Daniel Deronda. Джордж Элиот. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Джордж Элиот
Издательство: Bookwire
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Жанр произведения: Языкознание
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isbn: 4057664173362
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my part, I think her odious,” said a dowager. “It is wonderful what unpleasant girls get into vogue. Who are these Langens? Does anybody know them?”

      “They are quite comme il faut. I have dined with them several times at the Russie. The baroness is English. Miss Harleth calls her cousin. The girl herself is thoroughly well-bred, and as clever as possible.”

      “Dear me! and the baron?”.

      “A very good furniture picture.”

      “Your baroness is always at the roulette-table,” said Mackworth. “I fancy she has taught the girl to gamble.”

      “Oh, the old woman plays a very sober game; drops a ten-franc piece here and there. The girl is more headlong. But it is only a freak.”

      “I hear she has lost all her winnings to-day. Are they rich? Who knows?”

      “Ah, who knows? Who knows that about anybody?” said Mr. Vandernoodt, moving off to join the Langens.

      The remark that Gwendolen wound her neck about more than usual this evening was true. But it was not that she might carry out the serpent idea more completely: it was that she watched for any chance of seeing Deronda, so that she might inquire about this stranger, under whose measuring gaze she was still wincing. At last her opportunity came.

      “Mr. Vandernoodt, you know everybody,” said Gwendolen, not too eagerly, rather with a certain languor of utterance which she sometimes gave to her clear soprano. “Who is that near the door?”

      “There are half a dozen near the door. Do you mean that old Adonis in the George the Fourth wig?”

      “No, no; the dark-haired young man on the right with the dreadful expression.”

      “Dreadful, do you call it? I think he is an uncommonly fine fellow.”

      “But who is he?”

      “He is lately come to our hotel with Sir Hugo Mallinger.”

      “Sir Hugo Mallinger?”

      “Yes. Do you know him?”

      “No.” (Gwendolen colored slightly.) “He has a place near us, but he never comes to it. What did you say was the name of that gentleman near the door?”

      “Deronda—Mr. Deronda.”

      “What a delightful name! Is he an Englishman?”

      “Yes. He is reported to be rather closely related to the baronet. You are interested in him?”

      “Yes. I think he is not like young men in general.”

      “And you don’t admire young men in general?”

      “Not in the least. I always know what they will say. I can’t at all guess what this Mr. Deronda would say. What does he say?”

      “Nothing, chiefly. I sat with his party for a good hour last night on the terrace, and he never spoke—and was not smoking either. He looked bored.”

      “Another reason why I should like to know him. I am always bored.”

      “I should think he would be charmed to have an introduction. Shall I bring it about? Will you allow it, baroness?”

      “Why not?—since he is related to Sir Hugo Mallinger. It is a new rôle of yours, Gwendolen, to be always bored,” continued Madame von Langen, when Mr. Vandernoodt had moved away. “Until now you have always seemed eager about something from morning till night.”

      “That is just because I am bored to death. If I am to leave off play I must break my arm or my collar-bone. I must make something happen; unless you will go into Switzerland and take me up the Matterhorn.”

      “Perhaps this Mr. Deronda’s acquaintance will do instead of the Matterhorn.”

      “Perhaps.”

      But Gwendolen did not make Deronda’s acquaintance on this occasion. Mr. Vandernoodt did not succeed in bringing him up to her that evening, and when she re-entered her own room she found a letter recalling her home.

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      This man contrives a secret ’twixt us two,

       That he may quell me with his meeting eyes

       Like one who quells a lioness at bay.

      This was the letter Gwendolen found on her table:,

      DEAREST CHILD.—I have been expecting to hear from you for a week. In

       your last you said the Langens thought of leaving Leubronn and going

       to Baden. How could you be so thoughtless as to leave me in

       uncertainty about your address? I am in the greatest anxiety lest this

       should not reach you. In any case, you were to come home at the end of

       September, and I must now entreat you to return as quickly as

       possible, for if you spent all your money it would be out of my power

       to send you any more, and you must not borrow of the Langens, for I

       could not repay them. This is the sad truth, my child—I wish I could

       prepare you for it better—but a dreadful calamity has befallen us

       all. You know nothing about business and will not understand it; but

       Grapnell & Co. have failed for a million, and we are totally

       ruined—your aunt Gascoigne as well as I, only that your uncle has his

       benefice, so that by putting down their carriage and getting interest

       for the boys, the family can go on. All the property our poor father

       saved for us goes to pay the liabilities. There is nothing I can call

       my own. It is better you should know this at once, though it rends my

       heart to have to tell it you. Of course we cannot help thinking what a

       pity it was that you went away just when you did. But I shall never

       reproach you, my dear child; I would save you from all trouble if I

       could. On your way home you will have time to prepare yourself for the

       change you will find. We shall perhaps leave Offendene at once, for we

       hope that Mr. Haynes, who wanted it before, may be ready to take it

       off my hands. Of course we cannot go to the rectory—there is not a

       corner there to spare. We must get some hut or other to shelter us,

       and we must live on your uncle Gascoigne’s charity, until I see what

       else can be done. I shall not be able to pay the debts to the

       tradesmen besides the servants’ wages. Summon up your fortitude, my

       dear child; we must resign ourselves to God’s will. But it is hard to

       resign one’s self to Mr. Lassman’s wicked recklessness, which they say

       was the cause of the failure. Your poor sisters can only cry with me

       and give me no help. If you were once here, there might be a break in

       the cloud—I always feel it impossible that you can have been meant

       for poverty. If the Langens wish to remain abroad, perhaps you can put

       yourself under some one else’s care for the journey. But come as soon

       as you can to