the quest of the golden girl-第33章
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re are limits even to the speed of American girls; but the first; my boy! You are more like the twelfth; to my ocular knowledge。 Here comes Dubois the poet。 He can tell you something about Miss Semiramis。
Eh! Dubois; you know Miss Semiramis Wilcox; don't you?〃
The Frenchman smiled and shrugged。
〃Un peu;〃 he said。
〃Don't be an ass and get angry;〃 William continued; 〃it's all for your own good。〃
〃The little Semiramis has been seducing my susceptible friend here。 Like many of us; he has been captivated by her naturalness; her naivete; her clear good eyes;that look of nature that is always art! May I relate the idyl of your tragic passion; dear Dubois; as an object lesson?〃
The Frenchman bowed; and signed William to proceed。
〃You dined with us one evening; and you thus met for the first time。 You sat together at table。 What happened with the fish?〃
〃She swore I was the most beautiful man she had ever seen;and I am not beautiful; as you perceive。〃
If not beautiful; the poet was certainly true。
〃What happened at the entree?〃
〃Oh; long before that we were pressing our feet under the table。〃
〃And the coffee〃
〃Mon Dieu! we were Tristram and Yseult; we were all the great lovers in the Pantheon of love。〃
〃And what then?〃
〃Oh; we went to the Cafe d'Harcourtmon ami。〃
〃Did she wear a veil?〃 I asked。
〃Oui; certainement!〃
〃And did you say; ‘Why do you wear a veil;setting a black cloud before the eyes and gates of heaven'?〃
〃The very words;〃 said the Frenchman。
〃And did she say; ‘Yes; but the veil can be raised?' 〃
〃She did; mon pauvre ami;〃 said the poet。
〃And did you raise it?〃
〃I did;〃 said the poet。
〃And so did I;〃 I answered。 And as I spoke; there was a crash of white marble in my soul; and lo! Love had fallen from his pedestal and been broken into a thousand pieces;a heavy; dead thing he lay upon the threshold of my heart。
We had appointed a secret meeting in the salon of the pension that afternoon。 I was not there! (Nor; as I afterwards learnt; was Semiramis。) When we did meet; I was brutally cold。 I evaded all her moves; but when at last I decided to give her a hearing; I confess it needed all my cynicism to resist her air of innocence; of pathetic devotion。
If I couldn't love her; she said; might she go on loving me? Might she write to me sometimes? She would be content if now and again I would send her a little word。 Perhaps in time I would grow to believe in her love; etc。
The heart…broken abandonment with which she said this was a sore trial to me; but though love may be deceived; vanity is ever vigilant; and vanity saved me。 Yet I left her with an aching sense of having been a brute; and on the morning of my departure from Paris; as I said good…bye to William and Dora; I spoke somewhat seriously of Semiramis。 Dora; Dora…like; had believed in her all along;not having enjoyed William's opportunities of studying her;and she reproached me with being rather hard…hearted。
〃Nonsense;〃 said William; 〃if she really cared; wouldn't she have been up to bid you good…bye?〃
The words were hardly gone from his lips when there came a little knock at the door。 It was Semiramis; she had come to say good… bye。 Was it in nature not to be touched? 〃Good…bye;〃 she said; as we stood a moment alone in the hall。 〃I shall always think of you; you shall not be to me as a ship that has passed in the night; though to me you have behaved very like an iceberg。〃
We parted in tears and kisses; and I lived for some weeks with that sense of having been a Nero; till two months after I received a much glazed and silvered card to the usual effect。
And so I ceased to repine for the wound I had made in the heart of Semiramis Wilcox。
Of another whom I met and loved in that brief month in Paris; I cherish tenderer memories。 Prim little Pauline Deschapelles! How clearly I can still see the respectable brass plate on the door of your little flat 〃Mademoiselle DeschapellesModes et Robes;〃 and indeed the 〃modes et robes〃 were true enough。 For you were in truth a very hard…working little dressmaker; and I well remember how impressed I was to sit beside you; as you plied your needle on some gown that must be finished by the evening; and meditate on the quaint contrast between your almost Puritanic industry and your innocent love of pleasure。 I don't think I ever met a more conscientious little woman than little Pauline Deschapelles。
There was but one drawback to our intercourse。 She didn't know a word of English; and I couldn't speak a word of French。 So we had to make shift to love without either language。 But sometimes Pauline would throw down her stitching in amused impatience; and; going to her dainty secretaire; write me a little message in the simplest baby Frenchwhich I would answer in French which would knit her brows for a moment or two; and then send her off in peals of laughter。
It WAS French! I know。 Among the bric…a…brac of my heart I still cherish some of those little slips of paper with which we made international lovequestion and answer。
〃Vous allez m'oublier; et ne plus penser a moini me voir。 Les hommesegoistes menteurs; pas dire la verite 。 。 。〃 so ran the questions; considerably devoid of auxiliary verbs and such details of construction。
〃Je serais jamais t'oublier;〃 ran the frightful answers!
Dear Pauline! Shall I ever see her again? She was but twenty…six。 She may still live。
CHAPTER XIV
END OF BOOK THREE
So ended my pilgrimage。 I had wandered far; had loved many; but I came back to London without the Golden Girl。 I had begun my pilgrimage with a vision; and it was with a vision that I ended it。 From all my goings to and fro upon the earth; I had brought back only the image of a woman's face;the face of that strange woman of the moorland; still haunting my dreams of the night and the day。
It was autumn in my old garden; damp and forsaken; and the mulberry…tree was hung with little yellow shields。 My books looked weary of awaiting me; and they and the whole lonely house begged me to take them where sometimes they might be handled by human fingers; mellowed by lamplight; cheered by friendly laughter。
The very chairs begged mutely to be sat upon; the chill white beds to be slept in。 Yes; the very furniture seemed even lonelier than myself。
So I took heed of their dumb appeal。
〃I know;〃 I answered them tenderly;〃I too; with you; have looked on better days; I too have been where bells have knoll'd to church; I too have sat at many a good man's feast;yes! I miss human society; even as you; my books; my bedsteads; and my side… boards;so let it be。 It is plain our little Margaret is not coming back; our little Margaret; dear haunted rooms; will never come back; no longer shall her little silken figure flit up and down your quiet staircases; her hands filled with flowers; and her heart humming with little songs。 Yes; let us go; it is very lonely; we shall die if we stay here all so lonely together; it is time; let us go。〃
So thereon I wrote to a furniture…remover; and went out to walk round the mossy old garden for the last time; and say good…bye to the great mulberry; under whose Dodonaesque shade we had sat half frightened on starry nights; to the apple…trees whose blossom had seemed like fairy…land to Margaret and me; town…bred folk; to the apricots and the peaches and the nectarines that it had seemed almost wicked to own;as though we had gone abroad in silk and velvet;to the little grassy orchard; and to the little green corner of it; where Margaret had fallen asleep that summer afternoon; in the great wicker…chair; and I had brought a dear friend on tiptoe to gaze on her asleep; with her olive cheeks delicately flushed; her great eyelids closed like the cheeks of roses; and her gold hair tumbled about her neck 。 。 。
Well; well; good…bye;tears are foolish things。 They will not bring Margaret back。 Good…bye; old garden; good…bye; I shall never see you again;good…bye。
BOOK IV
THE POSTSCRIPT TO A PILGRIMAGE
CHAPTER I
SIX YEARS AFTER
This book is like a woman's letter。 The most important part of it is the postscript
Six years lie between the end of the last chapt