Pelham — Volume 02. Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон

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СКАЧАТЬ his right shoulder, and, at last, under pretence of screening her from the draught of the open window, placed himself exactly between us. This, however ingenious, did not at all answer his expectations; for he had not sufficiently taken into consideration, that I also was endowed with the power of locomotion; accordingly I shifted my chair about three feet, and entirely defeated the countermarch of the enemy.

      But this flirtation did not last long; the youth and the old woman appeared very much of the same opinion as to its impropriety; and accordingly, like experienced generals, resolved to conquer by a retreat; they drank up their orgeat—paid for it—placed the wavering regiment in the middle, and left me master of the field. I was not, however, of a disposition to break my heart at such an occurrence, and I remained by the window, drinking my lemonade, and muttering to myself, "After all, women are a great bore."

      On the outside of the cabaret, and just under my window, was a bench, which for a certain number of sous, one might appropriate to the entire and unparticipated use of one's self and party. An old woman (so at least I suppose by her voice, for I did not give myself the trouble of looking, though, indeed as to that matter, it might have been the shrill treble of Mr. Howard de Howard) had been hitherto engrossing this settlement with some gallant or other. In Paris, no women are too old to get an amant, either by love or money. In a moment of tenderness, this couple paired off, and were immediately succeeded by another. The first tones of the man's voice, low as they were, made me start from my seat. I cast one quick glance before I resumed it. The new pair were the Englishman I had before noted in the garden, and the female companion who had joined him.

      "Two hundred pounds, you say?" muttered the man; "we must have it all."

      "But," said the woman, in the same whispered voice, "he says, that he will never touch another card."

      The man laughed. "Fool," said he, "the passions are not so easily quelled—how many days is it since he had this remittance from England?"

      "About three," replied the woman.

      "And it is absolutely the very last remnant of his property?"

      "The last."

      "I am then to understand, that when this is spent there is nothing between him and beggary?"

      "Nothing," said the woman, with a half sigh.

      The man laughed again, and then rejoined in an altered tone, "Then, then will this parching thirst be quenched at last. I tell you, woman, that it is many months since I have known a day—night—hour, in which my life has been as the life of other men. My whole soul has been melted down into one burning, burning thought. Feel this hand—ay, you may well start—but what is the fever of the frame to that within?"

      Here the voice sunk so low as to be inaudible. The woman seemed as if endeavouring to sooth him; at length she said—"But poor Tyrrell—you will not, surely, suffer him to die of actual starvation?"

      The man paused for a few moments, and then replied—"Night and day, I pray to God, upon my bended knees, only one unvarying, unceasing prayer, and that is—'When the last agonies shall be upon that man—when, sick with weariness, pain, disease, hunger, he lies down to die—when the death-gurgle is in the throat, and the eye swims beneath the last dull film—when remembrance peoples the chamber with Hell, and his cowardice would falter forth its dastard recantation to Heaven—then—may I be there?"

      There was a long pause, only broken by the woman's sobs, which she appeared endeavouring to stifle. At last the man rose, and in a tone so soft that it seemed literally like music, addressed her in the most endearing terms. She soon yielded to their persuasion, and replied to them with interest. "Spite of the stings of my remorse," she said, "as long as I lose not you, I will lose life, honour, hope, even soul itself!"

      They both quitted the spot as she said this.

      O, that woman's love! how strong is it in its weakness! how beautiful in its guilt!

      CHAPTER XXII

      At length the treacherous snare was laid,

      Poor pug was caught—to town convey'd;

      There sold. How envied was his doom,

      Made captive in a lady's room!

—Gay's Fables.

      I was sitting alone a morning or two after this adventure, when Bedos entering, announced une dame. This dame was a fine tall thing, dressed out like a print in the Magasin des Modes. She sate herself down, threw up her veil, and, after a momentary pause, asked me if I liked my apartment?

      "Very much," said I, somewhat surprised at the nature of the interrogatory.

      "Perhaps you would wish it altered in some way?" rejoined the lady.

      "Non—mille remercimens!" said I—"you are very good to be so interested in my accommodation."

      "Those curtains might be better arranged—that sofa replaced with a more elegant one," continued my new superintendant.

      "Really," said I, "I am too, too much flattered. Perhaps you would like to have my rooms altogether; if so, make at least no scruple of saying it."

      "Oh, no," replied the lady, "I have no objection to your staying here."

      "You are too kind," said I, with a low bow.

      There was a pause of some moments—I took advantage of it.

      "I think, Madame, I have the honour of speaking to—to—to—" "The mistress of the hotel," said the lady, quietly. "I merely called to ask you how you did, and hope you were well accommodated."

      "Rather late, considering I have been six weeks in the house," thought I, revolving in my mind various reports I had heard of my present visitor's disposition to gallantry. However, seeing it was all over with me, I resigned myself, with the patience of a martyr, to the fate that I foresaw. I rose, approached her chair, took her hand (very hard and thin it was too), and thanked her with a most affectionate squeeze.

      "I have seen much English!" said the lady, for the first time speaking in our language.

      "Ah!" said I, giving another squeeze.

      "You are handsome, garcon," renewed the lady.

      "I am so," I replied.

      At that moment Bedos entered, and whispered that Madame D'Anville was in the anti-room.

      "Good heavens!" said I, knowing her jealousy of disposition, "what is to be done? Oblige me, Madame," seizing the unfortunate mistress of the hotel, and opening the door to the back entrance—"There," said I, "you can easily escape. Bon jour."

      Hardly had I closed the door, and put the key in my pocket, before Madame D'Anville entered.

      "Do you generally order your servants to keep me waiting in your anti- room?" said she haughtily.

      "Not generally," I replied, endeavouring to make my peace; but all my complaisance was in vain—she was jealous of my intimacy with the Duchesse de Perpignan, and glad of any excuse to vent her pique. I am just the sort of man to bear, but never to forgive a woman's ill temper, viz.—it СКАЧАТЬ