el dorado-第26章
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callous and selfish。。。。 I will obey 。。。 you need not be afraid。〃
〃I was not afraid of that； my good fellow。〃
〃Of course； you do not understand 。。。 you cannot。 To you； your
honour； the task which you have set yourself； has been your only
fetish。。。。 Love in its true sense does not exist for you。。。。 I
see it now 。。。 you do not know what it is to love。〃
Blakeney made no reply for the moment。 He stood in the centre of
the room； with the yellow light of the lamp falling full now upon
his tall powerful frame； immaculately dressed in perfectly…tailored
clothes； upon his long； slender hands half hidden by filmy lace；
and upon his face； across which at this moment a heavy strand of
curly hair threw a curious shadow。 At Armand's words his lips had
imperceptibly tightened； his eyes had narrowed as if they tried to
see something that was beyond the range of their focus。
Across the smooth brow the strange shadow made by the hair seemed
to find a reflex from within。 Perhaps the reckless adventurer；
the careless gambler with life and liberty； saw through the walls
of this squalid room； across the wide； ice…bound river； and beyond
even the gloomy pile of buildings opposite； a cool； shady garden
at Richmond； a velvety lawn sweeping down to the river's edge； a
bower of clematis and roses； with a carved stone seat half covered
with moss。 There sat an exquisitely beautiful woman with great
sad eyes fixed on the far…distant horizon。 The setting sun was
throwing a halo of gold all round her hair； her white hands were
clasped idly on her lap。
She gazed out beyond the river； beyond the sunset； toward an
unseen bourne of peace and happiness； and her lovely face had in
it a look of utter hopelessness and of sublime self…abnegation。
The air was still。 It was late autumn； and all around her the
russet leaves of beech and chestnut fell with a melancholy
hush…sh…sh about her feet。
She was alone； and from time to time heavy tears gathered in her
eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks。
Suddenly a sigh escaped the man's tightly…pressed lips。 With a
strange gesture； wholly unusual to him； he passed his hand right
across his eyes。
〃Mayhap you are right； Armand；〃 he said quietly； 〃mayhap I do not
know what it is to love。〃
Armand turned to go。 There was nothing more to be said。 He knew
Percy well enough by now to realise the finality of his
pronouncements。 His heart felt sore； but he was too proud to show
his hurt again to a man who did not understand。 All thoughts of
disobedience he had put resolutely aside； he had never meant to
break his oath。 All that he had hoped to do was to persuade Percy
to release him from it for awhile。
That by leaving Paris he risked to lose Jeanne he was quite
convinced； but it is nevertheless a true fact that in spite of
this he did not withdraw his love and trust from his chief。 He
was under the influence of that same magnetism which enchained all
his comrades to the will of this man； and though his enthusiasm
for the great cause had somewhat waned； his allegiance to its
leader was no longer tottering。
But he would not trust himself to speak again on the subject。
〃I will find the others downstairs；〃 was all he said； 〃and will
arrange with Hastings for to…morrow。 Good night； Percy。〃
〃Good night； my dear fellow。 By the way； you have not told me yet
who she is。〃
〃Her name is Jeanne Lange；〃 said St。 Just half reluctantly。 He
had not meant to divulge his secret quite so fully as yet。
〃The young actress at the Theatre National？〃
〃Yes。 Do you know her？〃
〃Only by name。〃
〃She is beautiful； Percy； and she is an angel。。。。 Think of my
sister Marguerite 。。。 she； too； was an actress。。。。 Good night；
Percy。〃
〃Good night。〃
The two men grasped one another by the hand。 Armand's eyes
proffered a last desperate appeal。 But Blakeney's eyes were
impassive and unrelenting； and Armand with a quick sigh finally
took his leave。
For a long while after he had gone Blakeney stood silent and
motionless in the middle of the room。 Armand's last words
lingered in his ear：
〃Think of Marguerite！〃
The walls had fallen away from around himthe window； the river
below； the Temple prison had all faded away； merged in the chaos
of his thoughts。
Now he was no longer in Paris； he heard nothing of the horrors
that even at this hour of the night were raging around him； he did
not hear the call of murdered victims； of innocent women and
children crying for help； he did not see the descendant of St。
Louis； with a red cap on his baby head； stamping on the
fleur…de…lys； and heaping insults on the memory of his mother。
All that had faded into nothingness。
He was in the garden at Richmond； and Marguerite was sitting on
the stone seat； with branches of the rambler roses twining
themselves in her hair。
He was sitting on the ground at her feet； his head pillowed in her
lap； lazily dreaming。 whilst at his feet the river wound its
graceful curves beneath overhanging willows and tall stately elms。
A swan came sailing majestically down the stream； and Marguerite；
with idle； delicate hands； threw some crumbs of bread into the
water。 Then she laughed； for she was quite happy； and anon she
stooped； and he felt the fragrance of her lips as she bent over
him and savoured the perfect sweetness of her caress。 She was
happy because her husband was by her side。 He had done with
adventures； with risking his life for others' sake。 He was living
only for her。
The man； the dreamer； the idealist that lurked behind the
adventurous soul； lived an exquisite dream as he gazed upon that
vision。 He closed his eyes so that it might last all the longer；
so that through the open window opposite he should not see the
great gloomy walls of the labyrinthine building packed to
overflowing with innocent men； women； and children waiting
patiently and with a smile on their lips for a cruel and unmerited
death； so that he should not see even through the vista of houses
and of streets that grim Temple prison far away； and the light in
one of the tower windows； which illumined the final martyrdom of a
boy…king。
Thus he stood for fully five minutes； with eyes deliberately
closed and lips tightly set。 Then the neighbouring tower…clock of
St。 Germain l'Auxerrois slowly tolled the hour of midnight。
Blakeney woke from his dream。 The walls of his lodging were once
more around him； and through the window the ruddy light of some
torch in the street below fought with that of the lamp。
He went deliberately up to the window and looked out into the
night。 On the quay； a little to the left； the outdoor camp was
just breaking tip for the night。 The people of France in arms
against tyranny were allowed to put away their work for the day
and to go to their miserable homes to gather rest in sleep for the
morrow。 A band of soldiers； rough and brutal in their movements；
were hustling the women and children。 The little ones； weary；
sleepy； and cold； seemed too dazed to move。 One woman had two
little children clinging to her skirts； a soldier suddenly seized
one of them by the shoulders and pushed it along roughly in front
of him to get it out of the way。 The woman struck at the soldier
in a stupid； senseless； useless way； and then gathered her
trembling chicks under her wing； trying to look defiant。
In a moment she was surrounded。 Two soldiers seized her； and two
more dragged the children away from her。 She screamed and the
children cried； the soldiers swore and struck out right and left
with their bayonets。 There was a general melee； calls of agony
rent the air； rough oaths drowned the shouts of the helpless。
Some women； panic…stricken； started to run。
And Blakeney from his window looked down upon the scene。 He no
longer saw the garden at Richmond； the lazily…flowing river； the
bowers of roses； even the sweet face of Marguerite； sad and
lonely； appeared dim and far away。
He looked across the ice…bound river； past the quay where rough
soldiers were brutalising a number of wretched defenceless women；
to that grim Chatelet prison； where tiny lights shining here and
there behind barred windows told the sad tale o
