有声名著之双城记Book2 Chapter09

　　CHAPTER IXThe Gorgon's Head

       IT was a heavy mass of building, that chaateau of Monsieur theMarquis, with a large stone court-yard before it, and twostone sweeps of staircase meeting in a stone terrace beforethe principal door. A stony business altogether, with heavystone balustrades, and stone urns, and stone flowers, andstone faces of men, and stone heads of lions, in alldirections. As if the Gorgon's head had surveyed it, when itwas finished, two centuries ago.

　　Up the broad flight of shallow steps, Monsieur the Marquis,flambeau preceded, went from his carriage, sufficientlydisturbing the darkness to elicit loud remonstrance from anowl in the roof of the great pile of stable building awayamong the trees. All else was so quiet, that the flambeaucarried up the steps, and the other flambeau held at the greatdoor, burnt as if they were in a close room of state, insteadof being in the open night-air. Other sound than the owl'svoice there was none, save the falling of a fountain into itsstone basin; for, it was one of those dark nights that holdtheir breath by the hour together, and then heave a long lowsigh, and hold their breath again.

　　The great door clanged behind him, and Monsieur the Marquiscrossed a hall grim with certain old boar-spears, swords, andknives of the chase; grimmer with certain heavy riding-rodsand riding-whips, of which many a peasant, gone to hisbenefactor Death, had felt the weight when his lord was angry.

　　Avoiding the larger rooms, which were dark and made fast forthe night, Monsieur the Marquis, with his flambeau-bearergoing on before, went up the staircase to a door in acorridor. This thrown open, admitted him to his own privateapartment of three rooms: his bed-chamber and two others. Highvaulted rooms with cool uncarpeted floors, great dogs upon thehearths for the burning of wood in winter time, and allluxuries befitting the state of a marquis in a luxurious ageand country. The fashion of the last Louis but one, of tileline that was never to break--the fourteenth Louis--wasconspicuous in their rich furniture; but, it was diversifiedby many objects that were illustrations of old pages in thehistory of France.

　　A supper-table was laid for two, in the third of the rooms; around room, in one of the chaateau's four extinguisher-toppedtowers. A small lofty room, with its window wide open, and thewooden jalousie-blinds closed, so that the dark night onlyshowed in slight horizontal lines of black, alternating withtheir broad lines of stone colour.

　　`My nephew,' said the Marquis, glancing at the supperpreparation; `they said he was not arrived.'

　　Nor was he; but, he had been expected with Monseigneur.

　　`Ah! It is not probable he will arrive to-night; nevertheless,leave the table as it is. I shall be ready in a quarter of anhour.' In a quarter of an hour Monseigneur was ready, and satdown alone to his sumptuous and choice supper. His chair wasopposite to the window, and he had taken his soup, and wasraising his glass of Bordeaux to his lips, when he put itdown.

　　`What is that?' he calmly asked, looking with attention atthe horizontal lines of black and stone colour'.

　　`Monseigneur? That?'

　　`Outside the blinds. Open the blinds.'

　　It was done.

　　`well?'

　　`Monseigneur, it is nothing. The trees and the night are allthat are here.'

　　The servant who spoke, had thrown the blinds wide, had lookedout into the vacant darkness, and stood, with that blankbehind him, looking round for instructions.

　　`Good,' said the imperturbable master. `Close them again.'

　　That was done too, and the Marquis went on with his supper. Hewas halfway through it, when he again stopped with his glassin his hand, hearing the sound of wheels. It came on briskly,and came up to the front of the chaateau.

　　`Ask who is arrived.'

　　It was the nephew of Monseigneur. He had been some fewleagues behind Monseigneur, early in the afternoon. He haddiminished the distance rapidly, but not so rapidly as to comeup with Monseigneur on the road. He had heard of Monseigneur,at the posting-houses, as being before him.

　　He was to be told (said Monseigneur) that supper awaited himthen and there, and that he was prayed to come to it. In alittle while he came. He had been known in England as CharlesDarnay.

　　Monseigneur received him in a courtly manner, but they didnot shake hands.

　　`You left Paris yesterday, sir?' he said to Monseigneur, ashe took his seat at table.

　　`Yesterday. And you?'

　　`I come direct.

　　`From London?'

　　`Yes.'

　　`You have been a long time coming,' said the Marquis, with asmile.

　　`On the contrary; I come direct.'

　　`Pardon me! I mean, not a long time on the journey; a longtime intending the Journey.

　　`I have been detained by'--the nephew stopped a moment in hisanswer--various business.'

　　`Without doubt,' said the polished uncle.

　　So long as a servant was present, no other words passedbetween them. When coffee had been served and they were alonetogether, the nephew, looking at the uncle and meeting theeyes of the face that was like a fine mask, opened aconversation.

　　`I have come back, sir, as you anticipate, pursuing theobject that took me away. It carried me into great andunexpected peril; but it is a sacred object, and if it hadcarried me to death I hope it would have sustained me.'

　　`Not to death,' said the uncle; `it is not necessary to say,to death.'

　　`I doubt, sir,' returned the nephew, `whether, if it hadcarried me to the utmost brink of death, you would have caredto stop me there.'

　　The deepened marks in the nose, and the lengthening of thefine straight lines in the cruel face, looked ominous as tothat; the uncle made a graceful gesture of protest, which wasso clearly a slight form of good breeding that it was notreassuring.

　　`Indeed, sir,' pursued the nephew, `for anything I know, youmay have expressly worked to give a more suspicious appearanceto the suspicious circumstances that surrounded me.

　　`No, no, no,' said the uncle, pleasantly.

　　`But, however that may be,' resumed the nephew, glancing athim with deep distrust, `I know that your diplomacy would stopme by any means, and would know no scruple as to means.

　　`My friend, I told you so,' said the uncle, with a finepulsation in the two marks. `Do me the favour to recall that Itold you so, long ago.'

　　`I recall it.'

　　`Thank you,' said the Marquis--very sweetly indeed.

　　His tone lingered in the air, almost like the tone of amusical instrument.

　　`In effect, sir,' pursued the nephew, `I believe it to be atonce your bad fortune, and my good fortune, that has kept meout of a prison in France here.'

　　`I do not quite understand,' returned the uncle, sipping hiscoffee. `Dare I ask you to explain?'