the haunted hotel-第26节
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He had gone out； but would certainly return for the table d'hote。
When the public dinner was over； Francis entered the room； and was
welcomed by his Parisian colleague； literally； with open arms。
'Come and have a cigar in my room；' said the friendly Frenchman。
'I want to hear whether you have really engaged that woman at Milan
or not。' In this easy way； Francis found his opportunity of comparing
the interior of the room with the description which he had heard of it
at Milan。
Arriving at the door； the Frenchman bethought himself of his
travelling companion。 'My scene…painter is here with me；' he said；
'on the look…out for materials。 An excellent fellow； who will take it
as a kindness if we ask him to join us。 I'll tell the porter to send
him up when he comes in。' He handed the key of his room to Francis。
'I will be back in a minute。 It's at the end of the corridor
13 A。'
Francis entered the room alone。 There were the decorations on
the walls and the ceiling； exactly as they had been described to him！
He had just time to perceive this at a glance； before his attention
was diverted to himself and his own sensations； by a grotesquely
disagreeable occurrence which took him completely by surprise。
He became conscious of a mysteriously offensive odour in the room；
entirely new in his experience of revolting smells。 It was composed
（if such a thing could be） of two mingling exhalations；
which were separately…discoverable exhalations nevertheless。
This strange blending of odours consisted of something faintly
and unpleasantly aromatic； mixed with another underlying smell；
so unutterably sickening that he threw open the window； and put his
head out into the fresh air； unable to endure the horribly infected
atmosphere for a moment longer。
The French proprietor joined his English friend； with his cigar
already lit。 He started back in dismay at a sight terrible to his
countrymen in generalthe sight of an open window。 'You English
people are perfectly mad on the subject of fresh air！' he exclaimed。
'We shall catch our deaths of cold。'
Francis turned； and looked at him in astonishment。 'Are you really
not aware of the smell there is in the room？' he asked。
'Smell！' repeated his brother…manager。 'I smell my own good cigar。
Try one yourself。 And for Heaven's sake shut the window！'
Francis declined the cigar by a sign。 'Forgive me；' he said。
'I will leave you to close the window。 I feel faint and giddy
I had better go out。' He put his handkerchief over his nose and mouth；
and crossed the room to the door。
The Frenchman followed the movements of Francis； in such a state
of bewilderment that he actually forgot to seize the opportunity
of shutting out the fresh air。 'Is it so nasty as that？' he asked；
with a broad stare of amazement。
'Horrible！' Francis muttered behind his handkerchief。
'I never smelt anything like it in my life！'
There was a knock at the door。 The scene…painter appeared。
His employer instantly asked him if he smelt anything。
'I smell your cigar。 Delicious！ Give me one directly！'
'Wait a minute。 Besides my cigar； do you smell anything elsevile；
abominable； overpowering； indescribable； never…never…never…smelt before？'
The scene…painter appeared to be puzzled by the vehement energy
of the language addressed to him。 'The room is as fresh and sweet
as a room can be；' he answered。 As he spoke； he looked back with
astonishment at Francis Westwick； standing outside in the corridor；
and eyeing the interior of the bedchamber with an expression
of undisguised disgust。
The Parisian director approached his English colleague； and looked
at him with grave and anxious scrutiny。
'You see； my friend； here are two of us； with as good noses as yours；
who smell nothing。 If you want evidence from more noses； look there！'
He pointed to two little English girls； at play in the corridor。
'The door of my room is wide openand you know how fast a smell
can travel。 Now listen； while I appeal to these innocent noses；
in the language of their own dismal island。 My little loves；
do you sniff a nasty smell hereha？' The children burst out laughing；
and answered emphatically； 'No。' 'My good Westwick；' the Frenchman
resumed； in his own language； 'the conclusion is surely plain？
There is something wrong； very wrong； with your own nose。 I recommend you
to see a medical man。'
Having given that advice； he returned to his room； and shut
out the horrid fresh air with a loud exclamation of relief。
Francis left the hotel； by the lanes that led to the Square of St。 Mark。
The night…breeze soon revived him。 He was able to light a cigar；
and to think quietly over what had happened。
CHAPTER XIX
Avoiding the crowd under the colonnades； Francis walked slowly up
and down the noble open space of the square； bathed in the light
of the rising moon。
Without being aware of it himself； he was a thorough materialist。
The strange effect produced on him by the roomfollowing on the other
strange effects produced on the other relatives of his dead brother
exercised no perplexing influence over the mind of this sensible man。
'Perhaps；' he reflected； 'my temperament is more imaginative than I
supposed it to beand this is a trick played on me by my own fancy？
Or； perhaps； my friend is right； something is physically amiss with me？
I don't feel ill； certainly。 But that is no safe criterion sometimes。
I am not going to sleep in that abominable room to…night
I can well wait till to…morrow to decide whether I shall speak
to a doctor or not。 In the mean time； the hotel doesn't seem likely
to supply me with the subject of a piece。 A terrible smell from an
invisible ghost is a perfectly new idea。 But it has one drawback。
If I realise it on the stage； I shall drive the audience out of
the theatre。'
As his strong common sense arrived at this facetious conclusion；
he became aware of a lady； dressed entirely in black； who was
observing him with marked attention。 'Am I right in supposing
you to be Mr。 Francis Westwick？' the lady asked； at the moment
when he looked at her。
'That is my name； madam。 May I inquire to whom I have the honour
of speaking？'
'We have only met once；' she answered a little evasively； 'when your late
brother introduced me to the members of his family。 I wonder if you
have quite forgotten my big black eyes and my hideous complexion？'
She lifted her veil as she spoke； and turned so that the moonlight
rested on her face。
Francis recognised at a glance the woman of all others whom
he most cordially dislikedthe widow of his dead brother；
the first Lord Montbarry。 He frowned as he looked at her。
His experience on the stage； gathered at innumerable rehearsals
with actresses who had sorely tried his temper； had accustomed
him to speak roughly to women who were distasteful to him。
'I remember you；' he said。 'I thought you were in America！'
She took no notice of his ungracious tone and manner； she simply
stopped him when he lifted his hat； and turned to leave her。
'Let me walk with you for a few minutes；' she quietly replied。
'I have something to say to you。'
He showed her his cigar。 'I am smoking；'he said。
'I don't mind smoking。'
After that； there was nothing to be done （short of downright brutality）
but to yield。 He did it with the worst possible grace。
'Well？' he resumed。 'What do you want of me？'
'You shall hear directly； Mr。 Westwick。 Let me first
tell you what my position is。 I am alone in the world。
To the loss of my husband has now been added another bereavement；
the loss of my companion in America； my brotherBaron Rivar。'
The reputation of the Baron； and the doubt which scandal had thrown on
his assumed relationship to the Countess； were well known to Francis。
'Shot in a gambling…saloon？' he asked brutally。
'The question is a perfectly natural one on your part；' she said；
with the impenetrably ironical manner which she could assume on
certain occasions。 'As a native of horse…racing England； you belong
to a nation of gamblers。 My brother died no extraordinary death；
Mr。 Westwick。 He sank； with many other unfortunate people；
under a
