the four horsemen of the apocalypse-第23节
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ved was a torment that her simple and vehement enthusiasm could not tolerate。
While she was hurrying one night through the rue de la Pompe； looking at her watch and trembling with impatience at not finding an automobile or even a cab； a man stood in front of her。 。 。 。 Etienne Laurier！ She always shuddered with fear on recalling that hour。 For a moment she believed that he was going to kill her。 Serious men； quiet and diffident； are most terrible in their explosions of wrath。 Her husband knew everything。 With the same patience that he employed in solving his industrial problems； he had been studying her day by day； without her ever suspecting the watchfulness behind that impassive countenance。 Then he had followed her in order to complete the evidence of his misfortune。
Marguerite had never supposed that he could be so common and noisy in his anger。 She had expected that he would accept the facts coldly with that slight tinge of philosophical irony usually shown by distinguished men； as the husbands of her friends had done。 But the poor engineer who； outside of his work； saw only his wife； loving her as a woman； and adoring her as a dainty and superior being； a model of grace and elegance； could not endure the thought of her downfall； and cried and threatened without reserve； so that the scandal became known throughout their entire circle of friends。 The senator felt greatly annoyed in remembering that it was in his exclusive home that the guilty ones had become acquainted； but his displeasure was visited upon the husband。 What lack of good taste！ 。 。 。 Women will be women； and everything is capable of adjustment。 But before the imprudent outbursts of this frantic devil no elegant solution was possible； and there was now nothing to do but to begin divorce proceedings。
Desnoyers； senior； was very indignant upon learning of this last escapade of his son。 He had always had a great liking for Laurier。 That instinctive bond which exists between men of industry； patient and silent； had made them very congenial。 At the senator's receptions he had always talked with the engineer about the progress of his business； interesting himself in the development of that factory of which he always spoke with the affection of a father。 The millionaire； in spite of his reputation for miserliness； had even volunteered his disinterested support if at any time it should become necessary to enlarge the plant。 And it was this good man's happiness that his son； a frivolous and useless dancer； was going to steal！ 。 。 。
At first Laurier spoke of a duel。 His wrath was that of a work horse who breaks the tight reins of his laboring outfit； tosses his mane； neighs wildly and bites。 The father was greatly distressed at the possibility of such an outcome。 。 。 。 One scandal more！ Julio had dedicated the greater part of his existence to the handling of arms。
〃He will kill the poor man！〃 he said to the senator。 〃I am sure that he will kill him。 It is the logic of life； the good…for… nothing always kill those who amount to anything。〃
But there was no killing。 The Father of the Republic knew how to handle the clashing parties； with the same skill that he always employed in the corridors of the Senate during a ministerial crisis。 The scandal was hushed up。 Marguerite went to live with her mother and took the first steps for a divorce。
Some evenings； when the studio clock was striking seven； she would yawn and say sadly： 〃I must go。 。 。 。 I have to go； although this is my true home。 。 。 。 Ah； what a pity that we are not married！〃
And he； feeling a whole garden of bourgeois virtues； hitherto ignored； bursting into bloom； repeated in a tone of conviction：
〃That's so； why are we not married！〃
Their wishes could be realized。 The husband was facilitating the step by his unexpected intervention。 So young Desnoyers set forth for South America in order to raise the money and marry Marguerite。
CHAPTER IV
THE COUSIN FROM BERLIN
The studio of Julio Desnoyers was on the top floor； both the stairway and the elevator stopping before his door。 The two tiny apartments at the back were lighted by an interior court； their only means of communication being the service stairway which went on up to the garrets。
While his comrade was away； Argensola had made the acquaintance of those in the neighboring lodgings。 The largest of the apartments was empty during the day； its occupants not returning till after they had taken their evening meal in a restaurant。 As both husband and wife were employed outside； they could not remain at home except on holidays。 The man； vigorous and of a martial aspect； was superintendent in a big department store。 。 。 。 He had been a soldier in Africa； wore a military decoration； and had the rank of sub…lieutenant in the Reserves。 She was a blonde； heavy and rather anaemic； with bright eyes and a sentimental expression。 On holidays she spent long hours at the piano； playing musical reveries； always the same。 At other times Argensola saw her through the interior window working in the kitchen aided by her companion； the two laughing over their clumsiness and inexperience in preparing the Sunday dinner。
The concierge thought that this woman was a German； but she herself said that she was Swiss。 She was a cashier in a shopnot the one in which her husband was employed。 In the mornings they left home together； separating in the Place d'Etoile。 At seven in the evening they met here； greeting each other with a kiss； like lovers who meet for the first time； and then after supper； they returned to their nest in the rue de la Pompe。 All Argensola's attempts at friendliness with these neighbors were repulsed because of their self…centredness。 They responded with freezing courtesy； they lived only for themselves。
The other apartment of two rooms was occupied by a single man。 He was a Russian or Pole who almost always returned with a package of books； and passed many hours writing near the patio window。 From the very first the Spaniard took him to be a mysterious man； probably a very distinguished onea true hero of a novel。 The foreign appearance of this Tchernoff made a great impression upon himhis dishevelled beard； and oily locks； his spectacles upon a large nose that seemed deformed by a dagger…thrust。 There emanated from him； like an invisible nimbus； an odor of cheap wine and soiled clothing。
When Argensola caught a glimpse of him through the service door he would say to himself； 〃Ah； Friend Tchernoff is returning；〃 and thereupon he would saunter out to the stairway in order to have a chat with his neighbor。 For a long time the stranger discouraged all approach to his quarters； which fact led the Spaniard to infer that he devoted himself to alchemy and kindred mysteries。 When he finally was allowed to enter he saw only books； many books； books everywherescattered on the floor； heaped upon benches； piled in corners； overflowing on to broken…down chairs； old tables； and a bed that was only made up now and then when the owner； alarmed by the increasing invasion of dust and cobwebs； was obliged to call in the aid of his friend； the concierge。
Argensola finally realized； not without a certain disenchantment； that there was nothing mysterious in the life of the man。 What he was writing near the window were merely translations； some of them ordered； others volunteer work for the socialist periodicals。 The only marvellous thing about him was the quantity of languages that he knew。
〃He knows them all；〃 said the Spaniard； when describing their neighbor to Desnoyers。 〃He has only to hear of a new one to master it。 He holds the key； the secret of all languages； living or dead。 He speaks Castilian as well as we do； and yet he has never been in a Spanish…speaking country。〃
Argensola again felt a thrill of mystery upon reading the titles of many of the volumes。 The majority were old books； many of them in languages that he was not able to decipher； picked up for a song at second…hand shops or on the book stands installed upon the parapets of the Seine。 Only a man holding the key of tongues could get together such volumes。 An atmosphere of mysticism； of superhuman insight； of secrets intact for many centuries appeared to emanate from these heaps of dusty volumes with worm…eaten leaves。 And mixed with these ancient tomes were others red and conspicuous； pamphlets of socialistic propaganda； leaflets in all the languages of Europe and periodicalsmany periodicals； with revolutionary titles。
Tchernoff did not appear to enjoy visits and conversation。 He would smile enigmatically into his black beard； and was very sparing with his words so as to shorten the interview。 But Argensola possessed the means of winning over this sullen personage。 It was only necessary for him to wink one eye with the expressive invitation； 〃Do we go？〃 and the two would soon be settled on a bench in the kitchen of Desnoyers' studio； opposite a bottle which had come from the avenue Victor Hugo。 The costly wines of Don Marcelo made the Russian more communicative； although； in spite of this aid； the Spaniard learned little of his neighbor's real existence。 Sometimes he would mention Jaures and other socialisti
