The Complete Works of George Bernard Shaw. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      “Who told you that?” said Herbert, discomfited.

      “Ah!” cried Aurélie, laughing — almost crowing with delight, “I guessed it. Oh, that poor Monsieur Hoskyn! And me also! Is this thy fidelity — this the end of all thy thoughts of me?”

      “I wish your jealousy were real,” said Herbert, with a sort of desperation. “I believe you would not care if I had gone to Mrs. Hoskyn as her lover. Why did I go to her? Simply because she was the only friend I had who would listen patiently whilst I spoke endlessly of you — she, whose esteem I risked, and whose respect I fear I lost, for your sake. But I have ceased to respect myself now, Aurélie. It is my misfortune to love you so much that you make light of me for being so infatuated.”

      “Well,” said Aurélie soothingly, “you must try and not love me so much. I will help you as much as I can by making myself very disagreeable. I am far too indulgent to you, Adrian.”

      “You hurt me sometimes very keenly, Aurélie, though you do not intend it. But I have never loved you less for that. I fear your plan would make me worse.”

      “Ah, I see. You want to be made love to, and cured in that way.”

      “I am afraid I should go mad then, Aurélie.”

      “I will not try. I think you are very injudicious to care so much for love. To me, it is the most stupid thing in the world. I prefer music. No matter, my cherished one: I am very fond of thee, in spite of thy follies. Art thou not my husband? Now I must make an end here, and go to practise.”

      “Never mind practising this morning, Aurdlie. Let us talk.”

      “Why, have we not already talked? No, when I miss my little half hour of seeking for my fine touch, I play as all the world; and that is not just to myself, or to the Princess, who pays me more than she pays the others. One must be honest, Adrian. There, your face is clouded again. You are ashamed of me.”

      “It is because I am so proud of you that I shrink from the thought of your talent being marketed. Let us change the subject. Have you met any of our friends in Paris?”

      “Not one. I have not heard an English voice since we came here. But I must not stop to gossip.” She took his hand , pressed it for an instant against her bosom; and left the room. Herbert, troubled by the effort to enjoy fully the delight this caress gave him, sat down for a moment, panting. When he was calmer, he took his hat and went downstairs, intending to take a stroll in the sunshine. he was arrested at the door of one of the lower rooms by the porter’s wife, who held in her shaking hand some money and a scrap of paper, the sight of which seemed to frenzy her; for she was railing volubly at some person unknown to Adrian. lie looked at her with some curiosity, and was about to pass on, when she stepped before him.

      “Look you, monsieur,” she said. “Be so good as to tell madame that my house is not a hospital for sots. And tell your friend, he whose nose someone has righteously crushed, that he had better take good care not to come to see me again. I will make him a bad quarter of an hour if he does.”

      “My friend, madame!” said Herbert, alarmed by her shrewishness.

      “Your wife’s friend, then, whom she brings home drunk in her carriage at midnight, and who kicks my sofa to pieces, and makes shameless advances to me beneath my husband’s roof, and flies like a thief in the night, leaving for me this insult.” And she held out the scrap of paper to Adrian. “With ten francs. What is ten francs to me!” Adrian, bewildered, looked unintelligently at the message. “Come you, monsieur, and see for yourself that I speak truly,” she continued, bringing him by a gesture into the room. “See there, my sofa ripped up and soiled with his heels. See madame’s fine rug trampled on the floor. See the pillow which she put under his wicked head with her own hands—”

      “What are you talking about?” said Adrian sternly. For whom do you take me?”

      “Are you not Monsieur Herbert?”

      “Yes.”

      “Yes, I should think so. Well, Monsieur Herbert, it is your dear friend, who carries your portrait next his heart, who has treated me thus.”

      “Really,” said Adrian, “I do not understand you. You speak of me — of my wife — of some friend of mine with my portrait—”

      “And the nose of him crushed.”

      “ — all in a breath. What do you mean? As you know, I only arrived here this morning.”

      “Truly, monsieur, you have arrived a day after the fair. All I tell y<>u is that madame came home last night with a drunken robber, a young English sprig, who slept here. He has run away; and heaven knows what he has taken with him. He leaves me this money, and this note to mock me because I scorned his vile seductions. Behold the table where he left it.”

      Adrian, hardly venturing to understand the woman, looked upon the table, and saw a note which had escaped her attention. She, following his glance, exclaimed:

      “What! Another.”

      “It is addressed to my wife,” said Adrian, taking it, and losing color as he did so. “Doubtless it contains an explanation of his conduct. I recognize the handwriting as that of a young friend of mine. Did you hear his name?”

      “It was an English name. English names are all alike to me.

      “Did he call himself Sutherland?”

      “Yes, it was like that, quite English.”

      “It is all right then. He is but a foolish boy, the brother of an old friend of mine.”

      “Truly a strong boy for his years. He is your old friend, of course. It is always so. Ah, monsieur, if I were one to talk and make mischief, I could—”

      “Thank you,” said Adrian, interrupting her firmly. “I can hear the rest from Madame Herbert, if there is anything else to hear.” And he left the room. On the landing without, he saw Madame Sczympliça, who, overlooking him, addressed herelf angrily to the old woman.

      “Why is this noise made?” she demanded. “How is it possible for Mademoiselle to practise with this hurly-burly in her ears?”

      “And why should I not make a noise,” retorted the woman, “when I am insulted in my own house by the friends of Mademoiselle?”

      “What is the matter?” cried a voice from above. The woman became silent as if struck dumb; and for a moment there was no sound except the light descending footfall of Aurélie. “What is the matter?” she repeated, as she came into their view.

      “Nothing at all,” muttered the old woman sulkily, glancing apprehensively at Adrian.

      “You make a very great noise about nothing at all,” said Aurélie coolly, pausing with her hand on the balustrade. “Have you quite done; and may I now practise in peace?”

      “I am sorry to have disturbed you,” said the woman apologetically, but still grumbling. “I was speaking to Monsieur.”

      “Monsieur must either go out, or come upstairs and read the journals quietly,” said Aurélie.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ