el dorado-第17章
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small and old； tiny tables of antique Vernis…Martin； softly faded
tapestries； a pale…toned Aubusson carpet。 Everything mellow and
in a measure pathetic。 Mademoiselle Lange； who was an orphan；
lived alone under the duennaship of a middle…aged relative； a
penniless hanger…on of the successful young actress； who acted as
her chaperone； housekeeper； and maid； and kept unseemly or
over…bold gallants at bay。
She told Armand all about her early life； her childhood in the
backshop of Maitre Meziere； the jeweller； who was a relative of
her mother's； of her desire for an artistic career； her struggles
with the middle…class prejudices of her relations； her bold
defiance of them； and final independence。
She made no secret of her humble origin； her want of education in
those days； on the contrary； she was proud of what she had
accomplished for herself。 She was only twenty years of age； and
already held a leading place in the artistic world of Paris。
Armand listened to her chatter； interested in everything she said；
questioning her with sympathy and discretion。 She asked him a good
deal about himself； and about his beautiful sister Marguerite；
who； of course； had been the most brilliant star in that most
brilliant constellation； the Comedie Francaise。 She had never
seen Marguerite St。 Just act； but； of course； Paris still rang
with her praises； and all art…lovers regretted that she should
have married and left them to mourn for her。
Thus the conversation drifted naturally back to England。
Mademoiselle professed a vast interest in the citizen's country of
adoption。
〃I had always；〃 she said； 〃thought it an ugly country； with the
noise and bustle of industrial life going on everywhere； and smoke
and fog to cover the landscape and to stunt the trees。〃
〃Then； in future； mademoiselle；〃 he replied； 〃must you think of it
as one carpeted with verdure； where in the spring the orchard
trees covered with delicate blossom would speak to you of
fairyland； where the dewy grass stretches its velvety surface in
the shadow of ancient monumental oaks； and ivy…covered towers rear
their stately crowns to the sky。〃
〃And the Scarlet Pimpernel？ Tell me about him； monsieur。〃
〃Ah； mademoiselle； what can I tell you that you do not already
know？ The Scarlet Pimpernel is a man who has devoted his entire
existence to the benefit of suffering mankind。 He has but one
thought； and that is for those who need him； he hears but one
sound the cry of the oppressed。〃
〃But they do say； monsieur； that philanthropy plays but a sorry
part in your hero's schemes。 They aver that he looks on his own
efforts and the adventures through which he goes only in the light
of sport。〃
〃Like all Englishmen； mademoiselle； the Scarlet Pimpernel is a
little ashamed of sentiment。 He would deny its very existence
with his lips； even whilst his noble heart brimmed over with it。
Sport？ Well！ mayhap the sporting instinct is as keen as that of
charitythe race for lives； the tussle for the rescue of human
creatures； the throwing of a life on the hazard of a die。〃
〃They fear him in France； monsieur。 He has saved so many whose
death had been decreed by the Committee of Public Safety。〃
〃Please God； he will save many yet。〃
〃Ah； monsieur； the poor little boy in the Temple prison！〃
〃He has your sympathy； mademoiselle？〃
〃Of every right…minded woman in France； monsieur。 Oh！〃 she added
with a pretty gesture of enthusiasm； clasping her hands together；
and looking at Armand with large eyes filled with tears； 〃if your
noble Scarlet Pimpernel will do aught to save that poor innocent
lamb； I would indeed bless him in my heart； and help him with all
my humble might if I could。〃
〃May God's saints bless you for those words； mademoiselle；〃 he
said； whilst； carried away by her beauty； her charm； her perfect
femininity； he stooped towards her until his knee touched the
carpet at her feet。 〃I had begun to lose my belief in my poor
misguided country； to think all men in France vile； and all women
base。 I could thank you on my knees for your sweet words of
sympathy； for the expression of tender motherliness that came into
your eyes when you spoke of the poor forsaken Dauphin in the
Temple。〃
She did not restrain her tears； with her they came very easily；
just as with a child； and as they gathered in her eyes and rolled
down her fresh cheeks they iii no way marred the charm of her
face。 One hand lay in her lap fingering a diminutive bit of
cambric； which from time to time she pressed to her eyes。 The
other she had almost unconsciously yielded to Armand。
The scent of the violets filled the room。 It seemed to emanate
from her； a fitting attribute of her young； wholly unsophisticated
girlhood。 The citizen was goodly to look at； he was kneeling at
her feet； and his lips were pressed against her hand。
Armand was young and he was an idealist。 I do not for a moment
imagine that just at this moment he was deeply in love。 The
stronger feeling had not yet risen up in him； it came later when
tragedy encompassed him and brought passion to sudden maturity。
Just now he was merely yielding himself up to the intoxicating
moment； with all the abandonment； all the enthusiasm of the Latin
race。 There was no reason why he should not bend the knee before
this exquisite little cameo； that by its very presence was giving
him an hour of perfect pleasure and of aesthetic joy。
Outside the world continued its hideous； relentless way； men
butchered one another； fought and hated。 Here in this small
old…world salon； with its faded satins and bits of ivory…tinted
lace； the outer universe had never really penetrated。 It was a
tiny worldquite apart from the rest of mankind； perfectly
peaceful and absolutely beautiful。
If Armand had been allowed to depart from here now； without having
been the cause as well as the chief actor in the events that
followed； no doubt that Mademoiselle Lange would always have
remained a charming memory with him； an exquisite bouquet of
violets pressed reverently between the leaves of a favourite book
of poems； and the scent of spring flowers would in after years
have ever brought her dainty picture to his mind。
He was murmuring pretty words of endearment； carried away by
emotion； his arm stole round her waist； he felt that if another
tear came like a dewdrop rolling down her cheek he must kiss it
away at its very source。 Passion was not sweeping them off their
feetnot yet； for they were very young； and life had not as yet
presented to them its most unsolvable problem。
But they yielded to one another； to the springtime of their life；
calling for Love； which would come presently hand in hand with his
grim attendant； Sorrow。
Even as Armand's glowing face was at last lifted up to hers asking
with mute lips for that first kiss which she already was prepared
to give； there came the loud noise of men's heavy footsteps
tramping up the old oak stairs； then some shouting； a woman's cry；
and the next moment Madame Belhomme； trembling； wide…eyed； and in
obvious terror； came rushing into the room。
〃Jeanne！ Jeanne！ My child！ It is awful！ It is awful！ Mon
Dieumon Dieu！ What is to become of us？〃
She was moaning and lamenting even as she ran in； and now she
threw her apron over her face and sank into a chair； continuing
her moaning and her lamentations。
Neither Mademoiselle nor Armand had stirred。 They remained like
graven images； he on one knee； she with large eyes fixed upon his
face。 They had neither of them looked on the old woman； they
seemed even now unconscious of her presence。 But their ears had
caught the sound of that measured tramp of feet up the stairs of
the old house； and the halt upon the landing； they had heard the
brief words of command：
〃Open； in the name of the people！〃
They knew quite well what it all meant； they had not wandered so
far in the realms of romance that realitythe grim； horrible
reality of the momenthad not the power to bring them back to
earth。
That peremptory call to open in the name of the people was the
prologue these days to a drama which had but two concluding acts：
arrest； which was a certainty； t
