bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第195节
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because you knew that。 You had reason！ I det…est her。”
Mademoiselle Hortense folds her arms； and throws this last
remark at him over one of her shoulders。
“Having said this； have you anything else to say；
Mademoiselle？”
“I am not yet placed。 Place me well。 Find me a good condition！
If you cannot； or do not choose to do that； employ me to pursue
her； to chase her； to disgrace and to dishonour her。 I will help you
well； and with a good will。 It is what you do。 Do I not know that？”
“You appear to know a good deal；” Mr Tulkinghorn retorts。
“Do I not？ Is it that I am so weak as to believe； like a child； that
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I come here in that dress to receive that boy； only to decide a little
bet； a wager？—Eh my God； O yes！” In this reply； down to the word
“wager” inclusive； Mademoiselle has been ironically polite and
tender； then； has suddenly dashed into the bitterest and most
defiant scorn； with her black eyes in one and the same moment
very nearly shut； and staringly wide open。
“Now let us see；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； tapping his chin with
the key； and looking imperturbably at her； “how this matter
stands。”
“Ha！ Let us see；” Mademoiselle assents； with many angry and
tight nods of her head。
“You come here to make a remarkably modest demand； which
you have just stated； and it not being conceded； you will come
again。”
“And again；” says Mademoiselle； with more tight and angry
nods。 “And yet again。 And yet again。 And many times again。 In
effect； for ever！”
“And not only here； but you will go to Mr Snagsby’s； too；
perhaps？ That visit not succeeding either； you will go again
perhaps？”
“And again；” repeats Mademoiselle； cataleptic with
determination。 “And yet again。 And yet again。 And many times
again。 In effect； for ever！”
“Very well。 Now Mademoiselle Hortense； let me recommend
you to take the candle and pick up that money of yours。 I think
you will find it behind the clerk’s partition in the corner yonder。”
She merely throws a laugh over her shoulder； and stands her
ground with folded arms。
“You will not； eh？”
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“No； I will not！”
“So much the poorer you； so much the richer I！ Look； mistress；
this is the key of my wine…cellar。 It is a large key； but the keys of
prisons are larger。 In this city； there are houses of correction
（where the treadmills are； for women） the gates of which are very
strong and heavy； and no doubt the keys too。 I am afraid a lady of
your spirit and activity would find it an inconvenience to have one
of those keys turned upon her for any length of time。 What do you
think？”
“I think；” Mademoiselle replies； without any action； and in a
clear obliging voice； “that you are a miserable wretch。”
“Probably；” returns Mr Tulkinghorn； quietly blowing his nose。
“But I don’t ask what you think of myself； I ask what you think of
the prison。”
“Nothing。 What does it matter to me？”
“Why it matters this much； mistress；” says the lawyer；
deliberately putting away his handkerchief； and adjusting his frill；
“the law is so despotic here； that it interferes to prevent any of our
good English citizens from being troubled； even by a lady’s visits；
against his desire。 And； on his complaining that he is so troubled；
it takes hold of the troublesome lady； and shuts her up in prison
under hard discipline。 Turns the key upon her； mistress。”
Illustrating with the cellar key。
“Truly？” returns Mademoiselle； in the same pleasant voice。
“That is droll！ But—my faith！—still what does it matter to me！”
“My fair friend；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； “make another visit
here； or at Mr Snagsby’s； and you shall learn。”
“In that case you will send Me to the prison； perhaps？”
“Perhaps。”
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It would be contradictory for one in Mademoiselle’s state of
agreeable jocularity to foam at the mouth； otherwise a tigerish
expansion thereabouts might look as if a very little more would
make her do it。
“In a word； mistress；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； “I am sorry to be
unpolite； but if you ever present yourself uninvited here—or
there—again； I will give you over to the police。 Their gallantry is
great； but they carry troublesome people through the streets in an
ignominious manner； strapped down on a board； my good wench。”
“I will prove you；” whispers Mademoiselle； stretching out her
hand； “I will try if you dare to do it！”
“And if；” pursues the lawyer； without minding her； “I place you
in that good condition of being locked up in jail； it will be some
time before you find yourself at liberty again。”
“I will prove you；” repeats Mademoiselle in her former whisper。
“And now；” proceeds the lawyer； still without minding her；
“you had better go。 Think twice； before you come here again。”
“Think you；” she answers； “twice two hundred times！”
“You were dismissed by your lady； you know；” Mr Tulkinghorn
observes； following her out upon the staircase； “as the most
implacable and unmanageable of women。 Now turn over a new
leaf； and take warning by what I say to you。 For what I say； I
mean； and what I threaten； I will do； mistress。”
She goes down without answering or looking behind her。 When
she is gone； he goes down too； and returning with his cobweb…
covered bottle； devotes himself to a leisurely enjoyment of its
contents： now and then； as he throws his head back in his chair；
catching sight of the pertinacious Roman pointing from the
ceiling。
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Chapter 43
Esther’s Narrative
t matters little now； how much I thought of my living mother
who had told me evermore to consider her dead。 I could not
I
venture to approach her； or to communicate with her in
writing； for my sense of the peril in which her life was passed was
only to be equalled by my fears of increasing it。 Knowing that my
mere existence as a living creature was an unforeseen danger in
her way； I could not always conquer that terror of myself which
had seized me when I first knew the secret。 At no time did I dare
to utter her name。 I felt as if I did not even dare to hear it。 If the
conversation anywhere； when I was present； took that direction； as
it sometimes naturally did； I tried not to hear—I mentally counted；
repeated something that I knew； or went out of the room。 I am
conscious； now； that I often did these things when there can have
been no danger of her being spoken of； but I did them in the dread
I had of hearing anything that might lead to her betrayal； and to
her betrayal through me。
It matters little now how often I recalled the tones of my
mother’s voice； wondered whether I should ever hear it again as I
so longed to do； and thought how strange and desolate it was that
it should be so new to me。 It matters little that I watched for every
public mention of my mother’s name； that I passed and repassed
the door of her house in town； loving it； but afraid to look at it； that
I once sat in the theatre when my mother was
