she was

embroidering a kerchief, became for an instant the centre of



observation. This curiosity, barely veiled by the commonplace

salutations and inquiries of the visitors, would have revealed even to



an indifferent person the existence of the domestic plot to which

Modeste was expected to fall a victim; but Gobenheim, more than



indifferent, noticed nothing, and proceeded to light the candles on

the card-table. The behavior of Dumay made the whole scene terrifying



to Butscha, to the Latournelles, and above all to Madame Dumay, who

knew her husband to be capable of firing a pistol at Modeste's lover



as coolly as though he were a mad dog.

After dinner that day the cashier had gone to walk followed by two



magnificent Pyrenees hounds, whom he suspected of betraying him, and

therefore left in charge of a farmer, a former tenant of Monsieur



Mignon. On his return, just before the arrival of the Latournelles, he

had taken his pistols from his bed's head and placed them on the



chimney-piece, concealing this action from Modeste. The young girl

took no notice whatever of these preparations, singular as they were.



Though short, thick-set, pockmarked, and speaking always in a low

voice as if listening to himself, this Breton, a former lieutenant in



the Guard, showed the evidence of such resolution, such sang-froid on

his face that throughout life, even in the army, no one had ever



ventured to trifle with him. His little eyes, of a calm blue, were

like bits of steel. His ways, the look on his face, his speech, his



carriage, were all in keeping with the short name of Dumay. His

physical strength, well-known to every one, put him above all danger



of attack. He was able to kill a man with a blow of his fist, and had

performed that feat at Bautzen, where he found himself, unarmed, face



to face with a Saxon at the rear of his company. At the present moment

the usually firm yet gentle expression of the man's face had risen to



a sort of tragic sublimity; his lips were pale as the rest of his

face, indicating a tumult within him mastered by his Breton will; a



slight sweat, which every one noticed and guessed to be cold,

moistened his brow. The notary knew but too well that these signs



might result in a drama before the criminal courts. In fact the

cashier was playing a part in connection with Modeste Mignon, which



involved to his mind sentiments of honor and loyalty of far greater




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