duroy moved his effects to the apartments in rue de constantinople. two or three times a week, mme. de-marelle paid him visits. duroy, to counterbalance them, dined at her house every thursday, and delighted her husband by talking agriculture to him.
it was almost the end of february. duroy was free from care. one night, when he returned home, he found a letter under his door. he examined the postmark; it was from cannes. having opened it, he read:
“cannes, villa jolie.”
“dear sir and friend: you told me, did you not, that i could
count upon you at any time? very well. i have a favor to ask
of you; it is to come and help me — not to leave me alone during
charles’s last moments. he may not live through the week,
although he is not confined to his bed, but the doctor has
warned me. i have not the strength nor the courage to see that
agony day and night, and i think with terror of the approaching
end i can only ask such a thing of you, for my husband has no
relatives. you were his comrade; he helped you to your
position; come, i beg of you; i have no one else to ask.”
“your friend,”
“madeleine forestier.”
georges murmured: “certainly i will go. poor charles!”
the manager, to whom he communicated the contents of that letter, grumblingly gave his consent. he repeated: “but return speedily, you are indispensable to us.”
georges duroy left for cannes the next day by the seven o’clock express, after having warned mme. de marelle by telegram. he arrived the following day at four o’clock in the afternoon. a commissionnaire conducted him to villa jolie. the house was small and low, and of the italian style of architecture.
a servant opened the door and cried: “oh, sir, madame is awaiting you patiently.”
duroy asked: “how is your master?”
“not very well, sir. he will not be here long.”
the floor of the drawing-room which the young man entered was covered with a persian rug; the large windows looked upon the village and the sea.
duroy murmured: “how cozy it is here! where the deuce do they get the money from?”
the rustling of a gown caused him to turn. mme. forestier extended both her hands, saying:
“how kind of you to come.”
she was a trifle paler and thinner, but still as bright as ever, and perhaps prettier for being more delicate. she whispered: “it is terrible — he knows he cannot be saved and he tyrannizes over me. i have told him of your arrival. but where is your trunk?”
duroy replied: “i left it at the station, not knowing which hotel you would advise me to stop at, in order to be near you.”
she hesitated, then said: “you must stop here, at the villa. your chamber is ready. he might die any moment, and if it should come in the night, i would be alone. i will send for your luggage.”
he bowed. “as you will.”
“now, let us go upstairs,” said she; he followed her. she opened a door on the first floor, and duroy saw a form near a window, seated in an easy-chair, and wrapped in coverlets. he divined that it was his friend, though he scarcely recognized him. forestier raised his hand slowly and with difficulty, saying:
“you are here; you have come to see me die. i am much obliged.”
duroy forced a smile. “to see you die? that would not be a very pleasant sight, and i would not choose that occasion on which to visit cannes. i came here to rest.”
“sit down,” said forestier, and he bowed his head as if deep in hopeless meditation. seeing that he did not speak, his wife approached the window and pointing to the horizon, said, “look at that? is it not beautiful?”
in spite of himself duroy felt the grandeur of the closing day and exclaimed: “yes, indeed, it is magnificent”
forestier raised his head and said to his wife: “give me more air.”
she replied: “you must be careful; it is late, the sun is setting; you will catch more cold and that would be a serious thing in your condition.”
he made a feeble gesture of anger with his right hand, and said: “i tell you i am suffocating! what difference does it make if i die a day sooner or later, since i must die?”
she opened the window wide. the air was soft and balmy. forestier inhaled it in feverish gasps. he grasped the arms of his chair and said in a low voice: “shut the window. i would rather die in a cellar.”
his wife slowly closed the window, then leaned her brow against the pane and looked out. duroy, ill at ease, wished to converse with the invalid to reassure him, but he could think of no words of comfort. he stammered: “have you not been better since you are here?”
his friend shrugged his shoulders impatiently: “you will see very soon.” and he bowed his head again.
duroy continued: “at home it is still wintry. it snows, hails, rains, and is so dark that they have to light the lamps at three o’clock in the afternoon.”
forestier asked: “is there anything new at the office?”
“nothing. they have taken little lacrin of the ‘voltaire’ to fill your place, but he is incapable. it is time you came back.”
the invalid muttered: “i? i will soon be writing under six feet of sod.” a long silence ensued.
mme. forestier did not stir; she stood with her back to the room, her face toward the window. at length forestier broke the silence in a gasping voice, heartrending to listen to: “how many more sunsets shall i see — eight — ten — fifteen — twenty — or perhaps thirty — no more. you have more time, you two — as for me — all is at an end. and everything will go on when i am gone as if i were here.” he paused a few moments, then continued: “everything that i see reminds me that i shall not see them long. it is horrible. i shall no longer see the smallest objects — the glasses — the dishes — the beds on which we rest — the carriages. it is fine to drive in the evening. how i loved all that.”
again norbert de varenne’s words occurred to duroy. the room grew dark. forestier asked irritably:
“are we to have no lamp to-night? that is what is called caring for an invalid!”
the form outlined against the window disappeared and an electric bell was heard to ring. a servant soon entered and placed a lamp upon the mantel-piece. mme. forestier asked her husband: “do you wish to retire, or will you go downstairs to dinner?”
“i will go down to dinner.”
the meal seemed to duroy interminable, for there was no conversation, only the ticking of a clock broke the silence. when they had finished, duroy, pleading fatigue, retired to his room and tried in vain to invent some pretext for returning home as quickly as possible. he consoled himself by saying: “perhaps it will not be for long.”
the next morning georges rose early and strolled down to the beach. when he returned the servant said to him: “monsieur has asked for you two or three times. will you go upstairs?”
he ascended the stairs. forestier appeared to be in a chair; his wife, reclining upon a couch, was reading. the invalid raised his head. duroy asked:
“well, how are you? you look better this morning.”
forestier murmured: “yes, i am better and stronger. lunch as hastily as you can with madeleine, because we are going to take a drive.”
when mme. forestier was alone with duroy, she said to him: “you see, to-day he thinks he is better! he is making plans for to-morrow. we are now going to gulf juan to buy pottery for our rooms in paris. he is determined to go, but he cannot stand the jolting on the road.”
the carriage arrived, forestier descended the stairs, step by step, supported by his servant. when he saw the closed landau, he wanted it uncovered. his wife opposed him: “it is sheer madness! you will take cold.”
he persisted: “no, i am going to be better, i know it.”
they first drove along a shady road and then took the road by the sea. forestier explained the different points of interest. finally they arrived at a pavilion over which were these words: “gulf juan art pottery,” and the carriage drew up at the door. forestier wanted to buy a vase to put on his bookcase. as he could not leave the carriage, they brought the pieces to him one by one. it took him a long time to choose, consulting his wife and duroy: “you know it is for my study. from my easy-chair i can see it constantly. i prefer the ancient form — the greek.”
at length he made his choice. “i shall return to paris in a few days,” said he.
on their way home along the gulf a cool breeze suddenly sprang up, and the invalid began to cough. at first it was nothing, only a slight attack, but it grew worse and turned to a sort of hiccough — a rattle; forestier choked, and every time he tried to breathe he coughed violently. nothing quieted him. he had to be carried from the landau to his room. the heat of the bed did not stop the attack, which lasted until midnight. the first words the sick man uttered were to ask for a barber, for he insisted on being shaved every morning. he rose to be shaved, but was obliged to go to bed at once, and began to breathe so painfully that mme. forestier in affright woke duroy and asked him to fetch the doctor. he returned almost immediately with dr. gavant who prescribed for the sick man. when the journalist asked him his opinion, he said: “it is the final stage. he will be dead to-morrow morning. prepare that poor, young wife and send for a priest. i can do nothing more. however, i am entirely at your disposal” duroy went to mme. forestier. “he is going to die. the doctor advises me to send for a priest. what will you do?”
she hesitated a moment and then said slowly:
“i will go and tell him that the cure wishes to see him. will you be kind enough to procure one who will require nothing but the confession, and who will not make much fuss?”
the young man brought with him a kind, old priest who accommodated himself to circumstances. when he had entered the death chamber, mme. forestier went out and seated herself with duroy in an adjoining room.
“that has upset him,” said she. “when i mentioned the priest to him, his face assumed a scared expression. he knew that the end was near. i shall never forget his face.”
at that moment they heard the priest saying to him: “why no, you are not so low as that. you are ill, but not in danger. the proof of that is that i came as a friend, a neighbor.” they could not hear his reply. the priest continued: “no, i shall not administer the sacrament. we will speak of that when you are better. if you will only confess, i ask no more. i am a pastor; i take advantage of every occasion to gather in my sheep.”
a long silence followed. then suddenly the priest said, in the tone of one officiating at the altar:
“the mercy of god is infinite; repeat the ‘confiteor,’ my son. perhaps you have forgotten it; i will help you. repeat with me: ‘confiteor deo omnipotenti; beata mariae semper virgini.’” he paused from time to time to permit the dying man to catch up to him.
then he said: “now, confess.” the sick man murmured something. the priest repeated: “you have committed sins: of what kind, my son?”
the young woman rose and said simply: “let us go into the garden. we must not listen to his secrets.”
they seated themselves upon a bench before the door, beneath a blossoming rosebush. after several moments of silence duroy asked: “will it be some time before you return to paris?”
“no,” she replied; “when all is over, i will go back.”
“in about ten days?”
“yes, at most.”
he continued; “charles has no relatives then?”
“none, save cousins. his father and mother died when he was very young.”
in the course of a few minutes, the servant came to tell them that the priest had finished, and together they ascended the stairs. forestier seemed to have grown thinner since the preceding day. the priest was holding his hand.
“au revoir, my son. i will come again to-morrow morning”; and he left. when he was gone, the dying man, who was panting, tried to raise his two hands toward his wife and gasped:
“save me — save me, my darling. i do not want to die — oh, save me — go for the doctor. i will take anything. i do not want to die.” he wept; the tears coursed down his pallid cheeks. then his hands commenced to wander hither and thither continually, slowly, and regularly, as if gathering something on the coverlet. his wife, who was also weeping, sobbed:
“no, it is nothing. it is only an attack; you will be better to- morrow; you tired yourself with that drive.”
forestier drew his breath quickly and so faintly that one could scarcely hear him. he repeated:
“i do not want to die! oh, my god — my god — what has happened to me? i cannot see. oh, my god!” his staring eyes saw something invisible to the others; his hands plucked continually at the counterpane. suddenly he shuddered and gasped: “the cemetery — me — my god!” he did not speak again. he lay there motionless and ghastly. the hours dragged on; the clock of a neighboring convent chimed noon.
duroy left the room to obtain some food. he returned an hour later; mme. forestier would eat nothing. the invalid had not stirred. the young woman was seated in an easy-chair at the foot of the bed. duroy likewise seated himself, and they watched in silence. a nurse, sent by the doctor, had arrived and was dozing by the window.
duroy himself was almost asleep when he felt a presentiment that something was about to happen. he opened his eyes just in time to see forestier close his. he coughed slightly, and two streams of blood issued from the corners of his mouth and flowed upon his night robe; his hands ceased their perpetual motion; he had breathed his last. his wife, perceiving it, uttered a cry and fell upon her knees by the bedside. georges, in surprise and affright, mechanically made the sign of the cross.
the nurse, awakening, approached the bed and said: “it has come.” duroy, recovering his self-possession, murmured with a sigh of relief: “it was not as hard as i feared it would be.”
that night mme. forestier and duroy watched in the chamber of death. they were alone beside him who was no more. they did not speak, georges’s eyes seemed attracted to that emaciated face which the flickering light made more hollow. that was his friend, charles forestier, who the day before had spoken to him. for several years he had lived, eaten, laughed, loved, and hoped as did everyone — and now all was ended for him forever.
life lasted a few months or years, and then fled! one was born, grew, was happy, and died. adieu! man or woman, you will never return to earth! he thought of the insects which live several hours, of the feasts which live several days, of the men who live several years, of the worlds which last several centuries. what was the difference between one and the other? a few more dawns, that was all.
duroy turned away his eyes in order not to see the corpse. mme. forestier’s head was bowed; her fair hair enhanced the beauty of her sorrowful face. the young man’s heart grew hopeful. why should he lament when he had so many years still before him? he glanced at the handsome widow. how had she ever consented to marry that man? then he pondered upon all the hidden secrets of their lives. he remembered that he had been told of a count de vaudrec who had dowered and given her in marriage. what would she do now? whom would she marry? had she projects, plans? he would have liked to know. why that anxiety as to what she would do?
georges questioned himself, and found that it was caused by a desire to win her for himself. why should he not succeed? he was positive that she liked him; she would have confidence in him, for she knew that he was intelligent, resolute, tenacious. had she not sent for him? was not that a kind of avowal? he was impatient to question her, to find out her intentions. he would soon have to leave that villa, for he could not remain alone with the young widow; therefore he must find out her plans before returning to paris, in order that she might not yield to another’s entreaties. he broke the oppressive silence by saying:
“you must be fatigued.”
“yes, but above all i am grieved.”
their voices sounded strange in that room. they glanced involuntarily at the corpse as if they expected to see it move. duroy continued:
“it is a heavy blow for you, and will make a complete change in your life.”
she sighed deeply, but did not reply. he added:
“it is very sad for a young woman like you to be left alone.” he paused; she still did not reply, and he stammered: “at any rate, you will remember the compact between us; you can command me as you will. i am yours.”
she held out her hand to him and said mournfully and gently: “thanks, you are very kind. if i can do anything for you, i say too: ‘count on me.’”
he took her proffered hand, gazed at it, and was seized with an ardent desire to kiss it. slowly he raised it to his lips and then relinquished it. as her delicate fingers lay upon her knee the young widow said gravely:
“yes, i shall be all alone, but i shall force myself to be brave.”
he did not know how to tell her that he would be delighted to wed her. certainly it was no time to speak to her on such a subject; however, he thought he might be able to express himself by means of some phrase which would have a hidden meaning and would infer what he wished to say. but that rigid corpse lay between them. the atmosphere became oppressive, almost suffocating. duroy asked: “can we not open the window a little? the air seems to be impure.”
“certainly,” she replied; “i have noticed it too.”
he opened the window, letting in the cool night air. he turned: “come and look out, it is delightful.”
she glided softly to his side. he whispered: “listen to me. do not be angry that i broach the subject at such a time, but the day after to-morrow i shall leave here and when you return to paris it might be too late. you know that i am only a poor devil, who has his position to make, but i have the will and some intelligence, and i am advancing. a man who has attained his ambition knows what to count on; a man who has his way to make does not know what may come- -it may be better or worse. i told you one day that my most cherished dream was to have a wife like you.”
“i repeat it to you to-day. do not reply, but let me continue. this is no proposal — the time and place would render it odious. i only wish to tell you that by a word you can make me happy, and that you can make of me as you will, either a friend or a husband — for my heart and my body are yours. i do not want you to answer me now. i do not wish to speak any more on the subject here. when we meet in paris, you can tell me your decision.”
he uttered these words without glancing at her, and she seemed not to have heard them, for she stood by his side motionless, staring vaguely and fixedly at the landscape before her, bathed in moonlight.
at length she murmured: “it is rather chilly,” and turned toward the bed. duroy followed her. they did not speak but continued their watch. toward midnight georges fell asleep. at daybreak the nurse entered and he started up. both he and mme. forestier retired to their rooms to obtain some rest. at eleven o’clock they rose and lunched together; while through the open window was wafted the sweet, perfumed air of spring. after lunch, mme. forestier proposed that they take a turn in the garden; as they walked slowly along, she suddenly said, without turning her head toward him, in a low, grave voice:
“listen to me, my dear friend; i have already reflected upon what you proposed to me, and i cannot allow you to depart without a word of reply. i will, however, say neither yes nor no. we will wait, we will see; we will become better acquainted. you must think it well over too. do not yield to an impulse. i mention this to you before even poor charles is buried, because it is necessary, after what you have said to me, that you should know me as i am, in order not to cherish the hope you expressed to me any longer, if you are not a man who can understand and bear with me.”
“now listen carefully: marriage, to me, is not a chain but an association. i must be free, entirely unfettered, in all my actions- -my coming and my going; i can tolerate neither control, jealousy, nor criticism as to my conduct. i pledge my word, however, never to compromise the name of the man i marry, nor to render him ridiculous in the eyes of the world. but that man must promise to look upon me as an equal, an ally, and not as an inferior, or as an obedient, submissive wife. my ideas, i know, are not like those of other people, but i shall never change them. do not answer me, it would be useless. we shall meet again and talk it all over later. now take a walk; i shall return to him. good-bye until to-night.”
he kissed her hand and left her without having uttered a word. that night they met at dinner; directly after the meal they sought their rooms, worn out with fatigue.
charles forestier was buried the next day in the cemetery at cannes without any pomp, and georges returned to paris by the express which left at one-thirty. mme. forestier accompanied him to the station. they walked up and down the platform awaiting the hour of departure and conversing on indifferent subjects.
the train arrived, the journalist took his seat; a porter cried: “marseilles, lyons, paris! all aboard!” the locomotive whistled and the train moved slowly out of the station.
the young man leaned out of the carriage, and looked at the youthful widow standing on the platform gazing after him. just as she was disappearing from his sight, he threw her a kiss, which she returned with a more discreet wave of her hand.
经过这次决斗，杜洛瓦在一夜之间成了《法兰西生活报》少数几位领头的专栏编辑之一。然而他常常搜尽枯肠仍不能提出什么新的思想，因而天天惊呼世风日下、道德沦丧、爱国观念削弱和法兰西荣誉感得了贫血症（这“贫血症”一词还是他想出来的，他为此而感到十分得意），也就成了他所主办专栏的特色。
爱嘲弄、好怀疑、有时又过于天真，被说成是巴黎人思想的主要特征。这些东西，在德·马莱尔夫人身上可以说是一应俱全。她一见到杜洛瓦在报上发表的长篇大论，总要尽情挖苦一番，而且常常是寥寥数语便击中要害。对此，杜洛瓦总笑着说：“你可别小看了，我将来要出名就靠的是这个。”他现已住到君士坦丁堡街，其全部家当：箱子、牙刷、刮脸刀和肥皂，已搬了过来。德·马莱尔夫人每星期两三次在他早晨起床之前，来同他相会。一进来，她便动作麻利地脱去衣服，带着外面的寒气，哆哆嗦嗦地钻进他的被窝。
此外，杜洛瓦每星期四都照例来她家吃饭，同她丈夫大谈农活，以博取他的欢心。由于他本人也对农活很感兴趣，那个人往往谈得十分投机，因而把在沙发上打盹的年轻女人忘得一干二净。
有时坐在父亲的腿上，有时坐在杜洛瓦的腿上，小姑娘洛琳娜时也睡着了。
不论谈起什么总要摆出一副道学先生样的德·马莱尔先生，第次在杜洛瓦走后，总要带着这种腔调说道：“这个年轻人确实不错，很有教养。”
现在已是二月底。每天早晨，当人们在街上从卖花女拉着的车旁走过时，已可闻到车上扑鼻而来的花香。
杜洛瓦的生活如今是万事如意，如同万里晴空，没有一丝云彩。
一天晚上回到住所，他推开门后，发现地板上有一封信。他看了看邮戳，是从戛纳寄来的。他随即打开，读了起来：
亲爱的先生和朋友：
记得你曾对我说过，不论遇到什么事，我都可得到你的帮助。现在我就有一件难于启齿的事要求助于你。查理眼看是不行了，望你能来帮我一把，不要让我在他临终的时候一个人守在他身边。他眼下还能起床，但医生对我说，他恐怕是过不了这个星期了。
此时此刻，要日夜守着他，我已力不从心。一想到即将来临的最后时刻，我便无比恐惧。我丈夫已没有亲人，因此这个忙只能求你来帮。你曾是他的好友，是他为你打开了报馆的大门。除了你，我没有任何人可以求托。因此请见信速来。
你忠实的朋友
玛德莱娜·弗雷斯蒂埃
于戛纳劳利别墅
杜洛瓦心中像是吹进一缕清风，蓦地升起一种类似羁绊得以解脱、眼前豁然开朗的奇异感觉。他自言自语道：
“我当然是要去的。可怜的查理！况且我们谁都会有这一天的！”
他把弗雷斯蒂埃夫人的来信，向老板讲了讲。老板虽然准许他前往，但再三说道：
“不过你可要快点回来，我们这里缺不了你。”
这样，乔治·杜洛瓦第二天乘上午七点的快车离开了巴黎，行前给德·马莱尔夫妇发了封快信，告诉了他们有关情况。
他于隔天下午四时抵达戛纳。
他在一行李搬运工的指引下到了劳利别墅。别墅座落于一块半山坡的树林里，四周是一片白色的房屋。这茂密的树林从戛纳一直延伸到朱昂湾。
别墅不大，小巧的建筑呈意大利风格。近旁有一条公路，弯弯曲曲在林中穿行，每一拐弯处都有一幅秀丽的景色展现于眼底。
前来开门的仆人，见到杜洛瓦，不禁失声叫道：
“啊，是先生您来了，夫人正焦急地等着您的到来。”
杜洛瓦问道：
“你的主人现在怎样？”
“不太好，先生。他看来没有几天了。”
杜洛瓦被带到了客厅里。客厅四周挂着粉底蓝花帷幔。凭窗远望，可以看到整个城市和蓝色的大海。
杜洛瓦不禁叹道：
“啊哈！这间乡村别墅地势真好！这些钱，他们是从哪儿弄来的？”
门外传来一阵衣裙的窸窣声，杜洛瓦将身子转了过来。
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人伸出双手，向他走了过来：
“你来啦，这可真是太好了！”
她突然在杜洛瓦的脸颊上亲了一下，随后两人相视良久。
她脸色略显苍白，人也瘦了些，但气色依然分外娇艳。整个身躯甚至正因为这看上去弱不经风的样子而显得比从前更加楚楚动人。她喃喃地说道：
“他已变得非常可怕，知道自己不行了，便没命地折磨我。
我已告诉他你就要来。你的行李呢？”
杜洛瓦回道：
“我把行李存在车站了。我想住得靠你近些，不知道你想让我住哪家旅馆。”
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人犹豫了一会儿，然后说道：
“你还是住在这儿吧，再说你的房间已经准备好了。事情一两天之内就会出来，如果发生在夜间，我独自一人将很难对付。我这就叫人去把你的行李取来。”
杜洛瓦欠了欠身：
“那就按你的意思办吧。”
“现在我带你上楼去。”她说。
杜洛瓦跟着她上了二楼。走到一间房间前，她推开了房门。借着夕阳的余辉，杜洛瓦看到，一个身上裹着厚厚的被子、面色惨白形同僵尸的人，正坐在窗前的一把扶手椅上目不转睛地看着他。他的这位朋友，他几乎已认不出来了。毋宁说，他是靠揣度断定的。
房间里弥漫着肺病患者所住房间常有的那种难以名状的浓烈气味：因高烧而产生的气味，以及汤药味、乙醚味和柏油味。
弗雷斯蒂埃缓慢而又艰难地抬了抬手，说道；
“你来啦，承你的情，来给我送终。”
杜洛瓦竭力笑了笑：
“瞧你说的，来给你送终！这可不是什么开心事儿，我要是为这个，就不在这时候来游览戛纳了。我是来看望你的，顺便休息休息。”
弗雷斯蒂埃说了声“请坐”，接着便脑袋低垂，仿佛陷入了痛苦的沉思。
他呼吸急促，几乎是上气不接下气，并不时伴有低沉的呻吟，似乎在提醒人们他已病成什么样了。
他妻子见他一声不吭，便走过来靠在窗前，向着天边仰了仰头说道：
“你们看，这景致是多美啊！”
对面山坡上，到处点缀着一幢幢别墅，直达城市的边缘。而整个城市，从右边的防波堤，到与两个名叫莱兰的小岛隔海相望的科瓦赛特角，就横卧在一条呈半圆形的海岸上。防波堤上方，是耸立着一座古老钟楼的旧城，两个小岛则像是一片湛蓝的海水中所显现的两块绿斑。从上往下看去，岛上的地势似乎十分平坦，宛如两片巨大的树叶漂浮在海面上。
远处，港湾对岸的天际，在防波堤和钟楼上方，绵延不绝的黛绿色群山在火红的天幕下，勾勒出一条奇异而又迷人的曲线。这起伏不定的峰峦，有的呈圆鼓形，有的尖尖突出，有的则酷似弯钩，最后是一座金字塔形的大山，由上而下，直插海中。
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人指着这座山说：
“这就是埃特莱山。”
在这灰暗的山峦背后，血红的晚霞一片金辉，刺得人眼花缭乱。
面对这落日的宏伟景象，杜洛瓦早已心驰神往，不能自已。
他搜尽枯肠，也未能找到形象的比喻来发抒心中的赞叹，最后只得说道：
“啊！是的，这景色真是太美了！”
弗雷斯蒂埃这时抬起头来，向妻子央求道：
“把窗户打开，让我透透气。”
他妻子说道：
“不行。现在天色已晚，太阳已经下山。否则你又要着凉的。你应当知道，按你目前的身体状况，开窗对你并没有什么好处。”
他焦躁而又无力地动了动右手，似乎想向她挥过拳去，脸上因愤怒而更加显现出那苍白的嘴唇、凹陷的两颊和突出的瘦骨：
“告诉你，我实在憋得受不了啦。既然我横竖是完了，早晚都是死，你何必还要这样呢？……”
她只得把窗户全部打开。
三个人顿感一股轻风拂面，心头不禁为之一爽。这股风不仅柔和湿润，而且已带有春天的气息，饱含山坡上的花草所散发的芬芳。不过其中也夹杂着浓烈的松脂味和刺鼻的桉树味。
弗雷斯蒂埃气喘吁吁，大口大口地吮吸着，但未过多久，便用手指甲痉挛地扣着座椅的扶手，恼怒而又无力地嘶叫起来：
“快把窗户关上，我受不了这气味。看来我得到地下室去等死了。”
他妻子于是慢慢地关上窗户，随后将前额贴在玻璃上，凝视着远方。
杜洛瓦觉得很不自在，想和病人聊一聊，安慰他几句。
但他一时又想不出恰当的话语来宽慰他，最后只是嘟哝了这样一句：
“这么说来，你来这儿后病情仍不见好？”
“你不是已经看到了吗？”对方有气无力地耸了耸肩，显得很不耐烦。说完又垂下了头。
杜洛瓦接着说道：
“妈的，这地方同巴黎相比，简直不知要强多少。那边现在还是严冬呢，不是雨雪，就是冰雹。下午三点，天就黑了下来，必须点灯。”
“报馆里没什么新闻吗？”弗雷斯蒂埃问道。
“没有。只是从伏尔泰学院新近来了个名叫拉克兰的毕业生，打算让他接替你。不过小家伙还是嫩了点，你快回来吧！”“我？现在要我写专栏文章，得等我到九泉之下了，”弗雷斯蒂埃说道。
死的念头看来已紧紧地占据他的心房，不论谈起什么都会像洪亮的钟声一样突然蹦出来，甚至每想起一件事，每说一句话，都会再度出现。
谈话出现长时间沉默，这沉默是这样的深沉，令人痛苦不堪。夕阳的金辉渐渐消失，被晚霞染红的天空已暗了下来，逶迤不绝的山林成了一片暗黑色。夜幕开始降临，带着夕阳最后余辉的斑烂夜色，在房内长驱直入，使家具、墙壁、窗帷和各个角落蒙上了一层红星交融的轻纱。壁炉上的镜子所映照出的天际，成了一滩殷红的鲜血。
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人依旧一动不动地站在那里，背对着房间，脸孔贴在窗玻璃上。
她丈夫忽然上气不接下气地说了起来，话语因而断断续续，听了令人撕心裂肺：
“这落日我还能见到几次呢？……八次……十次……十五次或二十次……也有可能会有三十次，但不会超过此数……你们这些人……日子还长得很……我却已经到头了……我死了以后……一切仍会照旧……好像我还活着一样……”
他沉默了几分钟，后又接着说道：
“眼前的一切都在提醒我，几天以后，我便再也看不见……这真可怕……所有的东西了……我将什么也看不见了……从日常使用的小玩意儿……如杯子……盘子……到躺在上面何等舒服的床……以及马车。傍晚的时候，乘车兜风是多么惬意……这一切，我是多么地喜欢！”
他那两只手的手指，在神经质地轻轻敲着椅子的两边扶手，好像在弹钢琴一样。每次看着他沉默不语，比听他说话，要更使人难受，因为显而易见，他这时候一定在想那可怕的事情。
杜洛瓦忽然想起诺贝尔·德·瓦伦几星期前对他说的话语：
“我感到，死神现在就已站在我身旁，因此常想伸过手去，将她一把推开。天地虽大，但她却无所不在。我到处都可以看到她的踪迹。路上被压死的虫蚁，树上飘落下的黄叶，朋友的胡须中出现的一两根白毛，一看到这些，我的心就一阵抽搐，因为它是死神肆虐的见证。”
这些话，他那天并未弄懂，今天看到弗雷斯蒂埃这样子，他也就领悟了其含义，心中顿感分外凄楚，这在他是从来没有的。他仿佛感到面目狰狞的死神，此刻就在他身旁，同他只有一步之隔，就在这气息奄奄的病人坐着的椅子旁，他真想站起身离开这里，跑得远远的，立刻回巴黎去！啊！早知如此，他是不会来的。
夜幕此时已笼罩整个房间，看去很像一块提前送来的裹尸布，即将落在生命垂危的弗雷斯蒂埃身上。只有窗户还清晰可见，明晰的窗框内显现出年轻女人一动不动的身影。
弗雷斯蒂埃气愤地问道：
“怎么啦？今天为何不点灯？你们就这样照料病人？”
窗前的身影消失了。过了一会儿，空旷的别墅内响起了一阵电铃声。
少顷，一个仆人拿着一盏灯走了进来，放在壁炉上。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人向她丈夫问道：
“你现在想怎样，是睡觉呢还是下楼去吃晚饭？”
“我要下楼，”弗雷斯蒂埃答道。
由于开饭时间未到，三个人动也不动，又在房内等了将近一小时。这期间，他们只是偶尔说上一句平淡无奇、毫无意义的话语，仿佛在这死神光顾的房内，如果听任这沉默的时间持续过久，或是让这沉闷的空气僵化不变，会有什么神秘莫测的危险似的。
仆人终于报告，晚饭已准备好。杜洛瓦觉得，这餐饭费的时间特别长，好像总也没有完结的时候。大家都默默地吃着，谁也不说话，手指间的面包块被捻得粉碎。饭堂伺候的仆人，进进出出，脚下没有一丝声响。由于查理受不了响亮的脚步声，这个仆人穿的是软底拖鞋。房间里，只有那木壳挂钟机械而有规律的滴答声，清晰可闻。
饭一吃完，杜洛瓦便借口路途劳顿，回到了自己的房内。他伏在窗前，向外看了看，中天一轮圆月，像一盏巨大的球形灯，在各幢别墅的白色粉墙上洒了一层朦胧的寒光。在这皎洁的月色下，轻波荡漾的海面，到处波光粼粼。为了能够快快离开这里，杜洛瓦绞尽脑汁，终于想出一条理由：就说他收到瓦尔特先生一封电报，要他立即回去。
可是第二天醒来时，他又觉得自己离去的决心未必能如愿以偿。因为他的这个脱身之计，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人就根本不会相信。再说他的忠诚表现理应得到的全部好处，也将会因他的这种怯懦而付诸东流。这样一想，他又自言自语道：
“啊！这事可真难呀！既然如此，不如算了。生活中不如意的事总是有的，况且时间看来也不会拖得太久。”
这一天，天气晴朗。这种令人心旷神怡的万里碧空，正是南国所特有的。杜洛瓦觉得现在去看弗雷斯蒂埃未免过早，因此沿山坡而下，信步到了海边。
回来吃饭时，仆人对他说：
“主人已问过先生两三次了。请先生去楼上看看主人。”
杜洛瓦于是径直上了楼。坐在扶手椅上的弗雷斯蒂埃似乎睡着了。他妻子正靠在长沙发上看书。
不想病人过时抬起了头，杜洛瓦随即问道：
“怎么样？觉得好些吗？我看你今天好像气色很好。”
“是的，今天不错，体力也恢复了些。你同玛德莱娜快去把饭吃了，一会儿咱们坐上车去外面转转。”弗雷斯蒂埃说。
走出房间后，玛德莱娜对杜洛瓦说道：
“看到没有？他觉得自己大病已去，今天早上一醒来，便在那儿想这想那。一会儿，我们要去朱昂湾买点陶器制品，装饰我们巴黎的寓所。他一定要出去走走，可我担心弄得不好要出事的。路上车子的颠簸，他就肯定经受不住。”
马车来了后，弗雷斯蒂埃由仆人搀扶着，从楼上一步步地走了下来。一看见车子，他就要人把车篷拿掉。
“不行，你疯了？”他妻子坚决反对。“这样你会着凉的。”
“没关系，”弗雷斯蒂埃坚持道，“我已好多了，这我自己很清楚。”
车子于是走上了两旁百花盛开的林中小径，这是戛纳的一大特色，很有点英国的林苑风光。接着，马车便沿着海边，在通往安狄波的大路上奔驰了起来。
弗雷斯蒂埃就眼前的景物，向大家一一作了介绍。首先是巴黎伯爵1常来此小住的别墅，其他一些建筑物，他也能说出点名堂。他兴致很高，但外人一眼便可看出，这种兴致不过是一个神虚体弱、行将就木的人有意装出来的。他连胳膊也无力抬起，只得用手指指了指有关景物。
“瞧，那就是圣玛格丽特岛。岛上的城堡当年曾关押过巴赞元帅2，后来被他逃了出来。城堡至今保存完好，就是为了纪念这件事。”
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1巴黎伯爵（一八三八—一八九四），曾为法国王储。
2巴赞元帅（一八一一—一八八八），十九世纪法国杰出将领。
他随即回想起自己过去的军旅生涯，说了几个军官的名字，谈起了一些往事。大路突然峰回路转，整个朱昂湾倏地出现在眼前。远处是港湾里墙壁刷得雪白的村庄，另一头则是安狄波角。
弗雷斯蒂埃忽然像孩子似的高兴地说道：
“啊！舰队，马上就可看到舰队了！”
果然，宽阔的港湾里，停泊着六艘大型军舰。远远望去，宛如几块林荫覆盖的山岩。这些军舰都其大无比，样子奇特，怪里怪气，不仅甲板上拱凸不定，塔楼高耸，舰首冲角更是直冲水中，似乎要在海里扎下根来。
这些庞然大物都显得非常笨重，好像牢牢地固定于海底，人们简直弄不明白，它们怎能移动。形状酷似了望塔并可转动的高大圆形炮台，看去像是一座座建于礁石上的灯塔。
一条大型三桅船，白色的风帆鼓得满满的，正欢快地从这些军舰身旁走过，驶向外海。同这艘外形美观、身姿矫健的三桅船相比，这些战舰实在像是一些蛰伏于水中的钢铁怪物。
弗雷斯蒂埃想了想，把这些舰只一一认了出来，并依次逐一说出各舰的名字：“科贝尔号”、“叙弗朗号”、“杜佩莱海军上将号”、“无畏号”、“毁灭号”，但他随即又更正道：
“不对，我弄错了，‘毁灭号’是那一艘。”
他们到了一幢大型简易建筑物前，建筑物门楣上方霍然挂着一块招牌：“朱昂湾艺术彩陶商店”。马车绕过一块草坪，在门前停了下来。
弗雷斯蒂埃想买两个花瓶，放在他的书架上。由于他下不了车，只得由人将样品一件件拿来让他过目。他挑了一件又一件，并不时地征求他妻子和杜洛瓦的意见：
“你们知道，这要放在我书房中靠里的书架上，坐在我的椅子上随时可以看到。我想买古色古香的，最好带有希腊风格。”
他把样品看了一件又一件。看了后面的，又想要前面看过的，最后总算选中几件。付过钱后，他要店伙立即给他送往别墅，说道：
“我过几天就要回巴黎去。”
马车于是踏上了归途。不想过了不久，突然从山谷深处沿着海湾刮来一阵侵人肌骨的寒风。弗雷斯蒂埃立即咳了起来。
这咳起初倒也没什么异常，不过是轻轻地咳了两下。但紧接着却是一次甚似一次地狂咳。到后来，他也就两眼发直，气息奄奄了。
他已处于窒息状态，只要一吸气，喉间便是一阵发自胸腔的猛咳。没有任何办法能缓和其病痛，使之安静下来。现在必须将他从车上抬到房间里去。杜洛瓦抬着他的下身，感到他的肺部一抽搐，连两脚也跟着抖动。
抬到床上后，虽然盖着暖和的被子，他的病情却依然如故，病魔的肆虐一直持续到午夜。最后还是使用了麻醉剂，方使这致命的剧咳得以缓和。直到天明，他一直靠在床头，眼睛睁得大大的。
天亮以后，他说的第一句话是找个人来帮他刮刮脸，因为早晨刮脸，已是他多年的习惯。但当他下了床，准备刮脸时，人们又不得不立即将他重新扶回床上，因为他的呼吸已突然变得极其短促，简直到了接不上气的地步。他妻子惊吓不已，赶紧叫人去把刚刚躺下的杜洛瓦叫醒，请他去找医生。
杜洛瓦几乎立刻便把加沃大夫请了来。大夫开了一剂汤药，并嘱咐了几句。为了听听大夫的意见，杜洛瓦特意将他送了出来。
“病人已到弥留之际，看来拖不过明天上午，”大夫说，“请将这一情况告诉他可怜的妻子，并派人去找个神甫，我在这儿已没有什么用了，不过如果需要，我一定随叫随到。”
杜洛瓦让人将弗雷斯蒂埃夫人从房内叫了出来，对她说道：
“他已不行了，医生建议去找个神甫。你看怎样？”
她沉思良久，将一切都考虑妥当后，才慢慢地说道：
“好吧，从许多方面来讲……这样做还是需要的……我这就去先让他有个思想准备，就对他说，神甫想来看看他……不过这种事，我不大懂。那就劳你的驾，去辛苦一趟，好好挑选一下，找个比较本份的神甫。请对他说清楚，他只负责病人的忏悔。其他的事不用他管。”
杜洛瓦很快领来一位一切听便、愿意效劳的年迈神甫。神甫进入弗雷斯蒂埃的房间后，他妻子随即退了出来，同杜洛瓦一起，在隔壁房内坐了下来。
“他对此毫无思想准备，”年轻的女人对杜洛瓦说，“我刚刚说了‘神甫’两字，下面的话还没有说完，他的脸上便露出了可怕的表情，好像……好像忽然从中……领悟到了什么……
明白自己现在是彻底完了，所剩时间不多了……”
“他的那副表情，我今生今世是忘不了的。”她面色苍白，又接着说道，“他在那一瞬间肯定看到了死神……肯定看到了死神……”
神甫有点耳背，因此说话声音较大。他们听到他此时说道：
“不，不，你的情况并没有到达这一步。你病了，但毫无危险。最能说明问题的是，我今天是以一个朋友和邻居的身份，来看望你的。”
弗雷斯蒂埃说了什么，他们未能听到。只听神甫又说道：“不，我不是来让你领圣体的。这件事待你好一点时，我们再谈。不过，如果你想进行忏悔的话，现在倒是很好的机会。我是一名牧师，抓住一切机会把迷途羔羊引上正路，是我的天职。”
此后是长时间的无声无息，弗雷斯蒂埃显然在喘息着有气无力地同他说着什么。只是这边没有听到罢了。
接着便突然传来了神甫与刚才说话时截然不同的声音，像祭司在祭坛上大声念诵一样：
“上帝是无比仁慈的。孩子，来背诵忏悔经吧。你也许已把它忘了，还是我来帮你一下。你跟着我念好了：confiteordeoom－nipotenti……beatcmaricsempervirgini……1”
他不时停下来，以便弗雷斯蒂埃能够跟上。最后，听他说道：
“你现在来忏悔吧……”
--------
1拉丁文：我向万能的天主忏悔……向贞洁的圣母玛利亚忏悔……
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人和杜洛瓦敛声静气地听着，心中因焦急的期待而显得异常慌乱和激动。
弗雷斯蒂埃嗫嚅着说了句什么，神甫随即说道：
“孩子，你是说曾经有过不应有的得意之时……那是什么性质的？”
听到这里，他妻子立即站起身，向杜洛瓦说道：
“咱们还是到花园里去呆会儿吧。他的内心隐秘，不是我们能够听的。”
他们于是走到门前的一条长凳旁坐了下来。头顶上方，一株玫瑰的满枝繁花正竞相怒放，前方不远处，则种着一丛石竹花，不时送来浓郁的清香。
沉默片刻后，杜洛瓦问道：
“在回巴黎之前，你恐怕要在此耽搁很久吧？”
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人答道：
“那倒不会。事情一了结，我就走。”
“总得要十来天吧？”
“顶多十天。”
杜洛瓦又问道：
“这么说，他已没有任何亲人了？”
“是的，只有几个远房亲戚。他很小便父母双亡。”
一只蝴蝶飞来石竹花采蜜，他们俩都不约而同地注视着。蝴蝶迅速地拍着双翼，从一朵花飞到另一朵花。身子停在花上后，一对翅膀仍在轻轻地扇动。他们俩就这样默默无言地坐着。
仆人走来告诉他们，神甫的事已经办完了。他们又一起回到了楼上。
同一天前相比，弗雷斯蒂埃似乎是瘦得更厉害了。
神甫握着他的手，说道：
“再见，孩子，我明天再来。”
说罢，他一径走了出去。
神甫的身影刚在门边消失，气喘吁吁的弗雷斯蒂埃便吃力地向他妻子伸出两只手，时停时续地说道：
“救救我……救救我……亲爱的……我不想死……我不想死……啊！救救我吧……我一切听你的，去把医生找来……
他让我吃什么药都行……我不想死……我不想死……”
他哭了，大滴大滴的泪珠滚在那深深凹陷的面颊上。干瘪的嘴唇显出了一道道皱褶，像小孩伤心时一样。
他的双手又落到了床上，缓慢而有规律地继续做着一种动作，仿佛要抓起被子上什么东西似的。
他妻子也跟着哭了起来，只见她结结巴巴地说道：
“别胡说，哪就到了这一步？你是昨天出去玩累了，不过是一种病症，明天就会好转的。”
弗雷斯蒂埃的急促呼吸，现在是比刚刚跑过的狗还要快，连数也数不上来了，而且微弱得让人几乎难以听见。
“我不想死！……”他仍在不停地说道，“啊！我的上帝……我的上帝……我的上帝……我会怎样呢？我将什么也看不见了……什么也看不见了……永远看不见了……啊！上帝！”
他两眼直勾勾地盯着前方，好像看到什么他人未看到的面目狰狞之物，因为他的眼内露出了恐惧的神色。与此同时，他的两手依然在吃力地做着那可怕的动作。
他突然打了个寒战。刹那间，从上到下，整个身子都抖动了一下，随后，他又气弱声嘶地说道：
“公墓……我……上帝！……”
在此之后，他就再也没说什么，只是带着惊恐的神色喘息着，一动不动地躺在那里。
时光慢慢流逝，附近修道院的一座大钟忽然响了起来：现在已是中午十二点了。杜洛瓦走出房间，去吃点东西。一小时后，他又回到房内。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人什么也不想吃。病人仍旧躺在那里，纹丝未动。他那双枯瘦的手，仍在被子上抓来抓去，好像要把被子盖到脸上去。
他妻子坐在床脚的一把扶手椅上，杜洛瓦拉过一把椅子，在她身旁坐了下来。两人默默地等待着。
医生派来的一名看护早已到来。此人现在已在窗边打起盹来。
杜洛瓦正要朦胧睡去，忽然感到有什么事要发生似的。他睁开眼来，恰巧看到弗雷斯蒂埃的两眼，像两盏正在熄灭的油灯，慢慢合上了。只听喉间一阵响动，他的嘴角流出了两道鲜血，一直流到衬衣上。两手那令人毛骨悚然的挠动已经停止，呼吸也停止了。
一见此情，他妻子立刻明白了一切。只见她发出一声哀叫，双腿一跪，伏在床边呜呜咽咽地哭了起来。被这情景弄得莫知所措的杜洛瓦，木然地在胸前画了个十字。看护已被哭声惊醒，此时走到床边看了后，口中说道：“啊！事情已经完了。”杜洛瓦已很快恢复镇定，他像终于得以解脱似的，长长地叹了一声：“没有想到，他竟走得这样快。”
随着几把眼泪洒过，最初的惊愕已经消失。大家开始忙着办理后事，通知有关方面。杜洛瓦来回奔波，一直忙到天黑。
回到别墅时，他早已饥肠辘辘了。在餐桌上，弗雷斯蒂埃夫人也稍稍吃了点东西。饭一吃完，他们又登上二楼，开始为死者守灵。
床头柜上点了两支蜡烛，烛旁的一个碟子内浸泡着一支金合欢，因为哪儿也找不到所需的黄杨木枝叶。
他们俩——一个是年轻男子，一个是年轻女人——孤单单地守在已撒手尘寰的弗雷斯蒂埃身旁，长时间一言不发，只是不时抬起头来看着死者，但内心深处却思潮起伏。
昏黄的烛光下，死者身旁的影影绰绰，不禁使杜洛瓦有点忐忑不安。他目不转睛地凝视着这张因烛光的摇曳不定而显得更加凹陷的脸，心中顿时浮想联翩。这就是他的朋友查理·弗雷斯蒂埃。这位朋友昨天还同他说过话哩！一个好端端的人就这样一下子完了，这是多么地可怕和不可思议！无怪乎诺贝尔·德·瓦伦对死是那样地畏惧，他那天对他说的话语如今又回到了他的心头。归根结蒂，人死是不能复生的。每天新出生的人虽然成千上万，而且都有鼻有眼，有头有嘴，有思想，简直是一个模子倒出来的，但躺在床上的这个人却永远不能复生了。
多少年来，同所有的人一样，他一直活得蛮好，有吃有笑，既享受过爱情的甘美，也怀抱过美好的希望。可是倏忽之间，他却一下子永远完了。几十年都过来了，不想经过短短几天，一个活生生的人就这样莫名其妙地消失了，毫发不剩！一出娘胎，每个人都会慢慢长大，备尝人生乐趣，怀抱种种期望，再往后便是死神的光临，永远地告别人生。无论男女，都不可能再回到人间。可是尽管如此，人人依然朝朝暮暮、不切实际地盼望着能长生不老。其实在广袤的天地中，每个人都是一个小小的天地，转瞬之间便会烟消灰灭，化为粪土，成为新芽培育的养分。从花草树木，飞禽走兽，芸芸众生，到天外星辰，大千世界，一切从诞生之日起，便注定要死亡，然后便转化为别的什么。无论是小小的虫蚁，还是会思想的人，再或是巨大无比的星球，一旦消亡，是永远不会复现的。
杜洛瓦的心情分外沉重。一想到面对这广袤无边、谁都不能幸免的虚无世界，万物的存在是多么地短暂，多么地渺小，他便感到惶惶不安，心头笼罩着深深的恐惧。对于这样一种无休止地推毁一切的力量，他是无力与之较量的，因此只能听任摆布。他想，蚊蝇虫蚁的存在不过是几小时或几天，人的生命不过是若干年，即如变化缓慢的土地，也不过只有几百年的光景，它们之间究竟有何实质性的不同呢？不过是能多看到几个晨昏而已，岂有他哉？
他把目光从尸体上转移了开去。
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人脑袋低垂，似乎也在想着一些令人心酸的事情。虽然面带愁容，她那满头金发却是那样地俏丽，杜洛瓦心中不禁油然升起一种好像希望即将实现的甜蜜感觉。好在他正值盛年，何必为多少年以后的事自寻烦恼呢？
因此他不觉对着这年轻的女人凝视起来。对方正沉陷于深深的沉思中，对此毫未觉察。心旌摇摇的他，随即想道：
“在世一生，只有爱情才是唯一的快慰。若能把一个自己所喜欢的女人搂于怀内，也就可以说是体味到了人生的最大乐趣了。”
不知这个死鬼交了什么鸿运，竟与这样一个聪明非凡、美若天仙的女人结成了伴侣？他们是怎么认识的？她怎么会屈尊嫁给了这个言不出众、一文不名的家伙呢？后来不知又用了什么法子才使他成了一个在社交界勉强周旋的人物？
生活中的种种难解之谜，使他感到纳闷，不禁想起外间有关德·沃德雷克伯爵的传闻。不是有人说，她的婚事是这位伯爵促成的，连嫁妆也是他送的吗？
往后的路她将怎样走？会钟情于什么样的人？是像德·马莱尔夫人所推测的那样，嫁给一位议员，还是一个前程远大、比死鬼弗雷斯蒂埃不知要强多少的美少年？她在这方面是否已有所打算，是否已拿定主意？杜洛瓦恨不得钻到她肚子里去，把这一切都弄清楚。然而他对此为何如此关心？他想了想，发现他在此问题上的焦虑不安，来自内心深处的一种模糊想法。这种想法，人们往往对自己也采取自欺欺人的办法而不予承认，只有往深层发掘，方可使之显露出来。
是啊，他为何不试一试，去赢得她的芳心？若能把她弄到手，他定会成为一个非凡之辈，令人望而生畏，定会平步青云，前途无量！
况且他怎见得就不会成功？他清楚地感到，她对他十分有意，但决不是一般的好感，而是心心相印的爱慕之情，是青年男女间的相互渴求和内心深处的心照不宣。她知道他为人聪慧，行事果断，坚韧不拔，知道他是一个可信赖的人。
在她这次遇到严重困难之时，她不是千里迢迢把他叫来了吗？她为何叫的是他？他难道不应将此视为一种选择、默认和暗示吗？她在自己行将失去弗雷斯蒂埃的时候想到的是他，不正是因为她此时心中的他，已经是她未来的夫婿和伴侣了？
因此，杜洛瓦现在是心急火燎地想弄清这一切，想问问她，听听她的想法。弗雷斯蒂埃既已命归黄泉，他已不便单独同她在这幢房子里再呆下去，最迟后天必将离去。当务之急，是在回巴黎之前，抓紧时间，含蓄而又巧妙地套出其内心想法，以免她回去后不便拒绝他人的追求，造成无可挽回的局面。
房内一片寂静，只有壁炉上的座钟，仍在有规律地发出其清脆的滴答声。
杜洛瓦嗫嚅着问了一句：
“你想必很累了吧？”
对方答道：
“是的，我觉得自己已心力交瘁。”
在这阴森可怖的房内，听到自己的说话声显得分外响亮，他们不由地一惊，立即下意识地向死者的脸上看了看，仿佛死者在听他们的谈话并会作出反应，就像几小时以前那样。
杜洛瓦又说道：
“唉！这对你的打击实在太大，不仅彻底打乱了你的日常生活，而且搅得你身心不宁。”
年轻的女人长叹一声，没有说话。
杜洛瓦接着说道：
“年纪轻轻就碰到这种事儿，以后的日子可怎么过？”
说到这里，他停了下来，见弗雷斯蒂埃夫人依然一声不吭，他又说道：
“不管怎样，你是知道的，我们之间已有约在先。我完全听从你的吩咐，我是属于你的。”
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人向他伸过一只手，同时向他投来既充满忧伤又饱含柔情、令人销魂蚀骨的一瞥：
“谢谢，你真好，实在没得说。要是我能为你做点什么，并有这种胆量，我也同样会对你说：请相信我好了。”
杜洛瓦握住她伸过来的手，没有马上松开，而是紧紧地握着，显然想在上面亲一亲。最后，他终于作出决定，把这只皮肤细腻、有点温热、芳香扑鼻的小手，慢慢地挪到唇边，在上面亲了很久。
后来，他感到，朋友间的这种亲昵不宜延续太久，因此识趣地松开了这只纤纤细手。弗雷斯蒂埃夫人把手轻轻放回膝盖上，带着庄重的神情说道：
“是的，从今而后，我是孤身一人了，但我会勇敢地面对人生的。”
杜洛瓦很想告诉她，他是多么地希望能娶她为妻，但不便启齿。他总不能在这个时候，这种地方，在她丈夫的遗体旁，同她说这些话。不过话虽如此，他觉得仍然可以通过旁敲侧击的办法，以一些语义双关，含蓄而又得体的暗示，让她明白他的心意。这样的话语并不难找到。
问题是，他们面前这具早已僵硬的尸体，正横亘在他们中间，使他感到很不自在，无法集中精力，巧于表达。况且一个时候以来，他感到，在房内闷浊的空气中，已可闻到一股不正常的气味，即胸腔病灶腐烂变质的臭味。这就是人死之后，守灵亲属常可闻到的最初恶臭。尸体入殓之后，这种恶臭将很快充斥整个棺木。
杜洛瓦于是问道：
“可不可以开会儿窗？房内空气好像不大好。”
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人答道：
“当然可以，我也感觉到了。”
杜洛瓦走过去，打开了窗户。一股夜里的凉气带着一丝馨香，吹了进来，把床前两支蜡烛的光焰吹得摇曳不定。同前天晚上一样，窗外月华如水，使附近各幢别墅的粉墙显得分外洁白，并在波纹不兴的平静海面上形成了粼粼波光。杜洛瓦深深吸了口气，为自己正一步步地临近幸福之门而感到希望满怀。
他转过身，向弗雷斯蒂埃夫人说道：
“到这儿来吸点新鲜空气，外面的月色好极了。”
弗雷斯蒂埃夫人慢慢走过来，在他身边的窗台上靠了上去。
杜洛瓦随即低声向她说道：
“我有
