"Will you do something for me?" asked Stroeve.
"Willingly."
"Will you write to Blanche for me?"
"Why can't you write yourself?"
"I've written over and over again. I didn't expect her to answer. I don't think she reads the letters."
"You make no account of feminine curiosity. Do you think she could resist?"
"She could -- mine."
I looked at him quickly. He lowered his eyes. That answer of his seemed to me strangely humiliating (丢脸的).
He was conscious that she regarded him with an indifference so profound that the sight of his handwriting would have not the slightest effect on her. {1}
"Do you really believe that she'll ever come back to you?" I asked.
"I want her to know that if the worst comes to the worst she can count on me. That's what I want you to tell her."
I took a sheet of paper.
"What is it exactly you wish me to say?"
This is what I wrote:
DEAR MRS. STROEVE, Dirk wishes me to tell you that if at any time you want him he will be grateful for the opportunity of being of service to you.
He has no ill-feeling towards you on account of anything that has happened. His love for you is unaltered. You will always find him at the following address…
But though I was no less convinced than Stroeve that the connection between Strickland and Blanche would end disastrously, I did not expect the issue to take the tragic (悲剧的) form it did.
The summer came, breathless and sultry (闷热的), and even at night there was no coolness to rest one's jaded (疲倦不堪的) nerves.
The sun-baked streets seemed to give back the heat that had beat down on them during the day, and the passers-by dragged their feet along them wearily.
I had not seen Strickland for weeks. Occupied with other things, I had ceased to think of him and his affairs.
Dirk, with his vain lamentations, had begun to bore me, and I avoided his society. It was a sordid business, and I was not inclined to trouble myself with it further. {2}
One morning I was working. I sat in my Pyjamas (睡衣). My thoughts wandered, and I thought of the sunny beaches of Brittany (法国西北部一地区) and the freshness of the sea.
By my side was the empty bowl in which the concierge had brought me my cafe au lait and the fragment of croissant which I had not had appetite enough to eat. {3}
I heard the concierge in the next room emptying my bath. There was a tinkle at my bell, and I left her to open the door.
In a moment I heard Stroeve's voice asking if I was in. Without moving, I shouted to him to come. He entered the room quickly, and came up to the table at which I sat.
"She's killed herself," he said hoarsely.
"What do you mean?" I cried, startled (吓一跳).
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He made movements with his lips as though he were speaking, but no sound issued from them.
He gibbered like an idiot. My heart thumped against my ribs, and, I do not know why, I flew into a temper.
"For God's sake, collect yourself, man," I said. "What on earth are you talking about?"
He made despairing gestures with his hands, but still no words came from his mouth.
He might have been struck dumb. I do not know what came over me; I took him by the shoulders and shook him.
Looking back, I am vexed (烦恼) that I made such a fool of myself; I suppose the last restless nights had shaken my nerves more than I knew.
"Let me sit down," he gasped at length.
I filled a glass with St. Galmier, and gave it to him to drink. I held it to his mouth as though he were a child.
He gulped down a mouthful, and some of it was spilt on his shirt-front.
"Who's killed herself?"
I do not know why I asked, for I knew whom he meant. He made an effort to collect himself.
"They had a row last night. He went away."
"Is she dead?"
"No; they've taken her to the hospital."
"Then what are you talking about?" I cried impatiently. "Why did you say she'd killed herself?"
"Don't be cross with me. I can't tell you anything if you talk to me like that."
I clenched my hands, seeking to control my irritation (恼怒). I attempted a smile.
"I'm sorry. Take your time. Don't hurry, there's a good fellow."
His round eyes behind the spectacles were ghastly with terror. The magnifying-glasses he wore distorted (使变形) them.
"When the concierge went up this morning to take a letter she could get no answer to her ring.
"She heard someone groaning. The door wasn't locked, and she went in. Blanche was lying on the bed. She'd been frightfully sick. There was a bottle of oxalic acid (oxalic acid，草酸) on the table."
Stroeve hid his face in his hands and swayed backwards and forwards, groaning.
"Was she conscious?"
"Yes. Oh, if you knew how she's suffering! I can't bear it. I can't bear it." His voice rose to a shriek (尖叫).
"Damn it all, you haven't got to bear it," I cried impatiently. "She's got to bear it."
"How can you be so cruel?"
"What have you done?"
"They sent for a doctor and for me, and they told the police. I'd given the concierge twenty francs, and told her to send for me if anything happened."
He paused a minute, and I saw that what he had to tell me was very hard to say.
"When I went she wouldn't speak to me. She told them to send me away. I swore that I forgave her everything, but she wouldn't listen. She tried to beat her head against the wall.
"The doctor told me that I mustn't remain with her. She kept on saying, `Send him away!' I went, and waited in the studio.
"And when the ambulance came and they put her on a stretcher, they made me go in the kitchen so that she shouldn't know I was there."
While I dressed -- for Stroeve wished me to go at once with him to the hospital -- he told me that he had arranged for his wife to have a private room, so that she might at least be spared the sordid promiscuity (混乱) of a ward (病房).
On our way he explained to me why he desired my presence; if she still refused to see him, perhaps she would see me.
He begged me to repeat to her that he loved her still; he would reproach (责备) her for nothing, but desired only to help her;
he made no claim on her, and on her recovery would not seek to induce her to return to him; she would be perfectly free.
But when we arrived at the hospital, a gaunt, cheerless building, the mere sight of which was enough to make one's heart sick, and after being directed from this official to that, up endless stairs and through long, bare corridors, found the doctor in charge of the case, we were told that the patient was too ill to see anyone that day.
The doctor was a little bearded man in white, with an offhand manner.
He evidently looked upon a case as a case, and anxious relatives as a nuisance which must be treated with firmness. {4}
Moreover, to him the affair was commonplace; it was just an hysterical (歇斯底里的) woman who had quarrelled with her lover and taken poison; it was constantly happening.
At first he thought that Dirk was the cause of the disaster, and he was needlessly brusque with him.
When I explained that he was the husband, anxious to forgive, the doctor looked at him suddenly, with curious, searching eyes.
I seemed to see in them a hint of mockery (嘲弄); it was true that Stroeve had the head of the husband who is deceived. The doctor faintly shrugged his shoulders.
"There is no immediate danger," he said, in answer to our questioning. "One doesn't know how much she took. It may be that she will get off with a fright. Women are constantly trying to commit suicide for love, but generally they take care not to succeed. It's generally a gesture to arouse pity or terror in their lover."
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There was in his tone a frigid (冷淡的) contempt (轻视). It was obvious that to him Blanche Stroeve was only a unit to be added to the statistical list of attempted suicides in the city of Paris during the current year.
He was busy, and could waste no more time on us. He told us that if we came at a certain hour next day, should Blanche be better, it might be possible for her husband to see her.
