original short stories-13-第12章

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I　must　have　been　in　a　deep　sleep　for　a　long　time；　but　all　of　a　sudden　I
was　awakened　with　a　start　by　the　fall　of　a　heavy　body　tumbling　right　on
top　of　my　own；　and；　at　the　same　time；　I　received　on　my　face；　on　my　neck；
and　on　my　chest　a　burning　liquid　which　made　me　utter　a　howl　of　pain。　　And
a　dreadful　noise；　as　if　a　sideboard　laden　with　plates　and　dishes　had
fallen　down；　almost　deafened　me。

I　was　smothering　beneath　the　weight　that　was　crushing　me　and　preventing
me　from　moving。　　I　stretched　out　my　hand　to　find　out　what　was　the　nature
of　this　object。　　I　felt　a　face；　a　nose；　and　whiskers。　　Then；　with　all　my
strength；　I　launched　out　a　blow　at　this　face。　　But　I　immediately　received
a　hail　of　cuffings　which　made　me　jump　straight　out　of　the　soaked　sheets；
and　rush　in　my　nightshirt　into　the　corridor；　the　door　of　which　I　found
open。

Oh；　heavens！　　it　was　broad　daylight。　　The　noise　brought　my　friends
hurrying　into　my　apartment；　and　we　found；　sprawling　over　my　improvised
bed；　the　dismayed　valet；　who；　while　bringing　me　my　morning　cup　of　tea；
had　tripped　over　this　obstacle　in　the　middle　of　the　floor　and　fallen　on
his　stomach；　spilling　my　breakfast　over　my　face　in　spite　of　himself。

The　precautions　I　had　taken　in　closing　the　shutters　and　going　to　sleep　in
the　middle　of　the　room　had　only　brought　about　the　practical　joke　I　had
been　trying　to　avoid。

Oh；　how　they　all　laughed　that　day！






A　PORTRAIT

Hello！　there's　Milial！〃　said　somebody　near　me。　　I　looked　at　the　man　who
had　been　pointed　out　as　I　had　been　wishing　for　a　long　time　to　meet　this
Don　Juan。

He　was　no　longer　young。　　His　gray　hair　looked　a　little　like　those　fur
bonnets　worn　by　certain　Northern　peoples；　and　his　long　beard；　which　fell
down　over　his　chest；　had　also　somewhat　the　appearance　of　fur。　　He　was
talking　to　a　lady；　leaning　toward　her；　speaking　in　a　low　voice　and
looking　at　her　with　an　expression　full　of　respect　and　tenderness。

I　knew　his　life；　or　at　least　as　much　as　was　known　of　it。　　He　had　loved
madly　several　times；　and　there　had　been　certain　tragedies　with　which　his
name　had　been　connected。　　When　I　spoke　to　women　who　were　the　loudest　in
his　praise；　and　asked　them　whence　came　this　power；　they　always　answered；
after　thinking　for　a　while：　〃I　don't　knowhe　has　a　certain　charm　about
him。〃

He　was　certainly　not　handsome。　　He　had　none　of　the　elegance　that　we
ascribe　to　conquerors　of　feminine　hearts。　　I　wondered　what　might　be　his
hid　den　charm。　　Was　it　mental？　　I　never　had　heard　of　a　clever　saying　of
his。　　In　his　glance？　　Perhaps。　　Or　in　his　voice？　　The　voices　of　some
beings　have　a　certain　irresistible　attraction；　almost　suggesting　the
flavor　of　things　good　to　eat。　　One　is　hungry　for　them；　and　the　sound　of
their　words　penetrates　us　like　a　dainty　morsel。　　A　friend　was　passing。
I　asked　him：　〃Do　you　know　Monsieur　Milial？〃

〃Yes。〃

〃Introduce　us。〃

A　minute　later　we　were　shaking　hands　and　talking　in　the　doorway。　　What　he
said　was　correct；　agreeable　to　hear；　it　contained　no　irritable　thought。
The　voice　was　sweet；　soft；　caressing；　musical；　but　I　had　heard　others
much　more　attractive；　much　more　moving。　　One　listened　to　him　with
pleasure；　just　as　one　would　look　at　a　pretty　little　brook。　　No　tension　of
the　mind　was　necessary　in　order　to　follow　him；　no　hidden　meaning　aroused
curiosity；　no　expectation　awoke　interest。　　His　conversation　was　rather
restful；　but　it　did　not　awaken　in　one　either　a　desire　to　answer；　to
contradict　or　to　approve；　and　it　was　as　easy　to　answer　him　as　it　was　to
listen　to　him。　　The　response　came　to　the　lips　of　its　own　accord；　as　soon
as　he　had　finished　talking；　and　phrases　turned　toward　him　as　if　he　had
naturally　aroused　them。

One　thought　soon　struck　me。　　I　had　known　him　for　a　quarter　of　an　hour；
and　it　seemed　as　if　he　were　already　one　of　my　old　friends；　that　I　had
known　all　about　him　for　a　long　time；　his　face；　his　gestures；　his　voice；
his　ideas。　　Suddenly；　after　a　few　minutes　of　conversation；　he　seemed
already　to　be　installed　in　my　intimacy。　　All　constraint　disappeared
between　us；　and；　had　he　so　desired；　I　might　have　confided　in　him　as　one
confides　only　in　old　friends。

Certainly　there　was　some　mystery　about　him。　　Those　barriers　that　are
closed　between　most　people　and　that　are　lowered　with　time　when　sympathy；
similar　tastes；　equal　intellectual　culture　and　constant　intercourse
remove　constraintthose　barriers　seemed　not　to　exist　between　him　and　me；
and　no　doubt　this　was　the　case　between　him　and　all　people；　both　men　and
women；　whom　fate　threw　in　his　path。

After　half　an　hour　we　parted；　promising　to　see　each　other　often；　and　he
gave　me　his　address　after　inviting　me　to　take　luncheon　with　him　in　two
days。

I　forgot　what　hour　he　had　stated；　and　I　arrived　too　soon；　he　was　not　yet
home。　　A　correct　and　silent　domestic　showed　me　into　a　beautiful；　quiet；
softly　lighted　parlor。　　I　felt　comfortable　there；　at　home。　　How　often　I
have　noticed　the　influence　of　apartments　on　the　character　and　on　the
mind！　　There　are　some　which　make　one　feel　foolish；　in　others；　on　the
contrary；　one　always　feels　lively。　　Some　make　us　sad；　although　well
lighted　and　decorated　in　light…colored　furniture；　others　cheer　us　up；
although　hung　with　sombre　material。　　Our　eye；　like　our　heart；　has　its
likes　and　dislikes；　of　which　it　does　not　inform　us；　and　which　it　secretly
imposes　on　our　temperament。　　The　harmony　of　furniture；　walls；　the　style
of　an　ensemble；　act　immediately　on　our　mental　state；　just　as　the　air　from
the　woods；　the　sea　or　the　mountains　modifies　our　physical　natures。

I　sat　down　on　a　cushion…covered　divan　and　felt　myself　suddenly　carried
and　supported　by　these　little　silk　bags　of　feathers；　as　if　the　outline　of
my　body　had　been　marked　out　beforehand　on　this　couch。

Then　I　looked　about。　　There　was　nothing　striking　about　the　room；　every…
where　were　beautiful　and　modest　things；　simple　and　rare　furniture；
Oriental　curtains　which　did　not　seem　to　come　from　a　department　store　but
from　the　interior　of　a　harem；　and　exactly　opposite　me　hung　the　portrait
of　a　woman。　　It　was　a　portrait　of　medium　size；　showing　the　head　and　the
upper　part　of　the　body；　and　the　hands；　which　were　holding　a　book。　　She
was　young；　bareheaded；　ribbons　were　woven　in　her　hair；　she　was　smiling
sadly。　　Was　it　because　she　was　bareheaded；　was　it　merely　her　natural
expression？　　I　never　have　seen　a　portrait　of　a　lady　which　seemed　so　much
in　its　place　as　that　one　in　that　dwelling。　　Of　all　those　I　knew　I　have
seen　nothing　like　that　one。　　All　those　that　I　know　are　on　exhibition；
whether　the　lady　be　dressed　in　her　gaudiest　gown；　with　an　attractive
headdress　and　a　look　which　shows　that　she　is　posing　first　of　all　before
the　artist　and　then　before　those　who　will　look　at　her　or　whether　they
have　taken　a　comfortable　attitude　in　an　ordinary　gown。　　Some　are　standing
majestically　in　all　their　beauty；　which　is　not　at　all　natural　to　them　in
life。　　All　of　them　have　something；　a　flower　or；　a　jewel；　a　crease　in　the
dress　or　a　curve　of　the　lip；　which　one　feels　to　have　been　placed　there
for　effect　by　the　artist。　　Whether　they　wear　a　hat　or　merely　their　hair
one　can　immediately　notice　that　they　are　not　entirely　natural。　　Why？
One　cannot　say　without　knowing　them；　but　the　effect　is　there。　　They　seem
to　be　calling　somewhere；　on　people　whom　they　wish　to　please　and　to　whom
they　wish　to　appear　at　their　best　advantage；　and　they　have　studied　their
attitudes；　sometimes　modest；　Sometimes　haughty。

What　could　one　say　about　this　one？　　She　was　at　home　and　alone。　　Yes；　she
was　alone；　for　she　was　smiling　as　one　smiles　when　thinking　in　solitude　of
something　sad　or　sweet；　and　not　as　one　smiles　when　one　is　being　watched。
She　seemed　so　much　alone　and　so　much　at　home　that　she　made　the　whole
large　apartment　seem　absolutely　empty。　　She　alone　lived　in　it；　filled　it；
gave　it　life。　　Many　people　might　come　in　and　converse；　laugh；　even　sing；
she　would　still　be　alone　with　a　solitary　smile；　and　she　alone　would　give
it　life　with　her　pictured　gaze。

That　look　also　was　unique。　　It　fell　directly　on　me；　fixed　and　caressing；
without　seeing　me。　　All　portraits　know　that　they　are　being　watched；　and
they　answer　with　their　eyes；　which　see；　think；　follow　us　without　leav