father and daughter

there is a hush through mr dombey's house. servants gliding up and down stairs rustle, but make no sound of footsteps. they talk together constantly, and sit long at meals, making much of their meat and drink, and enjoying themselves after a grim unholy fashion. mrs wickam, with her eyes suffused with tears, relates melancholy anecdotes; and tells them how she always said at mrs pipchin's that it would be so, and takes more table-ale than usual, and is very sorry but sociable. cook's state of mind is similar. she promises a little fry for supper, and struggles about equally against her feelings and the onions. towlinson begins to think there's a fate in it, and wants to know if anybody can tell him ofany good that ever came of living in a corner house. it seems to all of them as having happened a long time ago; though yet the child lies, calm and beautiful, upon his little bed.

after dark there come some visitors - noiseless visitors, with shoes of felt - who have been there before; and with them comes that bed of rest which is so strange a one for infant sleepers. all this time, the bereaved father has not been seen even by his attendant; for he sits in an inner corner of his own dark room when anyone is there, and never seems to move at other times, except to pace it to and fro. but in the morning it is whispered among the household that he was heard to go upstairs in the dead night, and that he stayed there - in the room - until the sun was shining.

at the offices in the city, the ground-glass windows are made more dim by shutters; and while the lighted lamps upon the desks are half extinguished by the day that wanders in, the day is half extinguished by the lamps, and an unusual gloom prevails. there is not much business done. the clerks are indisposed to work; and they make assignations to eat chops in the afternoon, and go up the river. perch, the messenger, stays long upon his errands; and finds himself in bars of public-houses, invited thither by friends, and holding forth on the uncertainty of human affairs. he goes home to ball's pond earlier in the evening than usual, and treats mrs perch to a veal cutlet and scotch ale. mr carker the manager treats no one; neither is he treated; but alone in his own room he shows his teeth all day; and it would seem that there is something gone from mr carker's path - some obstacle removed - which clears his way before him.

now the rosy children living opposite to mr dombey's house, peep from their nursery windows down into the street; for there are four black horses at his door, with feathers on their heads; and feathers tremble on the carriage that they draw; and these, and an array of men with scarves and staves, attract a crowd. the juggler who was going to twirl the basin, puts his loose coat on again over his fine dress; and his trudging wife, one-sided with her heavy baby in her arms, loiters to see the company come out. but closer to her dingy breast she presses her baby, when the burden that is so easily carried is borne forth; and the youngest of the rosy children at the high window opposite, needs no restraining hand to check her in her glee, when, pointing with her dimpled finger, she looks into her nurse's face, and asks 'what's that?'

and now, among the knot of servants dressed in mourning, and the weeping women, mr dombey passes through the hall to the other carriage that is waiting to receive him. he is not 'brought down,' these observers think, by sorrow and distress of mind. his walk is as erect, his bearing is as stiff as ever it has been. he hides his face behind no handkerchief, and looks before him. but that his face is something sunk and rigid, and is pale, it bears the same expression as of old. he takes his place within the carriage, and three other gentlemen follow. then the grand funeral moves slowly down the street. the feathers are yet nodding in the distance, when the juggler has the basin spinning on a cane, and has the same crowd to admire it. but the juggler's wife is less alert than usual with the money-box, for a child's burial has set her thinking that perhaps the baby underneath her shabby shawl may not grow up to be a man, and wear a sky-blue fillet round his head, and salmon-coloured worsted drawers, and tumble in the mud.

the feathers wind their gloomy way along the streets, and come within the sound of a church bell. in this same church, the pretty boy received all that will soon be left of him on earth - a name. all of him that is dead, they lay there, near the perishable substance of his mother. it is well. their ashes lie where florence in her walks - oh lonely, lonely walks! - may pass them any day.

the service over, and the clergyman withdrawn, mr dombey looks round, demanding in a low voice, whether the person who has been requested to attend to receive instructions for the tablet, is there?

someone comes forward, and says 'yes.'

mr dombey intimates where he would have it placed; and shows him, with his hand upon the wall, the shape and size; and how it is to follow the memorial to the mother. then, with his pencil, he writes out the inscription, and gives it to him: adding, 'i wish to have it done at once.

'it shall be done immediately, sir.'

'there is really nothing to inscribe but name and age, you see.'

the man bows, glancing at the paper, but appears to hesitate. mr dombey not observing his hesitation, turns away, and leads towards the porch.

'i beg your pardon, sir;' a touch falls gently on his mourning cloak; 'but as you wish it done immediately, and it may be put in hand when i get back - '

'well?'

'will you be so good as read it over again? i think there's a mistake.'

'where?'

the statuary gives him back the paper, and points out, with his pocket rule, the words, 'beloved and only child.'

'it should be, "son," i think, sir?'

'you are right. of course. make the correction.'

the father, with a hastier step, pursues his way to the coach. when the other three, who follow closely, take their seats, his face is hidden for the first time - shaded by his cloak. nor do they see it any more that day. he alights first, and passes immediately into his own room. the other mourners (who are only mr chick, and two of the medical attendants) proceed upstairs to the drawing-room, to be received by mrs chick and miss tox. and what the face is, in the shut-up chamber underneath: or what the thoughts are: what the heart is, what the contest or the suffering: no one knows.

the chief thing that they know, below stairs, in the kitchen, is that 'it seems like sunday.' they can hardly persuade themselves but that there is something unbecoming, if not wicked, in the conduct of the people out of doors, who pursue their ordinary occupations, and wear their everyday attire. it is quite a novelty to have the blinds up, and the shutters open; and they make themselves dismally comfortable over bottles of wine, which are freely broached as on a festival. they are much inclined to moralise. mr towlinson proposes with a sigh, 'amendment to us all!' for which, as cook says with another sigh, 'there's room enough, god knows.' in the evening, mrs chick and miss tox take to needlework again. in the evening also, mr towlinson goes out to take the air, accompanied by the housemaid, who has not yet tried her mourning bonnet. they are very tender to each other at dusky street-corners, and towlinson has visions of leading an altered and blameless existence as a serious greengrocer in oxford market.

there is sounder sleep and deeper rest in mr dombey's house tonight, than there has been for many nights. the morning sun awakens the old household, settled down once more in their old ways. the rosy children opposite run past with hoops. there is a splendid wedding in the church. the juggler's wife is active with the money-box in another quarter of the town. the mason sings and whistles as he chips out p-a-u-l in the marble slab before him.

and can it be that in a world so full and busy, the loss of one weak creature makes a void in any heart, so wide and deep that nothing but the width and depth of vast eternity can fill it up! florence, in her innocent affliction, might have answered, 'oh my brother, oh my dearly loved and loving brother! only friend and companion of my slighted childhood! could any less idea shed the light already dawning on your early grave, or give birth to the softened sorrow that is springing into life beneath this rain of tears!'

'my dear child,' said mrs chick, who held it as a duty incumbent on her, to improve the occasion, 'when you are as old as i am - '

'which will be the prime of life,' observed miss tox.

'you will then,' pursued mrs chick, gently squeezing miss tox's hand in acknowledgment of her friendly remark, 'you will then know that all grief is unavailing, and that it is our duty to submit.'

'i will try, dear aunt i do try,' answered florence, sobbing.

'i am glad to hear it,' said mrs chick, 'because; my love, as our dear miss tox - of whose sound sense and excellent judgment, there cannot possibly be two opinions - '

'my dear louisa, i shall really be proud, soon,' said miss tox

- 'will tell you, and confirm by her experience,' pursued mrs chick, 'we are called upon on all occasions to make an effort it is required of us. if any - my dear,' turning to miss tox, 'i want a word. mis- mis-'

'demeanour?' suggested miss tox.

'no, no, no,' said mrs chic 'how can you! goodness me, it's on, the end of my tongue. mis-'

placed affection?' suggested miss tox, timidly.

'good gracious, lucretia!' returned mrs chick 'how very monstrous! misanthrope, is the word i want. the idea! misplaced affection! i say, if any misanthrope were to put, in my presence, the question "why were we born?" i should reply, "to make an effort"'

'very good indeed,' said miss tox, much impressed by the originality of the sentiment 'very good.'

'unhappily,' pursued mrs chick, 'we have a warning under our own eyes. we have but too much reason to suppose, my dear child, that if an effort had been made in time, in this family, a train of the most trying and distressing circumstances might have been avoided. nothing shall ever persuade me,' observed the good matron, with a resolute air, 'but that if that effort had been made by poor dear fanny, the poor dear darling child would at least have had a stronger constitution.'

mrs chick abandoned herself to her feelings for half a moment; but, as a practical illustration of her doctrine, brought herself up short, in the middle of a sob, and went on again.

'therefore, florence, pray let us see that you have some strength of mind, and do not selfishly aggravate the distress in which your poor papa is plunged.'

'dear aunt!' said florence, kneeling quickly down before her, that she might the better and more earnestly look into her face. 'tell me more about papa. pray tell me about him! is he quite heartbroken?'

miss tox was of a tender nature, and there was something in this appeal that moved her very much. whether she saw it in a succession, on the part of the neglected child, to the affectionate concern so often expressed by her dead brother - or a love that sought to twine itself about the heart that had loved him, and that could not bear to be shut out from sympathy with such a sorrow, in such sad community of love and grief - or whether the only recognised the earnest and devoted spirit which, although discarded and repulsed, was wrung with tenderness long unreturned, and in the waste and solitude of this bereavement cried to him to seek a comfort in it, and to give some, by some small response - whatever may have been her understanding of it, it moved miss tox. for the moment she forgot the majesty of mrs chick, and, patting florence hastily on the cheek, turned aside and suffered the tears to gush from her eyes, without waiting for a lead from that wise matron.

mrs chick herself lost, for a moment, the presence of mind on which she so much prided herself; and remained mute, looking on the beautiful young face that had so long, so steadily, and patiently, been turned towards the little bed. but recovering her voice - which was synonymous with her presence of mind, indeed they were one and the same thing - she replied with dignity:

'florence, my dear child, your poor papa is peculiar at times; and to question me about him, is to question me upon a subject which i really do not pretend to understand. i believe i have as much influence with your papa as anybody has. still, all i can say is, that he has said very little to me; and that i have only seen him once or twice for a minute at a time, and indeed have hardly seen him then, for his room has been dark. i have said to your papa, "paul!" - that is the exact expression i used - "paul! why do you not take something stimulating?" your papa's reply has always been, "louisa, have the goodness to leave me. i want nothing. i am better by myself." if i was to be put upon my oath to-morrow, lucretia, before a magistrate,' said mrs chick, 'i have no doubt i could venture to swear to those identical words.'

miss tox expressed her admiration by saying, 'my louisa is ever methodical!'

'in short, florence,' resumed her aunt, 'literally nothing has passed between your poor papa and myself, until to-day; when i mentioned to your papa that sir barnet and lady skettles had written exceedingly kind notes - our sweet boy! lady skettles loved him like a - where's my pocket handkerchief?'

miss tox produced one.

'exceedingly kind notes, proposing that you should visit them for change of scene. mentioning to your papa that i thought miss tox and myself might now go home (in which he quite agreed), i inquired if he had any objection to your accepting this invitation. he said, "no, louisa, not the least!"' florence raised her tearful eye

'at the same time, if you would prefer staying here, florence, to paying this visit at present, or to going home with me - '

'i should much prefer it, aunt,' was the faint rejoinder.

'why then, child,'said mrs chick, 'you can. it's a strange choice, i must say. but you always were strange. anybody else at your time of life, and after what has passed - my dear miss tox, i have lost my pocket handkerchief again - would be glad to leave here, one would suppose.

'i should not like to feel,' said florence, 'as if the house was avoided. i should not like to think that the - his - the rooms upstairs were quite empty and dreary, aunt. i would rather stay here, for the present. oh my brother! oh my brother!'

it was a natural emotion, not to be suppressed; and it would make way even between the fingers of the hands with which she covered up her face. the overcharged and heavy-laden breast must some times have that vent, or the poor wounded solitary heart within it would have fluttered like a bird with broken wings, and sunk down in the dust'

'well, child!' said mrs chick, after a pause 'i wouldn't on any account say anything unkind to you, and that i'm sure you know. you will remain here, then, and do exactly as you like. no one will interfere with you, florence, or wish to interfere with you, i'm sure.

florence shook her head in sad assent'

'i had no sooner begun to advise your poor papa that he really ought to seek some distraction and restoration in a temporary change,' said mrs chick, 'than he told me he had already formed the intention of going into the country for a short time. i'm sure i hope he'll go very soon. he can't go too soon. but i suppose there are some arrangements connected with his private papers and so forth, consequent on the affliction that has tried us all so much - i can't think what's become of mine: lucretia, lend me yours, my dear - that may occupy him for one or two evenings in his own room. your papa's a dombey, child, if ever there was one,' said mrs chick, drying both her eyes at once with great care on opposite corners of miss tox's handkerchief 'he'll make an effort. there's no fear of him.'

'is there nothing, aunt,' said florence, trembling, 'i might do to -

'lord, my dear child,' interposed mrs chick, hastily, 'what are you talking about? if your papa said to me - i have given you his exact words, "louisa, i want nothing; i am better by myself" - what do you think he'd say to you? you mustn't show yourself to him, child. don't dream of such a thing.'

'aunt,' said florence, 'i will go and lie down on my bed.'

mrs chick approved of this resolution, and dismissed her with a kiss. but miss tox, on a faint pretence of looking for the mislaid handkerchief, went upstairs after her; and tried in a few stolen minutes to comfort her, in spite of great discouragement from susan nipper. for miss nipper, in her burning zeal, disparaged miss tox as a crocodile; yet her sympathy seemed genuine, and had at least the vantage-ground of disinterestedness - there was little favour to be won by it.

and was there no one nearer and dearer than susan, to uphold the striving heart in its anguish? was there no other neck to clasp; no other face to turn to? no one else to say a soothing word to such deep sorrow? was florence so alone in the bleak world that nothing else remained to her? nothing. stricken motherless and brotherless at once - for in the loss of little paul, that first and greatest loss fell heavily upon her - this was the only help she had. oh, who can tell how much she needed help at first!

at first, when the house subsided into its accustomed course, and they had all gone away, except the servants, and her father shut up in his own rooms, florence could do nothing but weep, and wander up and down, and sometimes, in a sudden pang of desolate remembrance, fly to her own chamber, wring her hands, lay her face down on her bed, and know no consolation: nothing but the bitterness and cruelty of grief. this commonly ensued upon the recognition of some spot or object very tenderly dated with him; and it made the ale house, at first, a place of agony.

but it is not in the nature of pure love to burn so fiercely and unkindly long. the flame that in its grosser composition has the taint of earth may prey upon the breast that gives it shelter; but the fire from heaven is as gentle in the heart, as when it rested on the heads of the assembled twelve, and showed each man his brother, brightened and unhurt. the image conjured up, there soon returned the placid face, the softened voice, the loving looks, the quiet trustfulness and peace; and florence, though she wept still, wept more tranquilly, and courted the remembrance.

it was not very long before the golden water, dancing on the wall, in the old place, at the old serene time, had her calm eye fixed upon it as it ebbed away. it was not very long before that room again knew her, often; sitting there alone, as patient and as mild as when she had watched beside the little bed. when any sharp sense of its being empty smote upon her, she could kneel beside it, and pray god - it was the pouring out of her full heart - to let one angel love her and remember her.

it was not very long before, in the midst of the dismal house so wide and dreary, her low voice in the twilight, slowly and stopping sometimes, touched the old air to which he had so often listened, with his drooping head upon her arm. and after that, and when it was quite dark, a little strain of music trembled in the room: so softly played and sung, that it was more like the mournful recollection of what she had done at his request on that last night, than the reality repeated. but it was repeated, often - very often, in the shadowy solitude; and broken murmurs of the strain still trembled on the keys, when the sweet voice was hushed in tears.

thus she gained heart to look upon the work with which her fingers had been busy by his side on the sea-shore; and thus it was not very long before she took to it again - with something of a human love for it, as if it had been sentient and had known him; and, sitting in a window, near her mother's picture, in the unused room so long deserted, wore away the thoughtful hours.

why did the dark eyes turn so often from this work to where the rosy children lived? they were not immediate!y suggestive of her loss; for they were all girls: four little sisters. but they were motherless like her - and had a father.

it was easy to know when he had gone out and was expected home, for the elder child was always dressed and waiting for him at the drawing-room window, or n the balcony; and when he appeared, her expectant face lighted up with joy, while the others at the high window, and always on the watch too, clapped their hands, and drummed them on the sill, and called to him. the elder child would come down to the hall, and put her hand in his, and lead him up the stairs; and florence would see her afterwards sitting by his side, or on his knee, or hanging coaxingly about his neck and talking to him: and though they were always gay together, he would often watch her face as if he thought her like her mother that was dead. florence would sometimes look no more at this, and bursting into tears would hide behind the curtain as if she were frightened, or would hurry from the window. yet she could not help returning; and her work would soon fall unheeded from her hands again.

it was the house that had been empty, years ago. it had remained so for a long time. at last, and while she had been away from home, this family had taken it; and it was repaired and newly painted; and there were birds and flowers about it; and it looked very different from its old self. but she never thought of the house. the children and their father were all in all.

when he had dined, she could see them, through the open windows, go down with their governess or nurse, and cluster round the table; and in the still summer weather, the sound of their childish voices and clear laughter would come ringing across the street, into the drooping air of the room in which she sat. then they would climb and clamber upstairs with him, and romp about him on the sofa, or group themselves at his knee, a very nosegay of little faces, while he seemed to tell them some story. or they would come running out into the balcony; and then florence would hide herself quickly, lest it should check them in their joy, to see her in her black dress, sitting there alone.

the elder child remained with her father when the rest had gone away, and made his tea for him - happy little house-keeper she was then! - and sat conversing with him, sometimes at the window, sometimes in the room, until the candles came. he made her his companion, though she was some years younger than florence; and she could be as staid and pleasantly demure, with her little book or work-box, as a woman. when they had candles, florence from her own dark room was not afraid to look again. but when the time came for the child to say 'good-night, papa,' and go to bed, florence would sob and tremble as she raised her face to him, and could look no more.

though still she would turn, again and again, before going to bed herself from the simple air that had lulled him to rest so often, long ago, and from the other low soft broken strain of music, back to that house. but that she ever thought of it, or watched it, was a secret which she kept within her own young breast.

and did that breast of florence - florence, so ingenuous and true - so worthy of the love that he had borne her, and had whispered in his last faint words - whose guileless heart was mirrored in the beauty of her face, and breathed in every accent of her gentle voice - did that young breast hold any other secret? yes. one more.

when no one in the house was stirring, and the lights were all extinguished, she would softly leave her own room, and with noiseless feet descend the staircase, and approach her father's door. against it, scarcely breathing, she would rest her face and head, and press her lips, in the yearning of her love. she crouched upon the cold stone floor outside it, every night, to listen even for his breath; and in her one absorbing wish to be allowed to show him some affection, to be a consolation to him, to win him over to the endurance of some tenderness from her, his solitary child, she would have knelt down at his feet, if she had dared, in humble supplication.

no one knew it' no one thought of it. the door was ever closed, and he shut up within. he went out once or twice, and it was said in the house that he was very soon going on his country journey; but he lived in those rooms, and lived alone, and never saw her, or inquired for her. perhaps he did not even know that she was in the house.

one day, about a week after the funeral, florence was sitting at her work, when susan appeared, with a face half laughing and half crying, to announce a visitor.

'a visitor! to me, susan!' said florence, looking up in astonishment.

'well, it is a wonder, ain't it now, miss floy?' said susan; 'but i wish you had a many visitors, i do, indeed, for you'd be all the better for it, and it's my opinion that the sooner you and me goes even to them old skettleses, miss, the better for both, i may not wish to live in crowds, miss floy, but still i'm not a oyster.'

to do miss nipper justice, she spoke more for her young mistress than herself; and her face showed it.

'but the visitor, susan,' said florence.

susan, with an hysterical explosion that was as much a laugh as a sob, and as much a sob as a laugh, answered,

'mr toots!'

the smile that appeared on florence's face passed from it in a moment, and her eyes filled with tears. but at any rate it was a smile, and that gave great satisfaction to miss nipper.

'my own feelings exactly, miss floy,' said susan, putting her apron to her eyes, and shaking her head. 'immediately i see that innocent in the hall, miss floy, i burst out laughing first, and then i choked.'

susan nipper involuntarily proceeded to do the like again on the spot. in the meantime mr toots, who had come upstairs after her, all unconscious of the effect he produced, announced himself with his knuckles on the door, and walked in very briskly.

'how d'ye do, miss dombey?' said mr toots. 'i'm very well, i thank you; how are you?'

mr toots - than whom there were few better fellows in the world, though there may have been one or two brighter spirits - had laboriously invented this long burst of discourse with the view of relieving the feelings both of florence and himself. but finding that he had run through his property, as it were, in an injudicious manner, by squandering the whole before taking a chair, or before florence had uttered a word, or before he had well got in at the door, he deemed it advisable to begin again.

'how d'ye do, miss dombey?' said mr toots. 'i'm very well, i thank you; how are you?'

florence gave him her hand, and said she was very well.

'i'm very well indeed,' said mr toots, taking a chair. 'very well indeed, i am. i don't remember,' said mr toots, after reflecting a little, 'that i was ever better, thank you.'

'it's very kind of you to come,' said florence, taking up her work, 'i am very glad to see you.'

mr toots responded with a chuckle. thinking that might be too lively, he corrected it with a sigh. thinking that might be too melancholy, he corrected it with a chuckle. not thoroughly pleasing himself with either mode of reply, he breathed hard.

'you were very kind to my dear brother,' said florence, obeying her own natural impulse to relieve him by saying so. 'he often talked to me about you.'

'oh it's of no consequence,' said mr toots hastily. 'warm, ain't it?'

'it is beautiful weather,' replied florence.

'it agrees with me!' said mr toots. 'i don't think i ever was so well as i find myself at present, i'm obliged to you.

after stating this curious and unexpected fact, mr toots fell into a deep well of silence.

'you have left dr blimber's, i think?' said florence, trying to help him out.

'i should hope so,' returned mr toots. and tumbled in again.

he remained at the bottom, apparently drowned, for at least ten minutes. at the expiration of that period, he suddenly floated, and said,

'well! good morning, miss dombey.'

'are you going?' asked florence, rising.

'i don't know, though. no, not just at present,' said mr toots, sitting down again, most unexpectedly. 'the fact is - i say, miss dombey!'

'don't be afraid to speak to me,' said florence, with a quiet smile, 'i should he very glad if you would talk about my brother.'

'would you, though?' retorted mr toots, with sympathy in every fibre of his otherwise expressionless face. 'poor dombey! i'm sure i never thought that burgess and co. - fashionable tailors (but very dear), that we used to talk about - would make this suit of clothes for such a purpose.' mr toots was dressed in mourning. 'poor dombey! i say! miss dombey!' blubbered toots.

'yes,' said florence.

'there's a friend he took to very much at last. i thought you'd like to have him, perhaps, as a sort of keepsake. you remember his remembering diogenes?'

'oh yes! oh yes' cried florence.

'poor dombey! so do i,' said mr toots.

mr toots, seeing florence in tears, had great difficulty in getting beyond this point, and had nearly tumbled into the well again. but a chuckle saved him on the brink.

'i say,' he proceeded, 'miss dombey! i could have had him stolen for ten shillings, if they hadn't given him up: and i would: but they were glad to get rid of him, i think. if you'd like to have him, he's at the door. i brought him on purpose for you. he ain't a lady's dog, you know,' said mr toots, 'but you won't mind that, will you?'

in fact, diogenes was at that moment, as they presently ascertained from looking down into the street, staring through the window of a hackney cabriolet, into which, for conveyance to that spot, he had been ensnared, on a false pretence of rats among the straw. sooth to say, he was as unlike a lady's dog as might be; and in his gruff anxiety to get out, presented an appearance sufficiently unpromising, as he gave short yelps out of one side of his mouth, and overbalancing himself by the intensity of every one of those efforts, tumbled down into the straw, and then sprung panting up again, putting out his tongue, as if he had come express to a dispensary to be examined for his health.

but though diogenes was as ridiculous a dog as one would meet with on a summer's day; a blundering, ill-favoured, clumsy, bullet-headed dog, continually acting on a wrong idea that there was an enemy in the neighbourhood, whom it was meritorious to bark at; and though he was far from good-tempered, and certainly was not clever, and had hair all over his eyes, and a comic nose, and an inconsistent tail, and a gruff voice; he was dearer to florence, in virtue of that parting remembrance of him, and that request that he might be taken care of, than the most valuable and beautiful of his kind. so dear, indeed, was this same ugly diogenes, and so welcome to her, that she took the jewelled hand of mr toots and kissed it in her gratitude. and when diogenes, released, came tearing up the stairs and bouncing into the room (such a business as there was, first, to get him out of the cabriolet!), dived under all the furniture, and wound a long iron chain, that dangled from his neck, round legs of chairs and tables, and then tugged at it until his eyes became unnaturally visible, in consequence of their nearly starting out of his head; and when he growled at mr toots, who affected familiarity; and went pell-mell at towlinson, morally convinced that he was the enemy whom he had barked at round the corner all his life and had never seen yet; florence was as pleased with him as if he had been a miracle of discretion.

mr toots was so overjoyed by the success of his present, and was so delighted to see florence bending down over diogenes, smoothing his coarse back with her little delicate hand - diogenes graciously allowing it from the first moment of their acquaintance - that he felt it difficult to take leave, and would, no doubt, have been a much longer time in making up his mind to do so, if he had not been assisted by diogenes himself, who suddenly took it into his head to bay mr toots, and to make short runs at him with his mouth open. not exactly seeing his way to the end of these demonstrations, and sensible that they placed the pantaloons constructed by the art of burgess and co. in jeopardy, mr toots, with chuckles, lapsed out at the door: by which, after looking in again two or three times, without any object at all, and being on each occasion greeted with a fresh run from diogenes, he finally took himself off and got away.

'come, then, di! dear di! make friends with your new mistress. let us love each other, di!'said florence, fondling his shaggy head. and di, the rough and gruff, as if his hairy hide were pervious to the tear that dropped upon it, and his dog's heart melted as it fell, put his nose up to her face, and swore fidelity.

diogenes the man did not speak plainer to alexander the great than diogenes the dog spoke to florence.' he subscribed to the offer of his little mistress cheerfully, and devoted himself to her service. a banquet was immediately provided for him in a corner; and when he had eaten and drunk his fill, he went to the window where florence was sitting, looking on, rose up on his hind legs, with his awkward fore paws on her shoulders, licked her face and hands, nestled his great head against her heart, and wagged his tail till he was tired. finally, diogenes coiled himself up at her feet and went to sleep.

although miss nipper was nervous in regard of dogs, and felt it necessary to come into the room with her skirts carefully collected about her, as if she were crossing a brook on stepping-stones; also to utter little screams and stand up on chairs when diogenes stretched himself, she was in her own manner affected by the kindness of mr toots, and could not see florence so alive to the attachment and society of this rude friend of little paul's, without some mental comments thereupon that brought the water to her eyes. mr dombey, as a part of her reflections, may have been, in the association of ideas, connected with the dog; but, at any rate, after observing diogenes and his mistress all the evening, and after exerting herself with much good-will to provide diogenes a bed in an ante-chamber outside his mistress's door, she said hurriedly to florence, before leaving her for the night:

'your pa's a going off, miss floy, tomorrow morning.'

'to-morrow morning, susan?'

'yes, miss; that's the orders. early.'

'do you know,' asked florence, without looking at her, 'where papa is going, susan?'

'not exactly, miss. he's going to meet that precious major first, and i must say if i was acquainted with any major myself (which heavens forbid), it shouldn't be a blue one!'

'hush, susan!' urged florence gently.

'well, miss floy,' returned miss nipper, who was full of burning indignation, and minded her stops even less than usual. 'i can't help it, blue he is, and while i was a christian, although humble, i would have natural-coloured friends, or none.'

it appeared from what she added and had gleaned downstairs, that mrs chick had proposed the major for mr dombey's companion, and that mr dombey, after some hesitation, had invited him.

'talk of him being a change, indeed!' observed miss nipper to herself with boundless contempt. 'if he's a change, give me a constancy.

'good-night, susan,' said florence.

'good-night, my darling dear miss floy.'

her tone of commiseration smote the chord so often roughly touched, but never listened to while she or anyone looked on. florence left alone, laid her head upon her hand, and pressing the other over her swelling heart, held free communication with her sorrows.

it was a wet night; and the melancholy rain fell pattering and dropping with a weary sound. a sluggish wind was blowing, and went moaning round the house, as if it were in pain or grief. a shrill noise quivered through the trees. while she sat weeping, it grew late, and dreary midnight tolled out from the steeples.

florence was little more than a child in years - not yet fourteen- and the loneliness and gloom of such an hour in the great house where death had lately made its own tremendous devastation, might have set an older fancy brooding on vague terrors. but her innocent imagination was too full of one theme to admit them. nothing wandered in her thoughts but love - a wandering love, indeed, and castaway - but turning always to her father. there was nothing in the dropping of the rain, the moaning of the wind, the shuddering of the trees, the striking of the solemn clocks, that shook this one thought, or diminished its interest' her recollections of the dear dead boy - and they were never absent - were itself, the same thing. and oh, to be shut out: to be so lost: never to have looked into her father's face or touched him, since that hour!

she could not go to bed, poor child, and never had gone yet, since then, without making her nightly pilgrimage to his door. it would have been a strange sad sight, to see her' now, stealing lightly down the stairs through the thick gloom, and stopping at it with a beating heart, and blinded eyes, and hair that fell down loosely and unthought of; and touching it outside with her wet cheek. but the night covered it, and no one knew.

the moment that she touched the door on this night, florence found that it was open. for the first time it stood open, though by but a hair's-breadth: and there was a light within. the first impulse of the timid child - and she yielded to it - was to retire swiftly. her next, to go back, and to enter; and this second impulse held her in irresolution on the staircase.

in its standing open, even by so much as that chink, there seemed to be hope. there was encouragement in seeing a ray of light from within, stealing through the dark stern doorway, and falling in a thread upon the marble floor. she turned back, hardly knowing what she did, but urged on by the love within her, and the trial they had undergone together, but not shared: and with her hands a little raised and trembling, glided in.

her father sat at his old table in the middle room. he had been arranging some papers, and destroying others, and the latter lay in fragile ruins before him. the rain dripped heavily upon the glass panes in the outer room, where he had so often watched poor paul, a baby; and the low complainings of the wind were heard without.

but not by him. he sat with his eyes fixed on the table, so immersed in thought, that a far heavier tread than the light foot of his child could make, might have failed to rouse him. his face was turned towards her. by the waning lamp, and at that haggard hour, it looked worn and dejected; and in the utter loneliness surrounding him, there was an appeal to florence that struck home.

'papa! papa! speak to me, dear papa!'

he started at her voice, and leaped up from his seat. she was close before him' with extended arms, but he fell back.

'what is the matter?' he said, sternly. 'why do you come here? what has frightened you?'

if anything had frightened her, it was the face he turned upon her. the glowing love within the breast of his young daughter froze before it, and she stood and looked at him as if stricken into stone.

there was not one touch of tenderness or pity in it. there was not one gleam of interest, parental recognition, or relenting in it. there was a change in it, but not of that kind. the old indifference and cold constraint had given place to something: what, she never thought and did not dare to think, and yet she felt it in its force, and knew it well without a name: that as it looked upon her, seemed to cast a shadow on her head.

did he see before him the successful rival of his son, in health and life? did he look upon his own successful rival in that son's affection? did a mad jealousy and withered pride, poison sweet remembrances that should have endeared and made her precious to him? could it be possible that it was gall to him to look upon her in her beauty and her promise: thinking of his infant boy!

florence had no such thoughts. but love is quick to know when it is spurned and hopeless: and hope died out of hers, as she stood looking in her father's face.

'i ask you, florence, are you frightened? is there anything the matter, that you come here?'

'i came, papa - '

'against my wishes. why?'

she saw he knew why: it was written broadly on his face: and dropped her head upon her hands with one prolonged low cry.

let him remember it in that room, years to come. it has faded from the air, before he breaks the silence. it may pass as quickly from his brain, as he believes, but it is there. let him remember it in that room, years to come!

he took her by the arm. his hand was cold, and loose, and scarcely closed upon her.

'you are tired, i daresay,' he said, taking up the light, and leading her towards the door, 'and want rest. we all want rest. go, florence. you have been dreaming.'

the dream she had had, was over then, god help her! and she felt that it could never more come back

'i will remain here to light you up the stairs. the whole house is yours above there,' said her father, slowly. 'you are its mistress now. good-night!'

still covering her face, she sobbed, and answered 'good-night, dear papa,' and silently ascended. once she looked back as if she would have returned to him, but for fear. it was a mommentary thought, too hopeless to encourage; and her father stood there with the light - hard, unresponsive, motionless - until the fluttering dress of his fair child was lost in the darkness.

let him remember it in that room, years to come. the rain that falls upon the roof: the wind that mourns outside the door: may have foreknowledge in their melancholy sound. let him remember it in that room, years to come!

the last time he had watched her, from the same place, winding up those stairs, she had had her brother in her arms. it did not move his heart towards her now, it steeled it: but he went into his room, and locked his door, and sat down in his chair, and cried for his lost boy.

diogenes was broad awake upon his post, and waiting for his little mistress.

'oh, di! oh, dear di! love me for his sake!'

diogenes already loved her for her own, and didn't care how much he showed it. so he made himself vastly ridiculous by performing a variety of uncouth bounces in the ante-chamber, and concluded, when poor florence was at last asleep, and dreaming of the rosy children opposite, by scratching open her bedroom door: rolling up his bed into a pillow: lying down on the boards, at the full length of his tether, with his head towards her: and looking lazily at her, upside down, out of the tops of his eyes, until from winking and winking he fell asleep himself, and dreamed, with gruff barks, of his enemy.

董贝先生的公馆中一片寂静。仆人们蹑手蹑脚地、窸窸窣窣地上楼、下楼，不让脚步发出响声。他们聚在一起没完没了地聊天，长时间地坐着用餐，尽情吃喝，仿照那种冷酷无情、不信鬼神的习俗来享受乐趣。威肯姆大嫂眼泪汪汪，叙述着忧伤的往事；她跟他们说，她在皮普钦太太那里就经常说，将来会发生这样的结果；餐桌上的浓啤酒她比平时喝得更多；她很忧愁，但爱和人交谈。厨娘的心情也相似。她答应晚餐做些油炸的食品，并作出同等的努力来克制自己的感伤和忍住洋葱的气味。托林森开始觉得这是命中注定；他希望有人能告诉他，居住在坐落于街道拐角的房屋里能有什么好处。他们全都觉得，这似乎是好久以前发生的事情了，虽然那孩子还依旧安安静静、漂漂亮亮地躺在他的小床上。

天黑以后来了几个人，他们穿着毡鞋，默不作声，以前就曾经到这里来过。随着他们来的是一张安息的床，这是一张多么奇怪的给孩子睡眠的床啊！失去孩子的父亲一直没有露面，甚至连侍候他的仆人也一直见不到他；因为不论是谁进入他的黑暗的房间，他总是坐在最里面的一个角落里，除了来回踱步外，其他时间似乎就从来不曾移动过身体。可是家里的人们早上都在交头接耳，窃窃私语说，他们听到他深夜走上楼去，待在那里——待在房间里——，直到太阳升起为止。

在城里公司的办公室里，由于关上百叶窗，毛玻璃的窗子更为暗淡；当办公桌上的灯光被悄悄透进的亮光冲淡一半，而白天的亮光又被灯光冲淡一半时，房间里笼罩着一种不寻常的幽暗。没有办理多少业务。职员们不愿工作；他们约好下午出去吃排骨，并到河上游逛。信差珀奇磨磨蹭蹭地执行他的差事；他被朋友们邀请到酒吧，在那里高谈阔论，感叹人事的变化无常。晚上他比往常提早回到鲍尔斯池塘家里，请珀奇太太吃小牛肉片和喝苏格兰浓啤酒。经理卡克先生没有宴请别人，也没有别人宴请他，而是独自待在自己的办公室里，整天露着牙齿；似乎在卡克先生的道路上有个什么东西消失了——有个什么障碍被搬除了，他前面的道路已经被扫清了。

住在董贝先生家对面的脸色红润的孩子们这时从他们育儿室的窗口向下面的街道探望，因为在董贝先生家的门口有四匹黑马，马头上装饰着翎毛，翎毛在黑马所拉的马车上方摇晃着；这些情景以及披着披巾，拿着棍棒的人们，吸引了一群人围观。玩杂耍的人本准备旋转盘子，这时又在他华丽的衣服外面套上一件宽松的外衣；他的拖着腿走路的妻子，手上抱着一个重娃娃，身子向一边倾斜，正游手好闲地看着送殡的人们出来。但是当她很轻易地抱着的孩子被挤到前面时，她就把他更紧地压在她肮脏的乳房上。对面高高的窗子里脸色红润的孩子当中最小的一个，兴高采烈，不要别人来制止她，这时她望着保姆的脸，用胖乎乎的手指指着问道：“那是什么？”

这时，董贝先生在周围一小群穿着丧服的仆人和哭哭啼啼的妇女们中间，穿过前厅，走向另一辆等待着他的四轮马车。这些旁观的人们心想，他并没有被悲伤和痛苦压倒。他的步伐还是跟平日一样矫健，他的态度还是跟平日一样生硬呆板。他没有把脸掩藏在手绢里，而是直望着前方。他的脸虽然稍稍有些消瘦、森严、苍白，但表情仍和往常一样。他在马车里坐定了位子，另外三位先生也跟着进了马车。于是隆重的送殡队伍沿着街道向前徐徐移动。玩杂耍的人正在一根棍子上旋转着盆子，同样的人群正在赞赏这技艺时，翎毛还在远处摇晃着。但是玩杂耍的人的妻子拿着盒子讨钱，不像平日那样机灵麻利，因为孩子的葬礼使她联想到她的被破烂的围巾覆盖着的婴儿也许将来不能长大成人，不能在头上绕上一根天蓝色的束发带，穿着橙红色的衬裤，在泥里翻跟斗。

翎毛沿着街道，忧郁地、曲曲折折地向前行进，已经可以听到教堂的钟声。这个漂亮的孩子就在这个教堂里得到了他不久唯一能遗留在人世的东西——一个名字。他们把他死去的一切安放在这里，靠近他母亲的遗骸。这很好。他们的骨灰在那里，弗洛伦斯不论哪一天散步——唉，多么孤独多么孤独的散步啊！——随时都可以经过那里。

仪式完毕，教士们都离开之后，董贝先生环顾四周，低声问道，要求到这里来听取他有关墓碑的指示的人在不在？

一个人走上来，说：“在。”

董贝先生通知他，他希望把墓碑安放在什么地方；又用手在墙上画出它的形状和大小；还指出，它应该紧挨着他母亲的墓碑，然后他用铅笔写出碑文，递给他，说：“我希望立刻把它刻好。

“立刻就会刻好，先生。”

“您看，除了姓名和年龄就没有什么别的要刻的了。”

那人鞠了个躬，看了看那张纸，好像踌躇不定似的。董贝先生没有留意到他在迟疑，所以就转身向门廊走去。

“请您原谅，先生，”一只手轻轻地碰了碰他的丧服，“可是因为您希望立刻就把它刻好，我回去也可以着手进行——”

“唔？”

“能不能劳驾您再看一遍？我觉得有一个差错。”

“什么地方？”

那位雕刻墓碑的匠人把纸递还给他，用随身携带的一支尺子指出下面的一些词：“心爱的和唯一的孩子。”

“先生，我想应当是‘儿子’吧？”

“您说得对。当然是。改过来吧。”

这位父亲以更快的步伐走向马车。当紧跟在他后面的另外三个人在马车里坐下时，他的脸第一次被掩盖着——被他的外衣捂着。那天他们再也没有见到它。他首先下了马车，立刻走到他自己的房间里去。其他参加葬礼的人（他们只不过是奇克先生和两位医生）上楼到客厅里，由奇克夫人和托克斯小姐接待他们。至于楼下关闭着的房间里的那个人，他的脸上是什么表情，他在想些什么，他的心情怎么样，有什么冲突或痛苦，谁也不知道。

地下室厨房里的人们只知道：“今天像星期天。”他们心里总觉得，外面街道上那些穿着日常服装，为日常工作奔忙的人们，在他们的行为中如果没有什么邪恶的东西的话，那么总还是有一些不对头的地方。窗帘已经卷上，百叶窗已经拉开，这是件不同于前几天的新鲜事情。他们像过节一般尽情地喝着一瓶瓶的酒，以此消愁解忧。他们都很喜欢劝善戒恶。托林森叹了一口气，举杯祝酒道，“让我们都来改过自新吧！”厨娘也叹了一口气，说：“上帝知道，要改过自新的地方多着哪！”晚上，奇克夫人和托克斯小姐又做起针线活来。在同一个晚上，托林森先生跟女仆一块出去兜风，她直到现在还没有试戴过服丧的软帽。他们在阴暗的街道拐角，彼此十分亲热；托林森希望有朝一日到牛津市场去当一名殷实的蔬菜水果商人，过另一种不同的、无可指责的生活。

这天夜里，在董贝先生的公馆中，人们跟以前好多夜相比，睡得比较酣畅，休息得比较充分。朝阳照旧唤醒了屋子里原来所有的人们，把他们重新推入他们往常的生活轨道。对面屋子里脸色红润的孩子们滚着铁环跑过去。教堂里举行了一个隆重的婚礼。玩杂耍的人的妻子在城市的另一个街区里，拿着讨钱的盒子，活跃地跑来跑去。石匠在他前面的大理石板上刻出·保·罗两个字的时候，唱着歌曲，吹着口哨。

在一个人口众多、忙忙碌碌的世界上，一个虚弱的小人儿的失去，在哪一个心上造成这样宽阔这样深沉的空虚，只有广袤无边的永恒才能把它填补上呢？弗洛伦斯在她真挚纯朴的悲痛中也许会回答道，“啊，我的弟弟，啊，我曾经热爱过、现在仍然热爱着的弟弟！我受到冷落的童年中的唯一的朋友和同伴！难道还有不那么高尚的思想能把您的已经露出曙光的早逝的坟墓照亮，或者能使这在泪落如雨时产生的阵阵悲痛减轻一些吗？”

“我亲爱的孩子，”奇克夫人说道，她认为她有义不容辞的责任抓住机会来开导她，“当你到了我这样的年纪——”

“也就是说到了精力充沛的壮年，”托克斯小姐说。

“那时候你就会知道，”奇克夫人说，一边轻轻地捏了一下托克斯小姐的手，对她友好的讲话表示感谢，“悲痛是无益的，我们的本分是听天由命。”

“我将努力这样去做，亲爱的姑妈，我是这样努力的。”弗洛伦斯抽泣着说。

“我很高兴听到你这么说，”奇克夫人说，“因为我亲爱的，正如我们亲爱的托克斯小姐——对于她正确的见解和卓越的判断是不可能有异议的——”

“我亲爱的路易莎，说实在的，我立刻就要骄傲起来了。”

“正如我们亲爱的托克斯小姐将会告诉你，并且用她的经验来证实的那样，”奇克夫人继续说道，“在任何情况下都要求我们作出努力。要求我们这样做。如果有什么厌——我亲爱的，”她向托克斯小姐说，“我忘了这个词。厌——厌——”

“厌倦，”托克斯小姐提示说。

“不是，不是，不是，”奇克夫人说，“你怎么会想出这个词呢！天呀，它已经到了我的嘴边了。厌——”

“厌恶，”托克斯小姐心虚胆怯地提示说。

“我的上帝，卢克丽霞！”奇克夫人回答，“多么荒唐！厌世者——这就是我想要说的词。你怎么会那么想！厌恶！我是说，如果有什么厌世者当着我的面提出下面的问题：‘为什么我们要生下来？’我就回答他说，‘为了作出努力’”。

“真是说得很好，”托克斯小姐说，这别出心裁的见解使她留下了深刻的印像，“·很好。”

“不幸的是，”奇克夫人继续说道，“在我们眼前已经有了一个教训。我们完全有理由设想，我亲爱的孩子，如果在这个家庭中曾经及时作出过努力，那么许多令人痛苦、难以忍受的事情本来是可以避免的。没有什么能使我改变我的看法，”这位善良的家庭主妇以坚决的语气说道，“如果可怜的亲爱的范妮先前能作出努力的话，那么这可怜的孩子至少可以有强壮一些的体质。”

奇克夫人控制不住自己的感情约有半秒钟光景；但是为了给她的学说提供一个实际的范例，她突然中止啜泣，继续往下说道：

“因此，弗洛伦斯，请向我们表明，你的意志是相当坚强的，不要只顾自己，加深你可怜的爸爸的痛苦。”

“亲爱的姑妈！”弗洛伦斯迅速地跪在她面前，以便更仔细更诚挚地看着她的脸，说道，“再告诉我一些爸爸的情况吧。

请跟我谈谈他吧！他是不是伤心绝望了？”

托克斯小姐是一位心慈善感的人，在这哀求中有一些东西使她深受感动。是不是她在这哀求中看到这位被冷落的女孩子希望能够继续像她死去的弟弟那样，时常向父亲表露出亲切的关怀？还是她在这哀求中看到这女孩子心中怀着一种爱，它想缠绕在曾经爱过她弟弟的那颗心的周围，而不能忍受在这爱与哀伤的交集之中她父亲由于悲痛而拒绝向它表示同情？还是她只不过是在这女孩子身上看出有一种真挚、忠诚的精神，它虽然遭到拒绝和厌弃，却仍痛苦地满怀着长久得不到回报的柔情，在她失去弟弟以后的忧愁和孤独中，它又转向父亲发出了哀求，希望从他微弱的反应中寻求到安慰，同时也去安慰他？——不论托克斯小姐怎样理解弗洛伦斯的哀求，反正这哀求是使她深受感动的。她在片刻间忘记了奇克夫人的尊严，急忙抚摸弗洛伦斯的脸颊，身子转向一旁，没有等待那位贤明的主妇的指示，就听凭泪水从眼睛中涌流出来了。

奇克夫人本人在片刻间也失去了她十分引以自豪的镇静，默默无言地望着那张美丽的年轻的脸，这张脸曾经长久地、耐性地、始终如一地照看过那张小床。可是她在恢复声音——它与镇静是同义的，它们实际上是同一个东西——以后，尊严地回答道：

“弗洛伦斯，我亲爱的孩子，你可怜的爸有时有些古怪；你向我问到他，那就是向我问一个我确实不敢自称是了解的问题。我相信，我对你爸爸的影响不比任何人小。可是我所能说的只是，他跟我谈得很少，我总共只见过他一、两次，每次不过一分钟；老实说，就是在那时候，我也没有看见他，因为他的房间是黑暗的。我曾对你爸爸说，‘保罗！’——当时我就是这样一字不差地对他说的——‘保罗！’你为什么不服点儿振奋精神的东西？你爸爸总是这样回答：‘路易莎，请你行行好离开我吧。我不需要任何东西。我一个人待着好。’卢克丽霞，如果明天要叫我到地方长官面前去起誓的话，”奇克夫人继续说，“那么我毫无疑问敢于发誓，他说过这些话。”

托克斯小姐表示钦佩地说，“我的路易莎总是这样有条有理！”

“总之，弗洛伦斯，”姑妈继续说道，“直到今天以前，我跟你可怜的爸爸几乎没有交谈过；今天我跟你爸爸说，巴尼特爵士和斯克特尔斯夫人写来了一封极其亲切的短简——我们亲爱的小男孩！斯克特尔斯夫人喜欢他极了，就像喜欢……

我的手绢在那里？”

托克斯小姐递上一块。

“这是一封极其亲切的短简，他们建议你去访问他们，换换环境。我跟你爸爸说，我觉得托克斯小姐和我现在可以回家了，这一点他完全同意；这时我就问他，他是不是反对你接受这个邀请，他说，‘不，路易莎，一点也不。’”。

弗洛伦斯抬起她那泪汪汪的眼睛。

“但是，弗洛伦斯，如果你宁愿待在这里，而不想现在去进行这次访问或跟我回家去的话——”

“我很愿意待在这里，姑妈——”回答的声音是微弱的。

“好吧，孩子，”奇克夫人说，“你可以待在这里。我得说，这是个古怪的选择。不过你总是古怪的。要是换了别人，不论是谁，到了你这样的年纪，又在经历了这样的事情之后，都是会高高兴兴离开这里的，这是人们意料之中的事情——我亲爱的托克斯小姐，我又找不到我的手绢了——”

“我不愿意觉得，仿佛应该避开这个家才好。”弗洛伦斯说，“我不愿意想到楼上的那个——他的房间空空荡荡，十分凄凉，姑妈。我目前宁肯留在这里。啊，我的弟弟呀！我的弟弟呀！”

这是自然的情感激动，不能加以压制；它甚至会从她捂在脸上的手指中间冲出来。那负担过重、疲惫不堪的胸膛有时必须有个排泄的孔道，否则里面那可怜的受伤的孤独的心就会像一只折断了翅膀的鸟那样挣扎扑腾，掉落在尘土之中的。

“好吧，孩子！”奇克夫人停了一下，接着又说道，“我无论如何也不愿意跟你说不客气的话，我相信，你也知道这一点。那么，你就待在这里，爱做什么就做什么。谁也不来干涉你，弗洛伦斯，而且我相信，谁也不希望来干涉你。”

弗洛伦斯点点头，悲伤地表示同意。

“我劝告你可怜的爸爸，他确实应该暂时换个环境，想法散散心，恢复一下精神，”奇克夫人说，“我的话刚说完，他就立刻对我说，他已经有了打算，想到乡下去一段短短的时间。说实在的，我真希望他很快就走。走得越早越好。不过我想他还得处理处理有关私人单据之类的事情，这些单据都是因为这次使我们受尽痛苦折磨的不幸事件所发生的。——我真闹不明白，我的手绢是怎么回事，它到哪里去了，卢克丽霞，我亲爱的，把您的信给我吧！——因此，他在他的房间里得忙上一、两个晚上。孩子，你的爸爸真不愧是我们董贝家里的人，如果要真有一个能当之无愧的人的话，”奇克夫人用托克斯小姐手绢的两个对角十分细心地把她的两只眼睛同时擦干。“他会作出努力的。不必为他担心。”

“姑妈，”弗洛伦斯颤抖着问道，“我就不可以做点什么事情使——”

“天主呀，我亲爱的孩子，”奇克夫人急忙打断她说，“你讲的是些什么话呀？如果你爸爸对我说——我已经把他的话原原本本地告诉你了——‘路易莎，我不需要任何东西。我一个人待着好。’——那么你以为他会对你说什么呢？你千万别在他跟前露面，孩子。别去梦想这种事情吧。”

“姑妈，”弗洛伦斯说，“我到我床上去躺躺。”

奇克夫人赞成她的这个决定，吻了吻她，就让她走了。可是托克斯小姐却假装去寻找丢失的手绢，跟着她上楼去，并偷出几分钟来想法安慰安慰她，尽管苏珊·尼珀表示出很不支持的态度。因为尼珀姑娘在她炽烈的热情中，把托克斯小姐贬损为一条鳄鱼；可是托克斯小姐的同情看来是真诚的，至少不是出于自私，这是个可取的优点——她这样做得不到什么好处。

难道就没有一个比苏珊更贴近更亲爱的人来支持那颗在极度痛苦中在努力奋斗的心了吗？难道就没有另一个脖子她可以搂抱，没有另一张脸她可以望着了吗？难道就没有另外一个人对这样深切的悲伤说上一句安慰的话了吗？难道在这凄凉的世界上，弗洛伦斯就这么孤独，没有给她留下任何别的东西了吗？没有。在失去母亲又失去弟弟的双重打击下——因为在失去小保罗以后，那第一个也是最大的损失就更沉重地压在她身上了——，苏珊是她唯一能得到的帮助。啊，谁能说得出，她首先多么需要帮助啊！”

最初，当住宅中的生活逐渐步入惯常的轨道，除了仆人和关在自己房间里的父亲之外，所有其他的人们都已离开时，弗洛伦斯不能做别的，她只是哭泣，在屋子里来回漫步，有时在悲凉的回忆突然引起的极度痛苦中飞跑到她自己的房间中，使劲地绞扭着双手，脸贴在床上，得不到任何安慰——除了剧烈的、无情的悲痛之外，再也得不到别的什么了。这通常是在看到一些跟小保罗亲切的感情紧密相连的场所或物品之后发生的；这就使这座悲惨不幸的住宅最初成了一个使她苦恼重重的地方。

但是，纯洁的爱在性质上并不会猛烈地、无情地长久燃烧。爱的火焰，由于其中粗俗的部分受到世俗的污染，所以它可能会折磨庇护它的胸膛；但是从上天降临的圣火却在心中柔和地闪耀，就像它降临在聚集在一起的十二个人的头上1，向他们每个人指明他的兄弟都笑逐颜开、安然无恙时的情形一样。当圣像被召唤