The Complete Short Stories of Wilkie Collins. Уилки Коллинз

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СКАЧАТЬ he caught Trudaine’s eye fixed on him, and stopped. Rose started up, and placed herself between them.

      “Oh, Charles, Charles!” she said to her husband, “be friends with Louis tonight, and be kind again to me. I have a claim to ask that much of you, though you may not think it!”

      He turned away from her, and laughed contemptuously. She tried to speak again, but Trudaine touched her on the arm, and gave her a warning look.

      “Signals!” exclaimed Danville; “secret signals between you!”

      His eye, as he glanced suspiciously at his wife, fell on Trudaine’s gift-book, which she still held unconsciously.

      “What book is that?” he asked.

      “Only a play of Corneille’s,” answered Rose; “Louis has just made me a present of it.”

      At this avowal Danville’s suppressed anger burst beyond all control.

      “Give it him back!” he cried, in a voice of fury. “You shall take no presents from him; the venom of the household spy soils everything he touches. Give it him back!” She hesitated. “You won’t?” He tore the book from her with an oath, threw it on the floor, and set his foot on it.

      “Oh, Louis! Louis! for God’s sake, remember.”

      Trudaine was stepping forward as the book fell to the floor. At the same moment his sister threw her arms round him. He stopped, turning from fiery red to ghastly pale.

      “No, no, Louis!” she said, clasping him closer; “not after five years’ patience. No — no!”

      He gently detached her arms.

      “You are right, love. Don’t be afraid; it is all over now.”

      Saying that, he put her from him, and in silence took up the book from the floor.

      “Won’t that offend you even?” said Danville, with an insolent smile. “You have a wonderful temper — any other man would have called me out!”

      Trudaine looked back at him steadily; and taking out his handkerchief, passed it over the soiled cover of the book.

      “If I could wipe the stain of your blood off my conscience as easily as I can wipe the stain of your boot off this book,” he said quietly, “you should not live another hour. Don’t cry, Rose,” he continued, turning again to his sister: “I will take care of your book for you until you can keep it yourself.”

      “You will do this! you will do that!” cried Danville, growing more and more exasperated, and letting his anger got the better even of his cunning now. “Talk less confidently of the future — you don’t know what it has in store for you. Govern your tongue when you are in my presence; a day may come when you will want my help — my help; do you hear that?”

      Trudaine turned his face from his sister, as if he feared to let her see it when those words were spoken.

      “The man who followed me to-day was a spy — Danville’s spy!” That thought flashed across his mind, but he gave it no utterance. There was an instant’s pause of silence; and through it there came heavily on the still night air the rumbling of distant wheels. The sound advanced nearer and nearer — advanced and ceased under the window.

      Danville hurried to it, and looked out eagerly. “I have not hastened my return without reason. I wouldn’t have missed this arrest for anything!” thought he, peering into the night.

      The stars were out, but there was no moon. He could not recognise either the coach or the persons who got out of it, and he turned again into the interior of the room. His wife had sunk into a chair, her brother was locking up in a cabinet the book which he had promised to take care of for her. The dead silence made the noise of slowly ascending footsteps on the stairs painfully audible. At last the door opened softly.

      “Citizen Danville, health and fraternity!” said Lomaque, appearing in the doorway, followed by his agents. “Citizen Louis Trudaine?” he continued, beginning with the usual form.

      Rose started out of her chair; but her brother’s hand was on her lips before she could speak.

      “My name is Louis Trudaine,” he answered.

      “Charles!” cried his sister, breaking from him and appealing to her husband, “who are these men? What are they here for?”

      He gave her no answer.

      “Louis Trudaine,” said Lomaque, slowly, drawing the order from his pocket, “in the name of the Republic, I arrest you.”

      “Rose, come back,” cried Trudaine.

      It was too late; she had broken from him, and in the recklessness of terror, had seized her husband by the arm.

      “Save him!” she cried. “Save him, by all you hold dearest in the world! You are that man’s superior, Charles — order him from the room!”

      Danville roughly shook her hand off his arm.

      “Lomaque is doing his duty. Yes,” he added, with a glance of malicious triumph at Trudaine, “yes, doing his duty. Look at me as you please — your looks won’t move me. I denounced you! I admit it — I glory in it! I have rid myself of an enemy, and the State of a bad citizen. Remember your secret visits to the house in the Rue de Clery!”

      His wife uttered a cry of horror. She seized his arm again with both hands — frail, trembling hands — that seemed suddenly nerved with all the strength of a man’s.

      “Come here — come here! I must and will speak to you!”

      She dragged him by main force a few paces back, toward an unoccupied corner of the room. With deathly cheeks and wild eyes she raised herself on tiptoe, and put her lips to her husband’s ear. At that instant Trudaine called to her:

      “Rose, if you speak I am lost!”

      She stopped at the sound of his voice, dropped her hold on her husband’s arm, and faced her brother, shuddering.

      “Rose,” he continued, “you have promised, and your promise is sacred. If you prize your honour, if you love me, come here — come here, and be silent.”

      He held out his hand. She ran to him; and, laying her head on his bosom, burst into a passion of tears.

      Danville turned uneasily toward the police agents. “Remove your prisoner,” he said. “You have done your duty here.”

      “Only half of it,” retorted Lomaque, eying him attentively. “Rose Danville — ”

      “My wife!” exclaimed the other. “What about my wife?”

      “Rose Danville,” continued Lomaque, impassibly, “you are included in the arrest of Louis Trudaine.”

      Rose raised her head quickly from her brother’s breast. His firmness had deserted him — he was trembling. She heard him whispering to himself, “Rose, too! Oh, my God! I was not prepared for that.” She heard these words, СКАЧАТЬ