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

Up the broad flight of shallow steps, Monsieur the Marquis, flambeau preceded, went from his carriage, sufficiently disturbing the darkness to elicit loud remonstrance from an owl in the roof of the great pile of stable building away among the trees. All else was so quiet, that the flambeau carried up the steps, and the other flambeau held at the great door, burnt as if they were in a close room of state, instead of being in the open night-air. Other sound than the owl's voice there was none, save the falling of a fountain into its stone basin; for, it was one of those dark nights that hold their breath by the hour together, and then heave a long low sigh, and hold their breath again.

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

Avoiding the larger rooms, which were dark and made fast for the night, Monsieur the Marquis, with his flambeau-bearer going on before, went up the staircase to a door in a corridor. This thrown open, admitted him to his own private apartment of three rooms: his bed-chamber and two others. High vaulted rooms with cool uncarpeted floors, great dogs upon the hearths for the burning of wood in winter time, and all luxuries befitting the state of a marquis in a luxurious age and country. The fashion of the last Louis but one, of tile line that was never to break--the fourteenth Louis--was conspicuous in their rich furniture; but, it was diversified by many objects that were illustrations of old pages in the history of France.

A supper-table was laid for two, in the third of the rooms; a round room, in one of the chaateau's four extinguisher-topped towers. A small lofty room, with its window wide open, and the wooden jalousie-blinds closed, so that the dark night only showed in slight horizontal lines of black, alternating with their broad lines of stone colour.

`My nephew,' said the Marquis, glancing at the supper preparation; `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 an hour.' In a quarter of an hour Monseigneur was ready, and sat down alone to his sumptuous and choice supper. His chair was opposite to the window, and he had taken his soup, and was raising his glass of Bordeaux to his lips, when he put it down.

`What is that?' he calmly asked, looking with attention at the 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 all that are here.'

The servant who spoke, had thrown the blinds wide, had looked out into the vacant darkness, and stood, with that blank behind 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. He was halfway through it, when he again stopped with his glass in 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 few leagues behind Monseigneur, early in the afternoon. He had diminished the distance rapidly, but not so rapidly as to come up 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 him then and there, and that he was prayed to come to it. In a little while he came. He had been known in England as Charles Darnay.

Monseigneur received him in a courtly manner, but they did not shake hands.

`You left Paris yesterday, sir?' he said to Monseigneur, as he 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 a smile.

`On the contrary; I come direct.'

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

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

`Without doubt,' said the polished uncle.

So long as a servant was present, no other words passed between them. When coffee had been served and they were alone together, the nephew, looking at the uncle and meeting the eyes of the face that was like a fine mask, opened a conversation.

`I have come back, sir, as you anticipate, pursuing the object that took me away. It carried me into great and unexpected peril; but it is a sacred object, and if it had carried 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 had carried me to the utmost brink of death, you would have cared to stop me there.'

The deepened marks in the nose, and the lengthening of the fine straight lines in the cruel face, looked ominous as to that; the uncle made a graceful gesture of protest, which was so clearly a slight form of good breeding that it was not reassuring.

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

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

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

`My friend, I told you so,' said the uncle, with a fine pulsation in the two marks. `Do me the favour to recall that I told 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 a musical instrument.

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

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

`I believe that if you were not in disgrace with the Court, and had not been overshadowed by that cloud for years past, a letter de cachet would have sent me to some fortress indefinitely.'

`It is possible,' said the uncle, with great calmness. `For the honour of the family, I could even resolve to incommode you to that extent. Pray excuse me!'

`I perceive that, happily for me, the Reception of the day before yesterday was, as usual, a cold one,' observed the nephew.

`I would not say happily, my friend,' returned the uncle, with refined politeness; `I would not be sure of that. A good opportunity for consideration, surrounded by the advantages of solitude, might influence your destiny to far greater advantage than you influence it for yourself. But it is useless to discuss the question. I am, as you say, at a disadvantage. These little instruments of correction, these gentle aids to the power and honour of families, these slight favours that might so incommode you, are only to be obtained now by interest and importunity. They are sought by so many, and they are granted (comparatively) to so few! It used not to be so, but France in all such things is changed for the worse. Our not remote
ancestors held the right of life and death over the surrounding vulgar. From this room, many such dogs have been taken out to be hanged; in the next room (my bedroom), one fellow, to our knowledge, was poniarded on the spot for professing some insolent delicacy respecting his daughter--his daughter? We have lost many privileges; a new philosophy has become the mode; and the assertion of our station, in these days, might (I do not go so far as to say would, but might) cause us real inconvenience. All very bad, very bad!'

The Marquis took a gentle little pinch of snuff, and shook his head; as elegantly despondent as he could becomingly be of a country still containing himself, that great means of regeneration.

`We have so asserted our station, both in the old time and in the modern time also,' said the nephew, gloomily, `that I believe our name to be more detested than any name in France.'

`Let us hope so,' said the uncle. `Detestation of the high is the involuntary homage of the low.'

`There is not,' pursued the nephew, in his former tone, `a face I can look at, in all this country round about us, which looks at me with any deference on it but the dark deference of fear and slavery.'

`A compliment,' said the Marquis, `to the grandeur of the family, merited by the manner in which the family has sustained its grandeur. Hah!' And he took another gentle little pinch of snuff, and lightly crossed his legs.

But, when his nephew, leaning an elbow on the table, covered his eyes thoughtfully and dejectedly with his hand, the fine mask looked at him sideways with a stronger concentration of keenness, closeness, and dislike, than was comportable with its wearer's assumption of indifference.

`Repression is the only lasting philosophy. The dark deference of fear and slavery, my friend,' observed the Marquis, `will keep tee dogs obedient to the whip, as long as this roof,' looking up to it, `shuts out the sky.'

That might not be so long as the Marquis supposed. If a picture of the chaateau as it was to be a very few years hence, and of fifty like it as they too were to be a very few years hence, could have been shown to him that night, he might have been at a loss to claim his own from the ghastly, fire-charred, plunder-wrecked ruins. As for the roof he vaunted, he might have found that shutting out the sky in a new way--to wit, for ever, from the eyes of the bodies into which its lead was fired, out of the barrels of a hundred thousand muskets.

`Meanwhile,' said the Marquis, `I will preserve the honour and repose of the family, if you will not. But you must be fatigued. Shall we terminate our Conference for the night?'

`A moment more.'

`An hour, if you please.'

`Sir,' said the nephew, `we have done wrong, and are reaping the fruits of wrong.'

`We have done wrong?' repeated the Marquis, with an inquiring smile, and delicately pointing, first to his nephew, then to himself.

`Our family; our honourable family, whose honour is of so much account to both of us, in such different ways. Even in my father's time, we did a world of wrong, injuring every human creature who came between us and our pleasure, whatever it was. Why need I speak of my father's time, when it is equally yours? Can I separate my father's twin-brother, joint inheritor, and next successor, from himself?'

`Death has done that!' said the Marquis.

`And has left me,' answered the nephew, `bound to a system that is frightful to me, responsible for it, but powerless in it; seeking to execute the last request of my dear mother's lips, and obey the last look of my dear mother's eyes, which implored file to have mercy and to redress; and tortured by seeking assistance and power in vain?

`Seeking them from me, my nephew,' said the Marquis, touching him on the breast with his forefinger--they were now standing by the hearth--you will for ever seek them in vain, be assured.

Every fine straight line in the clear whiteness of his face, was cruelly, craftily, and closely compressed, while he stood looking quietly at his nephew, with his snuff-box in his hand.

Once again he touched him on the breast, as though his finger were the fine point of a small sword, with which, in delicate finesse, he ran him through the body, and said,

`My friend, I will die, perpetuating the system under which I have lived.'

When he had said it, he took a culminating pinch of Snuff, and put his box in his pocket.

`Better to be a rational creature,' he added then, after ringing a small bell on the table, `and accept your natural destiny. But you are lost, Monsieur Charles, I see.'

`This property and France are lost to me,' said the nephew, sadly; `I renounce them.'

`Are they both yours to renounce? France may be, but is the property? It is scarcely worth mentioning; but, is it yet?'

`I had no intention, in the words I used, to claim it yet. If it passed to me from you, to-morrow---

`Which I have the vanity to hope is not probable.'

`--or twenty years hence---'

`You do me too much honour,' said the Marquis; `still, I prefer that supposition.'

`--I would abandon it, and live otherwise and elsewhere. It is little to relinquish. What is it but a wilderness of misery and ruin?'

`Hah!' said the Marquis, glancing round the luxurious room. `To the eye it is fair enough, here; but seen in its integrity, under the sky, and by the daylight, it is a crumbling tower of waste, mismanagement, extortion, debt, mortgage, oppression, hunger, nakedness, and suffering.'

`Hah!' said the Marquis again, in a well-satisfied manner.

`If it ever becomes mine, it shall be put into some hands better qualified to free it slowly (if such a thing is possible) from the weight that drags it down, so that the miserable people Who cannot leave it and who have been long wrung to the last point of endurance, may, in another generation, suffer less; bat it is not for me. There is a curse on it, and on all this land.'

`And you?' said the uncle. `Forgive my curiosity; do you, under your new philosophy, graciously intend to live?'

`I must do, to live, what others of my countrymen, even with nobility at their backs, may have to do some day--work.'

`In England, for example?'

`Yes. The family honour, sir, is safe from me in this country. The family name can suffer from me in no other, for I bear it in no other.'

The ringing of the bell had caused the adjoining bedchamber to be lighted. It now shone brightly, through the door of communication. The Marquis looked that way, and listened for the retreating step of his valet.

`England is very attractive to you, seeing how indifferently you have prospered there,' he observed then, turning his calm face to his nephew with a smile.

`I have already said, that for my prospering there, I am sensible I may be indebted to you, sir. For the rest, it is my Refuge.'

`They say, those boastful English, that it is the Refuge of many. You know a compatriot who has found a Refuge there? A Doctor?'

`Yes.'

`With, a daughter?'

`Yes,' said the Marquis. `You are fatigued. Good-night!'

As he bent his head in his most courtly manner, there was a secrecy in his smiling face, and he conveyed an air of mystery to those words, which struck the eyes and ears of his nephew forcibly. At the same time, the thin straight lines of the setting of the eyes, and the thin straight lips, and the markings in the nose, curved with a sarcasm that looked handsomely diabolic.

`Yes,' repeated the Marquis. `A Doctor with a daughter. Yes. So commences the new philosophy! You are fatigued. Good-night!'

It would have been of as much avail to interrogate any stone face outside the chaateau as to interrogate that face of his. The nephew looked at him in vain, in passing on to the door.

`Good-night!' said the uncle. `I look to the pleasure of seeing you again in the morning. Good repose! Light Monsieur my nephew to his chamber there!--And burn Monsieur my nephew in his bed, if you will,' he added to himself, before he rang his little bell again, and summoned his valet to his own bedroom.

The valet come and gone, Monsieur the Marquis walked to and fro in his loose chamber-robe, to prepare himself gently for sleep, that hot still night. Rustling about the room, his softly-slippered feet making no noise on the floor, he moved like a refined tiger--looked like some enchanted marquis of the impenitently wicked sort, in story, whose periodical change into tiger form was either just going off, or just coming on.

He moved from end to end of his voluptuous bedroom, looking again at the scraps of the day's journey that came unbidden into his mind; the slow toil up the hill at sunset, the setting sun, the descent, the mill, the prison on the crag, the little village in the hollow, the peasants at the fountain, and the mender of roads with his blue cap pointing out the chain under the carriage. That fountain suggested the Paris fountain, the little bundle lying on the step, the women bending over it, and the tall man with his arms up, crying, `Dead!'

`I am cool now,' said Monsieur the Marquis, `and may go to bed.'

So, leaving only one light burning on the large hearth, he let his thin gauze curtains fall around him, and heard the night break its silence with a long sigh as he composed himself to sleep.

The stone faces on the outer walls stared blindly at the black night for three heavy hours; for three heavy hours tile horses in the stables rattled at their racks, the dogs barked, and the owl made a noise with very little resemblance in it to the noise conventionally assigned to the owl by men-poets. But it is the obstinate custom of such creatures hardly ever to say what is set down for them.

For three heavy hours, the stone faces of the chaateau, lion and human, stared blindly at the night. Dead darkness lay on all the landscape, dead darkness added its own hush to the hushing dust on all the roads. The burial-place had got to the pass that its little heaps of poor grass were undistinguishable from one another; the figure on the Cross might have come down, for anything that could be seen of it. In the village, taxers and taxed were fast asleep. Dreaming, perhaps, of banquets, as the starved usually do, and of ease and rest, as the driven slave and the yoked ox may, its lean inhabitants slept soundly, and were fed and freed.

The fountain in the village flowed unseen and unheard, and the fountain at the chaateau dropped unseen and unheard--both melting away, like the minutes that were falling from the
h@ace seemed to stare amazed, and, with opened mouth and dropped under-jaw, looked awe-stricken.

Now, the sun was full up, and movement began in the village. Casement windows opened, crazy doors were unbarred, and people came forth shivering--chilled, as yet, by the new sweet air. Then began the rarely lightened toil of the day among the village population. Some, to the fountain; some, to the fields; men and women here, to dig and delve; men and women there, to see to the poor live stock, and lead the bony cows out, to such pasture as could be found by the roadside. In the church and at the Cross, a kneeling figure or two; attendant on the latter prayers, the led cow, trying for a breakfast among the weeds at its foot.

The chaateau awoke later, as became its quality, but awoke gradually and surely. First, the lonely boar-spears and knives of the chase had been reddened as of old; then, had gleamed trenchant in the morning sunshine; now, doors and windows were thrown open, horses in their stables looked round over their shoulders at the light and freshness pouring in at door+ways, leaves sparkled and rustled at iron-grated windows, dogs pulled hard at their chains, and reared impatient to be loosed.

All these trivial incidents belonged to the routine of life, and the return of morning. Surely, not so the ringing of the great hell of the chaateau, nor the running up and down the stairs; nor the hurried figures on the terrace; nor the booting and tramping here and there and everywhere, nor the quick saddling of horses and riding away?

What winds conveyed this hurry to the grizzled mender of roads, already at work on the hill-top beyond the village, with his day's dinner (not much to carry) lying in a bundle that it was worth no crow's while to peck at, on a heap of stones? Had the birds, carrying some grains of it to a distance, dropped one over him as they sow chance seeds? Whether or no, the mender of roads ran, on the sultry morning, as if for his life, down the hill, knee-high in dust, and never stopped till he got to the fountain.

All the people of the village were at the fountain, standing about in their depressed manner, and whispering low, but showing no other emotions than grim curiosity and surprise. The led cows, hastily brought in and tethered to anything that would hold them,
were looking stupidly on, or lying down chewing the cud of nothing particularly repaying their trouble, which they had picked up in their interrupted saunter. Some of the people of the chaateau, and s
j@s, and was smiting himself in the breast with his blue cap. What did all this portend, and what portended the swift hoisting-up of Monsieur Gabelle behind a servant on horseback, and the conveying away of the said Gabelle (double-laden though the horse was), at a gallop, like a new version of the German ballad of Leonora?

It portended that there was one stone face too many, up at the chaateau.

The Gorgon had surveyed the building again in the night, and had added the one stone face wanting; the stone face for which it had waited through about two hundred years.

It lay back on the pillow of Monsieur the Marquis. It was like a fine mask, suddenly startled, made angry, and petrified. Driven home into the heart of the stone figure attached to it, was a knife. Round its hilt was a frill of paper, on which was scrawled:

侯爵的庄园是一座巍峨的建筑，前面是一片巨大的石砌庭院。大门左右两道石级在门前的平台上会合，这是个石工的世界。巨大的石阶梯，四面八方的石雕耳瓶、石雕花朵、石雕人面、石雕狮头，仿佛两百年前刚竣工时曾被果刚的脑袋望过一眼。

侯爵下了马车，由火炬手引导走上了一道宽阔浅平的大石阶，脚步声恰足以惊醒远处林里马厩屋顶上的枭鸟，使它大声提出了抗议，此外一切平静。台阶上和大门前火炬熊熊，直竖着，宛如在关闭的大厅里，而非在户外的夜空中。枭啼之外只有喷泉飞溅到石盆里的沙沙声；因为那是个一连几小时屏息不作声，然后发出一声低低的长叹，又再屏息不作声的黑夜。

沉重的大门在他身后哐当地关上，候爵大人走进了一间阴森森的大厅。那里有狩猎用的野猪矛、长剑和短刀，还有马鞭和棍子。这些东西更阴森，好些农民因为触怒了老爷曾领教过它们的分量，有的索性到解脱痛苦的恩主死亡那儿去了。

侯爵避开黑魈魈的已经关闭过夜的大房间，在火炬手引导下走上石阶，来到走廊中的一道门前。门敞开了，他进入了自己的居室。那是一套三间的房屋，一间卧室，两间住房，有着高大的拱门和没铺地毯的冰凉的地板。壁炉上有堆放冬季劈柴的薪架，还有适合于一个奢侈时代中奢侈国家的侯爵身份的一切奢侈品。上一代的路易王，万世不绝的王家世系的路易十四朝的风格在这些华丽的家具上表现得很明显。其中也间杂了许多例证，反映出法兰西历史中一些其它的古老篇章  。

在第三间房里为两个人准备的晚餐已经摆好。庄园有个圆顶的碉楼，这间房伸在碉楼里，不大，但天花板很高，窗户敞开，木质的百叶窗紧闭，因此黑暗的夜只表现在宽阔的石头背景的浅黑色水平条纹上。

“我的侄子，”侯爵瞥了一眼摆好的晚餐，说，“他们说他还没有到。”

他确实没有到，但侯爵却等着跟他见面。

“啊！他今天晚上未必会到，不过，晚饭就像这样留着。我一刻钟之后就来。”

一刻钟后一切就绪，侯爵一人在华贵精美的晚宴桌前坐下。他的椅子背着窗户。他已经喝了汤，正常起一杯波尔多酒要喝，却又放下了。

“那是什么？”他平静地问道，同时仔细地望着衬在石壁后的黑色条纹。

“那个么，大人？”

“在百叶窗外面。把百叶窗打开。”

百叶窗打开了。

“怎么样？”

“大人，什么都没有？窗外只有树和黑夜。”

说话的仆人已敞开了百叶窗，望过—无所有的黑夜，转过身背对空虚站着，等候指示。

“行了，”不动声色的主人说，“关上吧！”

百叶窗关上了，侯爵继续吃晚饭。吃了一半，手中拿着杯子又停下了。他听见了车轮声。车声轻快地来到庄园前面。

“去问问是谁来了。”

是侯爵的侄子。下午他落在侯爵后面几个里格，却迅速缩短了距离，但并没有在路上赶上侯爵，只在驿站听说在他前面。

侯爵吩咐告诉他晚餐已经在等候，请他立即前来。他不久就到了。我们在英国早已认识他，他是查尔斯.达尔内。

侯爵有礼貌地接待了他，但两人并未握手。

“你是昨天离开巴黎的吧，先生？”他对大人说，一面就座。

“是昨天。你呢？”

“我是直接来的。”

“从伦敦？”

“是的。”

“花了重多时间哩，”侯爵微笑说。

“不多，我是直接来的。”

“对不起！我的意思不是路上花了很多时间，而是花了很多时间才决定来的。”

“我受到——”回答时侄子停顿了一会儿，“好多事情耽误。”

“当然，”温文尔雅的叔叔回答。

有仆人在身边，两人没多说话。咖啡上过，只剩下他俩时，侄子才望了叔父一眼，跟那像个精致假面的脸上的眼睛对视了一下，开始了谈话。

“我按照你的希望回来了，追求的还是使我离开的那个目标。那目标把我卷入了意想不到的大危险，但我的目标是神圣的，即使要我为之死去，我也死而无怨。”

“不要说死，”叔父说，“用不着说死。”

“我怀疑，先生，”侄子回答，“即使它把我送到死亡的边缘，你是否愿意加以制止。”

鼻子上的小窝加深了，残忍的脸上细细的直纹拉长了，说明侄子想得不错。叔父却做了一个优雅的手势表示抗议。那手势显然不过是良好教养的轻微表现，叫人信不过。

“实际上，先生，”侄子继续说下去，“从我知道的情况看来，你曾有意让我已经令人怀疑的处境更加令人怀疑。”

“没有，没有，没有，”叔父快快活活地说。

“不过，无论我处境如何，”侄子极怀疑地瞥了他一眼，说了下去，“我知道你的外交策略是会让休制止我的，而且会不惜采取任何手段。”

“我的朋友，这我早就告诉过你了，”叔父说，鼻翼上的小窝轻微地动了动。“请答应我一个请求：回忆一下。那话我很久以前就告诉过你了。”

“我回忆得起来。”

“谢谢你，”侯爵说——口气十分甜蜜。

他的语调在空中回荡，差不多像乐器的声音。

“实际上，先生，”侄子接下去说，“我相信是你的不幸和我的幸运使我没有在法国被抓进监牢。”

“我不太明白，”叔父啜着咖啡说。“能劳驾解释解释么？”

“我相信你若不是在宫廷失宠，也不曾在多年前那片阴云的笼罩之下，你可能早就用一张空白逮捕证把我送到某个要塞无限期地幽囚起来了。”

“有可能，”叔父极其平静地说，“为了家族的荣誉，我是可能下决心干扰你到那种程度的。请谅解。”

“我很高兴地发现，前天的官廷接见仍然—如既往，态度冷淡，”侄子说。

“要是我，就不会说高兴了，朋友，”叔父彬彬有礼地说，“我不会那么有把握认为给你个好机会在孤独中去思考思考要比让你一意孤行对你的命运有好处得多。可是，讨论这个问题并无用处。正如你所说，我的处境不好。这一类促人改正错误的手段，这一类有利干家族权力和荣誉的温和措施，这一类可以像这样干扰你的小小的恩赐，现在是要看上面的兴趣，还得要反复请求才能得到的。因为求之者众，得之者寡！可以前并不如此，法兰西在这类问题上已是江河日下。并不很久以前，我们的祖先对周围的贱民曾操着生杀予夺之权。许多像这样的狗就曾叫人从这间屋子拉出去绞死，而在隔壁房间（我现在的卧室），据我们所知，有一个家伙就因为为他的女儿表现了某种放肆的敏感便被用匕首杀死了——那女儿难道是他的么？我们已失去了许多特权；一种新的哲学正在流行；目前要重新强调我们的地位就可能给我们带来真正的麻烦——我只说‘可能’，还不至于说‘准会’。一切都很不像话，很不像话！”

侯爵嗅了一小撮鼻烟，摇了摇头，优雅地表现了失望，仿佛这个国家毕豪还有他，而他却是个当之无傀的伟大人物，能够重振家邦似的。

“对于我们的地位我们过去和现在都强调得够多的了，”侄子阴郁地说，“我相信我们的家庭在法国是人们所深恶痛绝的。”

“但愿如此，”叔父说，“对高位者的仇恨是卑贱者不自觉的崇敬。”

“在这周围的乡村里，”侄子仍用刚才的口气说，“我就看不到一张对我表示尊重的面孔，有的只是对于恐怖与奴役的阴沉的服从。”

“那正是对家族威势的赞美，”侯爵说，“是家族维持威势的方式所应当获得的赞美，哈！”他又吸了一小撮鼻烟，把一条腿轻轻地搁在另一条腿上。

但是，当他的侄子一只手肘靠在桌上，沉思地、沮丧地用手遮住眼睛时，那精致的假面却带着跟它所装出的满不在乎的神气很不相同的表情斜睨了他一眼，眼神里凝聚了紧张、阴鸷和仇恨。

“镇压是唯一经久耐用的哲学。恐怖与奴役造成阴沉的尊敬，我的朋友，”侯爵说，“可以让狗听从鞭子的命令——只要房顶还能遮挡住天空。”说时他望了望房顶。

房顶未必能如侯爵设想的那么长久地遮挡住天空。若是那天晚上侯爵能看到几年后那所庄园和其它五十个类似庄园的画面的话，他恐怕难以想象那片抢掠一空的烧成焦炭的废墟竟会是他今天的庄园。至于他刚才吹嘘的屋顶，他可能发现它将用另一种方式遮挡住天空——就是说，让屋顶化作铅弹，从十万支毛瑟枪枪管射出，使人们的眼睛永远对天空闭上。

“而且，”侯爵说，“若是你置家族的荣誉与安宁于不顾的话，我便只好努力维护了。可是你一定很疲倦了。今晚的磋商是否到此为止？”

“再谈一会儿吧！”

“一小时，如果你高兴的话。”

“先生，”侄子说，“我们犯了错误，正在自食其果。”

“是我们犯了错误么？”侯爵重复道，带着反问的微笑，优美地指了指侄子，再指了指自己。

“我们的家族，我们光荣的家族。对于它的荣誉我们俩都很看重，可是态度却完全不同。就在我父亲的时代，我们就犯下了数不清的错误。无论是谁，无论是什么原因，只要拂逆了我们的意愿，就要受到伤害。我何必说我父亲的时代呢，那不也是你的时代么？我能把我父亲的孪生兄弟、共同继承人，也是现在的继承人跟他自己分开么？”

“死亡已把我们分开了！”侯爵说。

“还留下了我，”侄子回答，“把我跟一个我认为可怕的制度绑在一起，要我对它负责，而我却对它无能为力。要我执行我亲爱的母亲唇边的最后要求，服从我亲爱的母亲的最后遗愿，要我怜悯，要我补救，却又让我得不到支持和力量，受到煎熬折磨。”

“要想在我这儿找到支持和力量，侄子，”侯爵用食指点了点侄子的胸口——此时他俩正站在壁炉前，“你是永远也办不到的，你要明白。”

他那白皙的脸上每一根细直的皱纹都残忍地、狡猾地、紧紧地皱到了一起。他一声不响地站着，望着他的侄子，手上捏着鼻烟盒。他再一次点了点他侄子的胸脯，仿佛他的指尖是匕首的刀尖，他正用它巧妙地刺透他侄子的身子。他说：

“我的朋友，我宁可为我生活在其中的这个制度的永存而死。”

说完他嗅了最后一撮鼻烟，然后把鼻烟盒塞进了口袋。

“最好还是明智一点，”他按了按桌上的一个小铃，补充说，“接受你天生的命运吧！可是你已是无可救药了，查尔斯先生，我知道。”

“我已失去了这份家产和法国，”侄子悲伤地说，“我把它们放弃了。”

“家产和法国是你的么，你凭什么放弃？法国也许是你的。可财产也是你的么？这是几乎不用提起的事；现在它是你的么？”

“我那话没有提出要求的意思。可明天它就会由我继承的一一”

“这我倒斗胆以为未必可能。”

“——二十年后吧——”

“你给了我太大的荣幸，”候爵说，“可我仍然坚持我刚才的假定。”

“——我愿意放弃财产，到别的地方靠别的办法过活。我放弃的东西很少，除了一片痛苦与毁灭的荒原，还能有什么？”

“啊！”候爵说，环视着豪华的房子。

“这屋子看起来倒挺漂亮，但在光天化日之下，就全局而言只不过是座摇摇欲坠的华厦而已。这里只有浪费、暴政、敲诈、债务、抵押、压迫、饥饿、赤裸和痛苦。”

“啊！”候爵又说，似乎很满意。

“即使它能属于我，它也必须交到某些更有资格解放它、让它逐渐摆脱重压的人手里（如果还有可能这样做的话），使已被它逼得忍无可忍却又离不开它的受苦人的下一代少受些苦难。但这已与我无关，天谴已落在这份财产上，也落到了这整个国土上。”

“那你呢？”叔父说，“请原谅我的好奇，按你的新哲学的道理，你还打算活下去
么？”

“为了活下去，我要跟我的同胞们一样靠工作来维持生活——我的有贵族身份的同胞们有一天也会这样做的。”

“比如，在英国？”

“是的，在这个国家我不会贴污我家族的荣誉，在别的国家我也不会损害我家族的姓氏，因为我在国外没有使用它。”

刚才的铃声已命令隔壁房间点起了灯。现在灯光已从相通的门里照射进来。侯爵望了望那边，听见侍仆的脚步声离开了。

“从你在那几不太顺利的情况看来，英格兰对你很有吸引力呢，”他对他的侄子转过平静的面孔，微笑着说。

“我已经说过，我已意识到了我在那边的种种坎坷分明是你的赐予。至于别的么，它倒是我的避难之地。”

“那些喜欢吹牛的英国人说它是许多人的避难所。你认识一个医生么？一个也在那儿避难的法国同胞？”

“认识。”

“带着个女儿？”

“是的。”

“是的，”侯爵说。“你疲倦了。晚安！”

在他以最礼貌的姿态点头为礼的时候，他那微笑的脸上透露出了某种秘密，他也赋予了他的话语某种神秘的气氛，这些都清楚地落在了他侄子的耳朵里、眼睛里。同时他眼圈边细微的直纹和鼻上的小窝也都带着嘲讽弯了起来，使他看去带着点漂亮的魔鬼味儿。

“是的，”侯爵重复。“一个医生，还有个女儿。不错，新的哲学就像这样开始了！你疲倦了，晚安！”

要想从他的脸上找出答案倒不如去问庄园里的石雕头像。侄子走向门边时望了望他，却没望出个究竟。

“晚安！”叔父说。“我等着明天早晨再跟你幸会。好好休息！拿火炬送我的侄子到那边他的屋里去！——你要是愿意，把我这位侄子先生给烧死在床上。”他自言自语补了一句，然后摇了摇小铃，把跟班召到了自己的屋里。

侍从来了又走了。侯爵大人穿上宽松的睡袍，在屋里踱来踱去，在那个平静闷热的夜里安详地准备着睡觉。他那穿着软拖鞋的脚悄然地踩着地面，像只仪态优雅的猛虎——俨然是故事里怙恶不悛的侯爵中了魔法要定时变化，或是刚从老虎变成了人，或是马上就要变成老虎。

他在他那豪华绝伦的卧室里走来走去，白天旅行的种种情景悄然袭来，闯入他的心里。黄昏时那缓慢吃力的上坡路，落山时的太阳，下山，风车，悬崖顶上的监狱，山坳里的小村，泉水边的农民，还有那用蓝帽子指着车下链条的补路工。那泉水令人联想到巴黎的泉水，台阶上躺着的布包裹，在它上面俯着身子的妇女，还有那高举双手大喊“死了！”的高个儿男人。

“现在凉快了，”侯爵大人说，“可以睡觉了。”

于是，他放下了四周的细纱床帏，定了定神睡了下去。这时他听见黑夜长叹了一声，打破了寂寥。

外壁上的石脸茫然地望着黑夜，望了三个沉重的小时。厩里的马匹嗒嗒地碰着食槽，碰了三个沉重的小时。狗的吠声，枭的鸣声。枭的鸣声跟诗人们按传统规定的枭鸣很不相同，但这种动物有个顽固的习惯：总不肯按别人的规定说话。

庄园里的石面孔（狮子的面孔，人的面孔）茫然地望着黑夜，望了三个沉重的小时。死沉沉的黑暗笼罩了一切；死沉沉的黑暗使道路上死寂的灰尘更加死寂，坟地里蔓草凄迷，可怜的一小片一小片的草皮彼此已无法区分。十字架上的耶稣见到任何东西都可能走下来。村子里的人（收税的和交税的）都睡着了。枯瘦的村民也许梦见了饥饿者常梦见的筵席，也许梦见了被驱赶干活的奴隶和牛马常梦见的轻松和休息。总之睡得很香，在梦里吃得很饱，而且自由自在。

村里，泉水奔流着，看不见，也听不到；庄园里，喷泉喷溅着，看不见，也听不到；两者都像从时间之泉喷出的分分秒秒，喷出便消失，喷了三个黑暗的小时。然后两者的灰白的水都在晨曦里闪着幽灵似的光，庄园的石头面孔睁开了眼睛。

晨曦渐明，太阳终于触到了平静的树梢，把它的光芒浇注在山上。朝霞里，庄园的喷泉似乎变成了血，石像的脸染成了猩红。鸟儿欢乐地高奏出一片喧哗。侯爵卧室那饱经风霜的巨大窗户的窗棂上一只小鸟正竭尽全力唱出最甜美的歌。靠窗最近的石雕人像似乎听得呆了，张大了嘴，垂下了下巴，听得心惊胆战。

此刻，太阳升高了，村子里有了响动。窗户开了，摇摇欲坠的门也开了，人们哆哆嗦嗦走了出来——新鲜香冽的空气使他们冷得发抖。于是，从不会减少的一天的劳作又开始了。有的人到泉水边去，有的人到田野里去。男的，女的，有的在这边挖地，有的在那边照顾可怜的牲口，把瘦瘠的母牛牵到路边能找得到的草地上去。在教堂里，在十字架前有一两个跪着的人影；与他们开始祷告的同时被牵出的母牛勉强把自己脚边的野草当作早餐。

庄园要醒得晚一些，这跟它的身份相称，却也显然渐渐地苏醒了。起先清冷的狩猎用的野猪矛和猎刀按往常一样先泛出红光，然后便在晨曦中清晰地闪亮；门窗敞开了，厩里的马回头望着从门口泻进的光和清新。绿叶在铁格花窗上闪着光，发出沙沙的声音。狗使劲地扯着铁链，不耐烦地站立起来，想获得自由。

这一切琐碎的活动都是晨光再现时的生活常规。可是庄园的大钟却敲起来了，台阶上步履上下，人影闪动，然后是杂沓的脚步声四处响起，马匹匆匆地配好鞍离开了。这一切难道也是生活常规么？

是什么风使那头发灰白的补路工这么匆忙？他已在村外的坡顶上开始了工作，他那没多少分量的午餐包放在一堆石头上，连母牛也不愿碰它一碰。是不是鸟儿把他的午餐带到了远处，跟偶然撒播种子一样，撒到了他的头上？总之，在那个炎热的早晨他像逃命一样向山下奔跑，跑得灰尘扬起有膝盖高，直跑到泉水边才停止。

村里的人全在泉水边神态沮丧地站着，悄悄谈话，除了表现出忧心忡忡的好奇与惊讶外，没有露出别的感情。匆匆牵来、就便拴住的母牛有的傻望着，有的躺着反刍，咀嚼着在它们被停止漫游时啃到嘴里的并不可口的东西。一部分庄园的人、一部分驿站的人和全部税务入员都多少武装了起来，无目的地挤在小街的另一边，都很紧张，却都闲着没事。补路工已经挤进了五十个特别好的朋友群里，一面用蓝帽子抽打着自己的胸脯。这一切预示着什么？加伯尔先生此时又在一个已骑在马上的仆入身后匆匆上了马，那马虽有了双重负担却也飞快地跑开了，像是德国民歌利昂诺拉的另一个版本。这又预示着什么？

这说明庄园里多出了一张石雕人面。

果刚在夜里又看了这座建筑物一眼，为它增加了这张石雕人面；这座建筑已等了它大约两百年。

石雕人面靠在侯爵枕头上，长在侯爵身上，像一个精巧的假面，突然受到惊吓，发起脾气来，于是变成了石雕。一把刀子深深地插在石像心窝里，刀把上挂了一张纸条，上面潦潦草草写了一行：

“催他早进坟墓。雅克奉赠。”