Chapter 56 Volume 8 Girlfriends (3)

Oh day, oh night, you weave the same dream, you time flies like beautiful white clouds, only a bright track in the dizzy eyes, - and the warmth that makes you feel spring-weary The breath of the body, the warmth of the body, the intoxication of love, the chaste fornication, the madness of embraces, the sighs and laughter, the tears of joy, -- oh, dusty happiness, what is left of you? ... our hearts simply miss you: for time does not exist while you are there. Years flow, always the same day...sweet dawn...two tightly embracing bodies float up from the abyss of sleep at the same time; smiling, breathing together, opening their eyes together, seeing each other again, Kissing again...How could the heat of the body be subsided by the clear air...In the endless years there is only a sense of comfort and confusion, and the sweetness of the night is humming in it...Summer noon, in the fields Here, on the grass, lost in thought under the rustling poplars... In the beautiful dusk, both of you are arm in arm, looking back to the mat of love under the clear sky.The wind blows the leaves of the trees, and in the sky as clear as water, a silvery moon floats like a goose feather.A star falls, perishes,—shocks your heart...—a world blows away without a sound.On the road, beside them, some silent shadows rarely flashed by.The bells of the town announce tomorrow's festive season.They stopped for a while, and she leaned against him, silent... Ah!I wish life was like this time, motionless... She sighed and said:

"Why do I love you so much?..." After traveling in Italy for a few weeks, they settled down in a town in the west of France, where Olivier had a position as a secondary school teacher.They pretty much turn away guests and don't care about anything.When they have to go out to visit guests, they are unscrupulous and indifferent to others, making some people unhappy and others smiling.All the gossip just slips past them without any effect.They were as haughty as newlyweds, with the air of saying: "Hmph, you guys, you don't know..." In Jacqueline's handsome, slightly annoyed face, and in Olivier's happy, absent-minded eyes, it was evident that:

"How disgusting you are! . . . When will we be quiet?" Even in front of everyone, they still do their own thing.People can often catch them talking and making eye contact.They didn't have to look at each other to see each other; they both smiled and knew they were thinking the same thought at the same time.When they came out of the entertainment venue, they were so happy that they screamed and acted like crazy children, as if they were only eight years old.They talked silly things and called each other weird names.She called Olivier Oliver, Olimaru, Olivier, Farnan, Mame... She tried to look like a little girl.She wanted to be everything to him at the same time, mother, sister, wife, lover, and mistress.

Not only is she satisfied with sharing his happiness, but she also fulfills her former vows and shares his work: this is also a kind of game.In the early days, she worked with fun and enthusiasm, because work is a new thing for a woman like her, so she is also interested in the most boring things: copying in the library, translating boring books, all become part of her life plan.Isn't her ideal life one that is pure, serious, and dedicated to common, noble thoughts and labors?All was well so long as the light of love shone; for she thought only of him, and not of what she had done.The strangest thing was that everything she did did so well.Her mind handled abstract reading with which it would never have been able at any other time of life; love lifted her whole being out of the world; she did not feel herself like a somnambulist on a roof Walking up and down, very at ease, seeing nothing, just dreaming her solemn and happy dreams...

After a while, she began to see the roof, but she didn't panic. She only asked herself what she was doing on the roof, and then went back into the house.Work bored her.She thought it affected love.That, of course, is because her love is not as intense as it used to be.But nothing is visible on the surface.The two of them couldn't be separated for a moment, so they closed the door to thank the guests and stopped all the entertainment.They hate other people's feelings for them, their jobs, and everything that interferes with their love.Correspondence with Christophe also decreased.Jacqueline did not like him: he seemed to be a rival in love, representing a part of Olivier's past in which she had no part at all.The more Christophe occupied a place in Olivier's life, the more instinctively she wanted to take that place away.She didn't mean to, but secretly alienated Olivier from his friends; she made fun of Christophe's attitude, appearance, style of writing letters, and artistic projects; she did it without malice or tricks: That was what good nature had prevented her from doing.Olivier listened to her criticism and thought it was fun, but he didn't think it had any intentions; he thought that his love for Christophe had never diminished, but at this moment his love was limited to Christophe: and this is It didn't matter much in friendship; he didn't notice that he was growing less familiar with him, less concerned with his ideas, with the heroic idealism that had bound them together before.Love is too strong a smell for a young heart: compared with it, all beliefs are meaningless.The lover's body, and the soul experienced in this holy body, replace all learning and all belief.Under such circumstances, a person only feels pitiful and ridiculous when looking at the ideals that others love, and at the ideals that he once loved.Regarding the vigorous life and hard work, he only saw the flowers for a moment, thinking that they were immortal things through the ages... Love swallowed Olivier.At first his happiness and strength expressed itself in charming poetry.Later even this seemed empty and usurped the time of love!And Jacqueline, like him, tried her best to destroy the meaning of all life except love, but she didn't know that when the big tree fell, the vine-like love would lose its support.In this way, they both destroy each other in love.

Poor man is so addicted to happiness!When selfish happiness becomes the sole aim of life, life soon becomes aimless.Happiness becomes a habit, a narcotic, indispensable.However, it is impossible to grasp happiness all the time... There are countless rhythms in the universe, and happiness is just one of them; the pendulum of life is always swinging between two poles, and happiness is just one of them: Stopping at one pole can only break the pendulum... They taste the boredom of well-being, and the need for stimulation grows ever more insatiable.Sweet time slows down, grows limp, pales like a flower without moisture.The sky is always so blue, but there is no such brisk air in the morning.All is still; the earth is silent.They are alone, as they wish. —but they were very sad.

A mood of indescribable emptiness, a vague annoyance that was not unattractive arose.They didn't know what was going on, they just felt vaguely uneasy.They were sentimental, almost morbid; their nerves strained in silence, and trembled like leaves at the slightest unexpected touch.Jacqueline was weeping for no reason; though she thought it was love, it was not.The years before her marriage had been so tense, intense, and tormented; as soon as she had attained and exceeded her goal, her vital forces suddenly ceased to function, and all new actions—perhaps all past actions—suddenly ceased. Appears pointless: the situation left her inexplicably confused and depressed.She refused to admit it herself, thinking it was the result of nervous fatigue, so she forced a smile; but her laughter and her crying also carried a sense of uneasiness.She mustered up the courage to go back to her previous job.Unexpectedly, she immediately dropped it in disgust, and she couldn't even figure out why she was interested in such a boring thing before.She tried to go out to socialize again, but it was also fruitless: she was so used to it that she could no longer bear mediocre characters and boring conversations; At the same time, I used these unfortunate attempts to force myself to believe that life is worthless except happiness.For a while she really was more than ever in love.But that is pure force of will.

Olivier, who was less fanatical than her, but gentler, was less susceptible to these annoyances; he himself felt only occasional inarticulate tremors.And his love is to a certain extent limited by routine—a career he dislikes—so as not to be completely consumed.But since he was so sensitive, and every movement in his lover's heart had an effect in him, it was natural that Jacqueline's secret perplexity was contagious to him. One fine afternoon, they went for a walk in the wild.Before going out, both of them thought that this walk must be very pleasant.Everything around is smiling.Unexpectedly, after walking a few steps, a gloomy, drowsy melancholy came over my heart.They couldn't talk, but they managed: every word emptied them.When the walk was over, they went home very sad, like puppets who saw nothing and felt nothing.It was evening, and the room seemed empty, dark, and cold.In order to avoid seeing each other, they did not light the lamp immediately.Jacqueline went into the bedroom, and without taking off her hat and coat, she sat down by the window in silence.Olivier was standing next door by the desk.The door between the two rooms was open there, so close to each other that even breathing could be heard.The two cried quietly in the semi-darkness, crying very sadly.They covered their mouths to keep themselves from speaking.Finally Olivier cried out in pain: "Jacqueline..."

Jacqueline replied, with tears in her eyes, "What is it?" "Aren't you coming?" "I am coming." She took off her coat and washed her face.He lit the lamp.After a few minutes, she came in.The two dared not look at each other, knowing that they had both cried.They cannot comfort each other: for each understands why. Finally, a time came when the two of them could no longer hide the distress in their chests.Because everyone is unwilling to admit the reason, they try to find another reason. Of course, it is not difficult.They think everything is caused by Kusuo's life in the interior.This time they were relieved.Mr. Langeais was not much surprised to know that his daughter was tired of the hard life.He entrusted friends in the political circles to transfer his son-in-law to Paris.

On hearing the good news, Jacqueline jumped up with joy, feeling that her old happiness had returned.And when it was time to leave, this loathsome place seemed kind and lovely: what a memory of their love there was here!In the last few days, they tried their best to search for those ruins, feeling melancholy and moved.The quiet wilderness saw them happy.They heard a voice whispering in their hearts: "You know what you left behind. Do you know what will happen in the future?" On the eve of departure Jacqueline wept.Olivier asked her why.She didn't want to answer.They picked up a piece of paper and wrote:——(Usually they are afraid that the tone of their speech will cause misunderstanding, so they often use this method.)——

"Dear little Olivier..." "Dear little Jacqueline..." "I'm sad to be leaving." "Where are you leaving?" "Leave the place where we fell in love." "Where are you going?" "To where we're going to be older." "Go to the place where we grow old together." "But I won't fall in love like this again." "Only love more." "who knows?" "I know." "I must love each other more." So they drew two circles at the end of the paper, indicating that the two embraced.Then she wiped her tears, smiled, and dressed him like Henry III's lover, with her cap on his head and a white waistcoat with a high collar, making Olivier's head look like a bayberry. In Paris, they met old friends and relatives again, and felt that these people were different from when they left.As soon as he heard the news of Olivier's arrival, Christophe rushed over with great joy.Olivier was equally happy.But when they saw it, they were all unexpectedly embarrassed.Both of them tried to lift their spirits, but it was useless.Olivier was very affectionate, but somewhat changed; Christophe felt it very clearly.A friend after marriage is no longer a friend from before.Men's souls now infiltrate some women's souls.Christophe found this trace everywhere in Olivier: there is a certain elusive brilliance in the eyes, some creases on the lips that were not there before, and some new cadences in voice and thought.Olivier didn't feel it himself, but was surprised that Christophe was so different from before.Of course, he would not think that it was Christopher who changed, but admitted that he had changed; in his opinion, this is a normal evolution with age.He was also surprised that Christopher hadn't made any progress before, and blamed him for always maintaining those thoughts, which he used to attach great importance to but now consider childish and old.Because Olivier's heart was occupied by a stranger, and Christophe's thoughts were alien to this foreign soul.This feeling was especially evident when Jacqueline joined the conversation: there was a scene of sarcastic remarks between Olivier and Christophe.But everyone tried their best to hide the impression in their hearts.Christophe went on to his house.Jacqueline innocently shot him a few cold arrows, but he didn't take it seriously.But he was sad when he went back. The first few months after arriving in Paris were quite a happy period for Jacqueline, and therefore for Olivier.She was busy furnishing her new home first.They found a lovely little apartment on an old street in the Brazilian district, with a small garden outside the window.The choice of furniture and wallpaper took her weeks.Jacqueline put all her energy and even her enthusiasm into it, as if her eternal happiness depended on the color and shape of the old chests.Then she made a new understanding of her father, mother, and friends.For she had completely forgotten them during the year of her love, which was a real discovery; all the more because, as her soul had penetrated Olivier's, so had Olivier's soul penetrated hers. her soul, so she could not help seeing old acquaintances with new eyes.She found these people much more interesting than before.At first, Olivier was not so inferior by comparison.Put him together with relatives and old friends, and both sides complement each other.His subconscious and half-dark poetry made Jacqueline find more charm in those flashy characters who only want to enjoy themselves, show off, and please; on the other hand, their cute and dangerous shortcomings, ——Because she was born in this society, she knew it very clearly——it made her appreciate her husband's faithful and reliable heart even more.She likes to make these comparisons, and she likes to keep comparing them to prove that her choice is really good. ——But later on, sometimes she didn't understand why she made this choice.Fortunately, this time does not last long.Even she felt guilty about it, and she was more tender to Olivier afterward than ever.Then she starts all over again.Once she got used to it, she no longer found it interesting; as a result of the comparison, the two opposite characters gradually stopped complementing each other as before, and began to conflict.She thought to herself, wouldn't it be better if Olivier had some of the advantages, and even disadvantages, that she now admired in those Parisian friends?She never talked to Oliver; but Oliver felt uneasy and humiliated when she felt her look at him harshly. Nevertheless, he had not lost the advantage that love gave him over Jacqueline; the gentle and industrious life of the young married couple could have continued for a considerable time, had no special accident changed their situation and kept it there. If the balance of the game is disrupted. That's when we feel that the God of Wealth is our greatest enemy... A sister of Madame Langeais had died.She was the widow of a wealthy industrialist, had no children, and all her property was transferred to the Langeais family.Jacqueline's fortune more than doubled.When the inheritance came, Olivier remembered what Christophe said about wealth, and said: "We are doing very well without this property; perhaps more money is harmful." Jacqueline teased him: "Fool! Could it be harmful too? Besides, we can live without changing our lives." On the surface, life is of course the same.As usual, Jacqueline complained of not having enough money after a while; it was evident that something had changed.In fact, the income was tripled, and it was all spent, and I don't know where it was spent.They simply don't understand how they lived before.Money flows out like water and is swallowed up by countless new additions that immediately become daily necessities.Jacqueline got acquainted with a group of famous tailors, and dismissed the seamstresses who came to work from childhood.I used to wear a small hat of four coppers that could be made beautifully without much material, and clothes that were not perfect but reflected my own charm and had something of my own breath: those days are over now.Everything around me used to have a warm and friendly atmosphere, but now it is fading day by day.The poetry in her disappeared and became vulgar. They changed apartments.The house that had been painstakingly and happily arranged in the past looked cramped and ugly.Those simple little rooms that reflect one's soul, with the view of thin tree shadows swaying outside the window, are no longer needed; they rent another large, comfortable, and well-distributed room, but they don't like it. And try to like the boring apartment.Familiar old things are replaced by unfamiliar furniture and pasted silk.The past has no place here.Impressions of the first few years of living together are swept out of the mind... It is most unfortunate for couples that their connection to their past love has been severed.For following the first tenderness there must be a period of depression, when a man is sustained only by memories of the past.The convenience of using money brought Jacqueline in Paris, on the road—(they now travel frequently),—to the common people with money and no use, and the result of their association made her look down on the rest, Look at people who don't get tired.With her wonderful receptivity, she immediately assimilated with those poor and corrupt minds.It was impossible for her to resist.She was immediately annoyed at the thought that one could—and ought—to be happy in ordinary circumstances after fulfilling the responsibilities of everyday life, which she considered “bourgeois lowness.”She didn't even understand her past acts of generosity and devotion in love. Olivier had no strength to fight.He too has changed.He quit his teaching job and no longer had to do homework.He was just writing; the balance of his life was thus altered.So far he has suffered from not being able to fully devote himself to art.Now when he can devote himself completely to art, he seems to be in the mist.If art had no occupation to maintain its balance, no intense practical life to lean on, no daily tasks to stimulate it, no need to earn its bread, then art would lose its most elite force and reality. sex.It will be a flower of luxury, and no longer—(as some of the greatest artists have expressed)—the divine fruit of human misery... Olivier tasted leisure and kept thinking that "everything is "empty" thoughts, nothing to suppress the others: he dropped his pen, idled, lost his way.He has lost contact with the class from which he came, and those who are patient, unafraid of hardship, and overcoming thorns and thorns.He walked into a completely different world, and while he felt uncomfortable, he didn't hate it.With his cowardly, lovable, inquisitive character, he enjoyed this not uninteresting, but uncertain society; he did not feel that he had been educated by it: his convictions were not so firm as before. But his transformation was not as rapid as Jacqueline's.Women have a terrible quality of being able to change completely in one fell swoop.These metabolic phenomena of a person often surprise those who love him.But for a person who is not controlled by the will and has a strong vitality, it is quite natural to change from time to time.That kind of person is like a stream of water.If those who love him are not taken away by it, they have to be the Yangtze River and take it away.No matter which one you choose between the two, you have to change.This is indeed a dangerous test: you don't really know love until you have surrendered to it.During the first years of living together, the harmony of life is so fragile that it often takes only the slightest shift in one of the two lovers to ruin everything.And when there is a sudden big change in property or environment, the situation is even more dangerous.It must be a very strong person or a very free and easy person who can resist it. Jacqueline and Olivier were neither strong nor easy.They saw that each other had changed their appearance, and the familiar faces became strange.When they saw this sad situation, they hid from each other for fear of shaking their love: because they were always in love.Olivier could escape by doing normal work, which had a calming effect on him.But Jacqueline had nothing to hide from.She doesn't do anything, always stays on the bed, or spends a long time dressing, sitting for several hours, half dressed, just sitting there motionless, dreaming; at the same time, there is an indescribable sadness accumulating bit by bit. rise up like a cold mist.She stubbornly thought about love, unable to turn her thoughts elsewhere... Love!It is life's greatest treasure when it is self-sacrificing.If it were only the pursuit of happiness, it would be the most boring and most irritating thing... And Jacqueline could not conceive of any other purpose in life than the pursuit of happiness.When she was strong-willed, she tried to care about others and their suffering: but she couldn't.The pain of others filled her with an irresistible revulsion; her nerves prevented her from seeing or even thinking about the pain.In order to explain to her conscience, she had done some good deeds two or three times, but the results were not very good. "You see," she said to Christophe, "a person who wants to do good in his heart ends up doing evil. It's better not to do it. I really don't have that fate." Christophe looked at her and thought of a certain girlfriend he had met by chance, who was obviously selfish, frivolous, immoral, and unable to have real tenderness, but when she saw someone suffer, no matter how irrelevant Or strangers, there will be a kind of maternal sympathy immediately.Even the dirtiest caregiving tasks do not frighten her: she takes special pleasure in even those cares that most require her restraint.She didn't care about it: it seemed that a vague ideal force in her heart was venting here; her soul, which was obviously paralyzed on other occasions in life, was revived at this rare time; The pain of some other people made her feel very comfortable, and the happiness at that time was almost too much. —The kindness shown by this selfish woman cannot be called virtue, and the selfishness shown by Jacqueline, who is kind in nature, cannot be called evil; it is a kind of spiritual adjustment for both of them.But the other person is healthier. Jacqueline could never think of the word pain.She would rather die than suffer physical pain, die rather than lose the source of happiness: beauty or youth.If she can't have all the happiness she thinks she should have--(because she has an absolute, absurd, religious belief in happiness),--if other people have more happiness than she does, she thinks It is the most unfair thing in the world.Happiness is not only a belief, but also a virtue.In her mind, suffering is simply a disability, and her whole life is gradually arranged according to this principle.In her virginity, her true character was wrapped in idealism out of shyness; now this character is revealed.And in rebellion against the idealism of the past, she takes a clear and bold look at everything.No matter who or what, it must cooperate with the public opinion of the society and the convenience of life to be valued by her.Her mood reached the same state as her mother's: she also went to church, and performed religious ceremonies indifferently.She no longer worried about sincerity or insincerity: she had other, more practical worries; she only felt pitiful and ridiculous when she thought of her own mysterious rebellion as a child. ——But her practical thinking today is no more realistic than her idealism yesterday, both of which are self-imposed.She is not a god, not a beast, just a troubled poor woman. She was troubled, troubled... because the cause of trouble was neither that Olivier did not love her nor that she did not love Olivier, so she was even more troubled.She feels that her life is blocked, blocked, and has no future; she longs for a new kind of happiness that changes from moment to moment--in fact, someone like her who doesn't know how to enjoy happiness is not worthy of this kind of childlike happiness at all. dream.She, like so many other women, and so many couples at leisure, has all the conditions for happiness and is always troubled.They all have money, beautiful children, and good bodies; they are also intelligent, able to appreciate beautiful things; if they are to be active, to do good, to enrich their own and other people's lives, they have all the conditions, and they spend all day. Complaining, not that they don't love each other, that they love the other person or don't love the other person, -- always only concerned about themselves, about their emotional or sexual relationship, about the happiness they think they should have, about their Contradictory selfishness, always arguing, arguing, arguing, pretending to be a comedy of love, a comedy of pain, and then believing it to be true... To such ones it is time to tell them: "You guys are so boring. It's absurd for a person to complain about all the conditions for happiness!" At the same time, someone should take away their wealth, health, and all the magical talents they don't deserve!Put these slaves who cannot free themselves, who are afraid of their own freedom, back into the shackles of hardship and the shackles of real pain!If they had to work hard for their own bread, they would eat it with joy.And once they saw the true face of pain, they didn't dare to use pain to play disgusting tricks... But at the end of the day, they do suffer.The two of them are patients, why don't they teach people to be pitiful? ——Jacqueline's estrangement from Olivier, and Olivier's unrestrained Jacqueline, are equally innocent.She stays completely natural.She didn't know that marriage was a challenge to her nature. She should have expected that her nature would rise up to resist, and she should be prepared to face it bravely.She only realized that she had misread the matter, and she was very angry.Frustrated, she vented her anger on everything she loved before, and hated what she believed in Olivier's beliefs.A wise woman can intuitively understand those questions about eternity in a flash more than a man, but it is not easy for her to grasp them persistently.A man with this kind of thinking waters it with his life.A woman feeds herself with this thought, she absorbs it, she never creates it.Her spirit and feelings are not self-sufficient and always need new nourishment.When there is no faith and no love, she is engaged in destruction—unless she is fortunate enough to have the highest virtue: tranquility. In the past, Jacqueline passionately believed in a union based on common beliefs, and believed that happiness is happiness through joint struggle, joint suffering, and joint construction.But this confidence, she believed only when she was illuminated by the sunshine of love; as the sun slowly set, her faith stood like a gloomy barren mountain in the empty sky; Jacqueline felt that she had no strength to continue her The itinerary is over: what's the use of climbing to the top of the mountain?What is there on the other side of the mountain?It's a big movie!Jacqueline could no longer understand how Olivier could continue to suffer from these morbid fantasies; she thought he was neither very wise nor very angry.She felt suffocated in his void, unable to breathe; her survival instincts made her attack in self-defense.She still loves Olivier, but she wants to destroy his beliefs, because those beliefs are her enemies; sarcasm and carnal desire are used as weapons by her; Generally haunting him, hoping to make him her own shadow... And the so-called "herself" not only doesn't know what she wants, but also doesn't know what kind of person she is!She felt that Olivier's lack of fame was a kind of humiliation to her, but she didn't ask whether his lack of fame was right or wrong: because she finally believed that, in the final analysis, whether a person is promising or talented is determined by his business card .Olivier felt his wife's suspicion of him, and he could not help being very frustrated.But he struggled.There have been people who struggle like him in the past, and there will still be people in the future. Most of the struggles are fruitless.In this struggle of unequal power, it is men's weakness, frustration, and sophistication that are used by women's selfish instincts to counter man's intellectual selfishness - sophistication is a mask that covers the wear and tear of life and man's cowardice term.Jacqueline and Olivier are at least much better than ordinary fighters.Because Olivier will never deceive his ideals, unlike ordinary men who are driven by laziness, vanity, and chaotic love, willing to deny their souls.And if he had achieved this, Jacqueline would have looked down on others.Yet in that blind condition she endeavored to destroy Olivier's power, which she did not know to be hers, the security of both of them; destroy. Since their inheritance, Christophe felt a little out of place with them.Jacqueline's practical notions, which she deliberately displayed between the conversations, were ostentatiously elegant and commonplace, and at last succeeded in their purpose.Sometimes when he was indignant, he said some harsh words; it made the other party angry.But the friendship between the two friends is too deep, and there has never been any grudge because of it.In any case, Olivier is unwilling to sacrifice Christophe, and at the same time he cannot force Jacqueline to be like himself; for love, he absolutely cannot bear to make her suffer.When Christophe saw Olivier's difficulties, he retired of his own accord.He knew that his dealings with them could not help Olivier, but would hinder him, so he came up with various excuses to alienate him; the cowardly Olivier accepted it, but he realized what Christophe had done. Sacrifice, very sad. Christophe did not hate him.It was true, he thought, that a woman was half a man.Because a married man is only half a man left. He tried his best to reorganize his life, hoping to get rid of Olivier, and forced himself to believe that the separation was temporary, but it was useless: although he was optimistic, he was sometimes depressed.He is not used to living alone.Of course, he had been lonely during the time when Olivier lived in the provinces, but at that time he had a way to console himself with the thought that his friend was far away and would return.Now that my friends are back, they are farther away than ever.Once he lost the warmth that had been integrated with his life for several years, he seemed to lose the meaning of action.Since he fell in love with Olivier, all his thoughts could not be separated from his friend.Work is no longer enough to fill the emptiness: for Christophe used to slip into the shadow of his friends in the midst of his work.Now that his friend was cold to him, Christophe was like a man out of balance: in order to restore this balance, he needed to find another warmth. Mrs. Arno and Nightingale had always been kind to him.But these stable friends were not enough for him then. The two of them also seemed to guess Christophe's sorrow, and secretly sympathized with him.One night, Christophe was surprised to see Mrs. Arno come to his house.This was the first time she had come to see him, and she looked a little agitated.Christophe paid no attention, thinking she was timid.She sat down silently.In order to save her from embarrassment, Christophe showed her around the house; since there were memorials of Olivier everywhere, the two unconsciously mentioned Olivier.Christophe talked happily, never revealing the situation between them.But Mrs. Arno could not help looking at him with pity, and asked: "You have hardly seen each other, have you?" He thought she was here to comfort him, and couldn't help being annoyed: he hated people interfering in his affairs, so he replied, "We won't meet if we're happy." 她红着脸，说：“噢！我那句话并没刺探你们的意思。” 他后悔自己的粗暴，便握着她的手：“对不起。我老是怕人家攻击他。可怜的孩子！他跟我一样的痛苦……是的，我们不见面了。” “他也没写信给你吗？” “没有，”克利斯朵夫觉得不大好意思。 “人生多可悲啊！”亚诺太太过了一忽儿又说。 克利斯朵夫抬起头来：“不，人生并不可悲。它不过有些可悲的时间。” 亚诺太太隐隐约约用着一种哀伤的口吻又道：“大家相爱了，又不相爱了。可见爱也是空的。” “已经相爱过就行了。” 她又说：“你为他作了牺牲。要是你的牺牲能够对所爱的人有些好处，倒也罢了。可是他并不因之更幸福！” “我并没牺牲，”克利斯朵夫愤愤的回答。“即使我牺牲，也是因为我乐于牺牲。这是没有问题的。一个人就是作他应当作的事。要是不那么作，他会痛苦的。牺牲这个字简直荒谬极了！不知是哪些心路不宽的牧师，把一种忧郁的、阴沉的观念，跟牺牲搅在一起。仿佛一定要牺牲之后感到苦闷，你那牺牲才算有价值……见鬼！如果牺牲对你是悲哀的而不是快乐的，那末还是不要牺牲，你根本不配。一个人的牺牲，并非替人做苦工，而是为你自己。如果你在献身的时候不觉得快活，还是去你的罢！你不配生活。” 亚诺太太听着克利斯朵夫，对他望都不敢望。突然她站起来说：“再见了。” 这时他才想起她此来一定有什么心里的话告诉他，便说：“噢！对不起，我自私透了，老讲着自己的事。再坐一会罢，好不好？” “不坐了……谢谢你……”说完她走了。 他和亚诺太太隔了相当的时间没见面。她既没给他消息，他也不上她家去，也不上夜莺家去。他很喜欢她们，可是怕谈到使他悲哀的事。而且她们那种安静平凡的生活，稀薄的空气，暂时也对他不相宜。他需要看一些新人物，需要关心一件事，或是有什么新的爱情使自己振作品来。 为了排遣心中的愁闷，他又上疏阔已久的戏院去。他觉得，对于一个想观察热情和记录热情的音乐家，戏院是一所极有意思的学校。 这并非说他对法国戏剧比他初到巴黎的时期更有好感。他除了不喜欢那些永久不变的、平板的、火暴的题材，老是分析爱情的那套心理学以外，还认为法国人的戏剧语言也是虚伪的，尤其在诗剧方面。他们的散文与韵文，跟民众的活语言和民众的特性都毫不相干。散文是一种做作的语言，上焉者象社交版记者的笔调，下焉者象粗俗的副刊文章。至于诗歌，恰如歌德所说的：“越是那些无话可说的人越喜欢写诗。” 它是一种冗长的，装腔作势的散文；心中一无所感而勉强制造出来的形象，使一切真诚的人都觉得是谎言。克利斯朵夫并不把这些诗剧看得比靡靡之音的意大利歌剧更高。倒是演员比剧本使他感到更大的兴趣。妙的是作家们都在竭力模仿演员。“要不是把戏子们的恶习做你剧中人物的粉本，那末你的戏上演的时候决没成功的希望。”从狄德罗写了这段文字以来，情形并没如何改变。喜剧演员成为艺术的模型。只①要一个戏子成了名，他立刻可以有他的戏院，有他的剧作家，——他们会象殷勤的裁缝一般照他的身材定制剧本。 --- ①即十八世纪以来。 在这些走红的明星中间，有个叫做法朗梭阿士·乌东的，引起了克利斯朵夫的注意。近一二年来大家都为她入迷了。她也有她的剧本供应者，但她并不只演为她特写的剧本。从易卜生到萨杜，邓南遮到小仲马，萧·伯纳到亨利·巴太依，在她相当混杂的戏码内都可以找到。有时，她也在古典诗剧和莎士比亚的作品中漏脸。可是在这等场合，她比较不自在。不论演什么，她总表现她自己，永远只表现她自己。这是她的短处，也是她的长处。她本人没受到群众注意的时候，她的演技并不受欢迎。但一朝引起了大众的好奇心，她无论演什么就都显得出神入化。事实是一看到地，你的确会忘掉那些起弱的作品；经过她的生命点缀之下，那些作品都显得美了。克利斯朵夫觉得比她所演的作品更动人的，倒是这个由一颗陌生的灵魂塑成的、女性的肉体之谜。 她的侧影美丽，清楚；象悲剧中人物，可不象罗马女子那么轮廓鲜明。她的细腻的，巴黎人的线条，和约翰·古雄的雕像一般，好比一个少年男子。鼻子虽短，很有姿态。美丽的嘴巴，嘴唇很薄，有一道悲苦的皱痕。聪明的脸蛋，清瘦，年轻，有些动人的表情，反映出内心的痛苦。下巴的模样显出她性格强硬。皮肤惨白、惯于不动声色的脸，照旧象镜子一样反射出她的心灵。头发，眉毛，都很细腻。变化莫测的眼睛，又是灰灰的，又是琥珀色的，闪着或青或黄的光彩，象猫眼。她表面的神态也跟猫一样的迷迷惘惘，半睡半醒，可是睁着眼睛，窥伺着，永远提防着，常常会突然之间发性子，流露出她隐藏的残忍。身材并没看起来那么高，身体也没看起来那么瘦，她肩头和胳膊都很好看，一双手又长又软。衣著和头发的式样都很大方，素雅，不象某些女演员的不修边幅或是过分的修饰，——虽然出身低微，本能上却是一个贵族，——这一点又是象猫。她骨子里还有非常强悍的性格。 她年纪大概不到三十岁。克利斯朵夫在伽玛希那边听见人家谈到她，用粗野的口吻表示对她佩服，仿佛谈论一个很放浪的，聪明的，大胆的女子，极有魄力，极有野心，可是起辣，古怪，暴烈；据说她没成名以前曾经沦落风尘，得志以后便尽量的报复。 有一天，克利斯朵夫搭火车到默东去探望夜莺，一打开车厢的门，发见那女演员已经先在那儿。她似乎非常骚动，痛苦；克利斯朵夫的出现使她大为不快，马上转过背去，老望着窗外。克利斯朵夫注意到她神色有异，便目不转睛的钉着她，那种天真的同情的神气简直令人发窘。她不耐烦了，把他狠狠的瞪了一眼；他只觉得莫名片妙。在下一站上，她走下去换了一个车厢。那时他才想到是自己把她吓跑的，因此①很不痛快。 -- ①欧洲各国行驶于内地或郊外的区间火车，往往都是八人一室的车厢，直接有门上下，与其他车厢完全隔绝，并无长廊通连，故更换车厢必须下车。 过了几天，他在同一路线上预备搭车回巴黎，占着月台上那张独一无二的凳子。她又出现了，过来坐在他旁边。他想站起来走开，她却说了声：“你坐下罢。” 那时没有旁人在场。他对于那天使她更换车厢的事表示歉意，他说要是早想到自己使她发窘，他一定会下车的。她冷冷的笑着回答：“不错，那天你一刻不停的老瞪着我，讨厌透了。” “对不起，”他说。“我自己也压制不住……你那天好似很痛苦。” “那又怎么呢？” “我那是不由自主的。倘若看见一个人淹在河里，你不是会伸手救他吗？” “我吗，我才不呢。我要把他的脑袋按在水里，让他早点儿完蛋。” 她说这些话的时候，既有点儿嘻笑怒骂，又有点儿牢骚的口吻。因为他愕然望着，她便笑了。 火车到了。除了最后一辆，列车都已经客满。她上去了。车守催着他们。克利斯朵夫不愿意重演上次的故事，想另找一间车厢。她可是说：“上来罢。” 他上去以后，她又补了一句：“今天我无所谓了。” They are talking.克利斯朵夫一本正经的跟她解释，说一个人不该对旁人抱着漠不相关的态度；互相帮助，互相安慰，大家都可以得益…… “安慰对我不生作用……”她说。 克利斯朵夫坚持着，她就傲慢的笑了笑，回答说：“不错，安慰人家的角色当然对扮演的人是有利的。” 他想了一会，才明白对方是怀疑他别有用心，不禁愤愤的站起来，打开车门，不管火车开动，就想往下跳。她好容易把他挡住了。他怒气冲冲的关上了门，重新坐下，那时火车刚进地道。 “你瞧，”她说，“跳下去不是要送命吗？” "I do not care." 他不愿意再和她说话。 “人真是太蠢了，”他说。“大家互相折磨，又把自己折磨；人家想来帮助他的时候，他倒反猜疑。可恶透了！这种人是没有人性的。” 她一边笑一边抚慰他，把戴着手套的手按在他的手上，亲热的和他谈着；喊出他的名字。 “怎么，你认得我吗？”他说。 “怎么不认识？你，你也是一个红人哪。我刚才不该对你说那种话。你是个好人，我看得出的。算了罢，别生气了。好！咱们讲和罢！” 他们握了握手，友好的谈着话，她说：“可是那也不是我的错。我跟一般人接触的经验太多了，不得不提防。” “他们也常常欺骗我，”克利斯朵夫说。“我却老是相信他们。” “我看出你是这样的，你大概是个天生的傻瓜。” 他笑了：“是的，甜酸苦辣我一生尝过不少了；可是对我没有什么害处。我的胃很强，饱也没关系，饿也没关系，必要的时候也能吞下那些来攻击我的可怜虫。我反而身体更好。” “那是你运气，你哪，你是个男人。” “而你，你是个女人。” “那又算不了什么。” “那是很有意思的，做个女人！” 她听着笑了。“哼！”她说，“可是人家怎么对付女人的？” “得自卫啊。” “那末所谓善心也维持不久的了。” “那是因为一个人还不够慈悲。” “或许是吧。可是吃苦也不能吃得太多，太多了一个人的心会干枯的。” 他正想对她表示同情，忽然记起了她刚才的态度…… “你又要说安慰人家的人是别有用心了……” “不，”她说，“我不说这个话了。我觉得你心地好，非常真诚。我很感激。可是请你什么话都别跟我说。你不知道……谢谢你的好意。” 他们到了巴黎，分手了，双方既没留下地址，也没说什么请去谈谈的话。 过了一二个月，她跑来敲克利斯朵夫的门。 “我来找你，想跟你谈谈。从那次见面以后，我不时在想起你。”她说着坐下了。“只要一忽儿功夫，不会打搅你很久的。” 他开始和她谈话。她说：“请等一会，好不好？” 他们不出声了。过了一下她笑着说：“刚才我支持不住了。现在可好些了。” 他想问她。 “不，”她说，“别问我这个！” 她向四下里瞧了一眼，把各种东西看过了，估量了一下，忽然瞧见鲁意莎的照片。 “这是你的妈妈吗？” "yes." 她把照片拿在手里，非常同情的瞧着。“多好的老太太！”她说。“你运气不错！” “可惜她已经故世了。” “那没关系。反正你是有过这样一个母亲的。” “那末你呢？” 她拧了拧眉头，把话扯开了。她不愿意人家问起她的事。 “跟我谈谈你的事罢。告诉我……告诉我一些关于你生活方面的事……” “这跟你有什么相干？” “不用管，你讲罢……” 他不愿意讲，可是不由自主的回答了她的问话：因为她问得非常巧妙。而他所叙述的正是使他悲伤的事，他的友谊的故事，跟他分离了的奥里维。她听着，带着又同情又嘲弄的笑意……突然她问：“什么时候了？啊！天！我来了两个钟点了！对不起……啊！此刻我心情安定多了……” 接着她又说：“我希望能再来……不是常常……而是有时候……这对我有些好处。可是我不愿意使你厌烦，浪费你的时间……只要偶尔谈几分钟就行了……” “我可以到你那边去，”克利斯朵夫说。 “我不要你上我家去。我更喜欢在你这儿谈……” 可是她许多时候没有来。 有天晚上，他无意中知道她病得很重，已经停演了几星期，便不管她从前拦阻的话，径自跑去看她。人家回答说她不见客；但里头知道了他的名字，又把他从楼梯上叫回去。她躺在床上，病好些了；她害了肺炎，模样有了相当的改变，但始终保持着那副嘲弄的神气和锐利的目光。她见到克利斯朵夫，心里真的很高兴，要他坐在床边，用着满不在乎的游戏态度谈到自己，说她差点儿死去。他听着脸色变了。她却取笑他。他埋怨她不早通知他。 “通知你要你来吗？那才不呢！” “我相信你连想也没想到我。” “那就是你的运气了，”她又俏皮又悲哀的笑着说。“我病中从来没想到你。只是今天刚想到。得了罢，你别难过。我闹病的时候谁都不想的。我只要求人家一件事，就是让我清静。我把鼻子朝着墙等着，愿意孤零零的死掉。” “自个儿痛苦究竟是不好受的。” “我惯了。我受过多少年的磨折，没有一个人来帮助我，现在已经成了习惯。而且这样倒更好。你倒了楣，谁都是无能为力的，不过在屋子里闹些声音，给你一些不识趣的关切，虚情假意的叹息一阵……我宁可一个人清清静静的死。” “你倒很能够隐忍！” “隐忍？我简直不知道这个字是什么意思。我只是咬紧牙关，恨那个使我痛苦的病。” 他问是不是没有人来看她，关切她。她说戏院里的同事都是些好人，——是些糊涂蛋，——对她很殷勤，很好，虽然是浮表的。 “倒是我，告诉你，倒是我不愿意见他们。我是一个不容易相交的人。” “我可不怕，”他说。 她带着可怜他的神气望着他：“你！你也会说这种话吗？” “对不起，对不起……天哪！我竟变成了巴黎人！……惭愧惭愧……我敢打赌，我说的话简直想都没想过……” 他把脸蒙在被单里。她不由得大声笑了出来，在他头上轻轻的拍了一下：“啊！这话可不是巴黎人说的了！还好！我又认出你的本来面目了。好，把头抬起来。别哭湿了我的被单。” “那末你原谅我了？” “当然。甭提啦。” 她又和他谈了一会，问他做些什么，随后她累了，厌烦了，就把他打发走。 她约他下星期再来。到期正要出口，他忽然接到她的电报，教他别去：她正逢着心情恶劣的日子。——后来，过了一天，她又通知他去了。她差不多已经痊愈，靠窗躺着。那是初春时节，天上照着晴朗的太阳，树木抽着嫩芽。他从来没看见她这样亲切这样温和。她说前天连一个人都不能见：便是克利斯朵夫也要跟别人一样受她厌恶。 “那末今天呢？” “今天，我觉得自己年轻，新鲜，对周围一切年轻和新鲜的人——比如你，——都有好感。” “可是我已经不年轻不新鲜了。” “你到死都是的。” 他们谈着他在别后所做的事，谈着她不久又要去登台的戏院；说到这儿，她告诉他对于戏剧的意见，她厌恶它，又舍不得它。 她不愿意他再上她家里来，答应以后继续去探望他，可是怕打搅他。他把比较不会妨害他工作的时间告诉她，约定一种暗号，教她用某种方式敲门，他随着自己的心绪而决定开或不开…… 她绝对不滥用这种约会。可是有一次她去赴一个晚会担任诗歌朗诵，忽而临时不得劲了，半路上打电话去辞掉，转车到克利斯朵夫寓所来。她原意只想跟他招呼一下就走的。可是那晚上她居然把一生的历史统统说了出来。 悲惨的童年：她从来不知道谁是她的父亲。母亲在法国北部某城的近郊，开着一所声名狼藉的小客店；许多赶车的跑来喝酒，跟女店主睡觉，同时还虐待她。其中有一个跟她结了婚，因为她有几个钱；他常常酗酒，打老婆。法朗梭阿士有一个姊姊在小客店里当侍女，做牛做马的辛苦到极点，还被继父当她母亲的面奸占了，结果是害肺病死的。法朗梭阿士从小挨着拳头，看尽了下流无耻的事。她皮肤苍白，性子暴躁，沉默寡言，童年的心中火气十足，野性很厉害。她眼看母亲和姊姊饮泣吞声，受尽了痛苦，耻辱，终于死掉。她可是意志倔强，不肯屈服；她是个反抗的女人：受到某些羞辱的时候，神经发作品来，会把打她的人乱抓乱咬。有一回她想自杀，结果没成功：刚开始上吊已经不愿意死了，生怕真会吊死；等到她气透不过来的时候，便赶紧用抽搐的手指解开绳子，一心一意只想活了。既然不能借死亡来逃避，——（克利斯朵夫听到这里不禁悲哀的笑笑，想到自己的同样的经验），——她就发誓要出人头地，要自由，要有钱，把一切压迫她的人都打倒在脚下。有一晚她在小房间里听见那男的在隔壁咒骂，被他殴打的母亲叫着嚷着，被他凌辱的姊姊哭着，她便暗暗发下这个愿。她觉得自己多可怜，发了这个愿，心里才松动些。她咬紧牙齿想道：“我要把你们一起打死。” 在这个黯淡的童年只有一线光明： 有一天，一个和她常在小沟边上玩儿的孩子，因为父亲是戏院里的门房，便带她冒着禁令去看了一次排戏。他们在黑暗里躲在戏池的尽里头。舞台上神秘的景致，在黑暗中愈加显得光华灿烂，那些人说的美妙而不可解的话，女演员那副王后一般的神气，——她的确在一出浪漫派的音乐话剧中串演王后，——把她看呆了。她紧张得浑身冰冷，心跳得很厉害……“对啦，对啦，要做个这样的人才好呢！……噢！要是办得到的话……”——等到排演完了，她无论如何要看一看晚上的公演。她假装跟着同伴一起出去，却又偷偷的溜回来躲在戏院里，伏在凳子底下，在灰尘中捱了三小时。戏院快要开场，观众已经来了，她正想从躲的地方钻出来，不料被人当场捉住，大受羞辱，结果是被押送回家，又挨了一顿打。那一晚要不是已经知道她将来能够对这些恶徒报复的话，她一定会自杀的了。 她打定了主意，投到一般演员们寄宿的剧场旅馆去当侍女。她字也没识多少，写也不大会写，一本书也没看过，也没有一本书可看。但她愿意学习，发愤用功，在客人房中偷了书，拿来在月夜或是黎明的时候读，免得耗费灯烛。因为演员们生活毫无规律，她这种偷窃的行为很久没有被发觉：至多是失主发一阵脾气了事。并且她把书看过了也还给他们；——可不是完璧：因为她把喜欢的几页撕了下来。书拿回去总是塞在床底下或是家具底下，让失主发见的时候以为从来没出过房间。她常常把耳朵贴在门上，偷听演员们念台词。随后她自个儿在走廊里轻轻的学着他们的声调，做着手势。人家撞见了，便拿她取笑一阵，羞辱一阵。她只得气愤愤的不作声。——这种方式的教育可以长久继续下去，要不是她有一次偷了一个演员的脚本的话。失主大发雷霆，因为除了她，谁也没进过他的卧室，就咬定是她偷的。她拚命抵赖；演员说要教人搜查，她便吓坏了，立刻趴在地下招认了，同时也招认了别的窃案和撕掉的书页。他大骂了一顿，但他的心地不象外表那样凶。他追究她为什么要干这些事，一听到她说要做一个女戏子，不由得哈哈大笑，随后又仔细问她：她把记得烂熟的脚本背了好几页，他非常奇怪，问道：“喂，你说，要不要我教你？” 她快活极了，吻着他的手。 “啊！”她打断了话和克利斯朵夫说，“那时我心里多喜欢他啊！” 不料那家伙立刻补上一句：“可是，孩子，你知道，什么都要付代价的……” 那时她还是个处女，人家对她的袭击，她一向是拿出蛮劲来躲过的。这种野人似的贞操，对不洁的行为，对没有爱情的性欲的厌恶，是从小就有的，是家里那些悲惨的景象感应她的；她至今还保持这性格；——可是，唉！她受到多么惨酷的惩罚！ ……命运弄人，竟然到这个地步！ ... “那末你答应他了？”克利斯朵夫问。 “啊！那时倘若能跳出他的魔掌，我连跳在火里都愿意！可是他威吓说要把我当贼一样送去法办。我无路可走。——这样我就投进了艺术……投进了人生。” “那该死的混蛋！”克利斯朵夫嚷着。 “是的，我当然恨他。但从此以后，我见得多了，他还不算是顶坏的呢。至少他对我没失信，把他所知道的——（也并不多！）——一套本领教给我。他介绍我进了剧团。我先得侍候大家，替每个人当差，串戏也只串跑龙套。后来，有一晚，扮侍从的女角儿病了，人家临时把我补上去。从此我就当上了这个角儿。大家认为我要不得，滑稽可笑。那时我长得很丑。我始终是丑的，直到有一天人家忽然认为我是超特的，理想的“女人”……嘿！那些混蛋！——我的演技被认为一点不照规矩，荒唐胡闹。看客不赏识我。同伴们取笑我。但人家始终把我留着，因为我究竟还有点用处，而且薪水很低。不但薪水很低，还得给人代价。每学一点东西，每次的升级，都要用肉体去报酬。同伴，经理，戏子掮客，戏子掮客的朋友……” 她不出声了，脸色发白，咬着牙齿，睁着恶狠狠的眼睛；但你可以咂摸到她心中流着血泪。一刹那间，她又看到了当年那些耻辱，和支持她的那股非战胜不可的强烈的意志；每经历一次新的污辱，她的意志就锻炼得更加坚强。她很希望死；但就在这些屈辱中间倒下去是太可怕了。要是在以前自杀倒还罢了。要不然等胜利以后也行。可是在已经堕入泥犁而还毫无取偿的时候死掉，未免…… 她半天不作声。克利斯朵夫气愤之极，在屋子里来回走着。他恨不得把磨难这女子、污辱这女子的那些男人一起打死。然后他不胜怜悯的望着她，站在她前面，捧着她的头，扶着她的前额，亲热的抱着，叫了声：“可怜的孩子！” 她挣扎了一下。他说：“别怕。我很喜欢你。” 于是眼泪在法朗梭阿士惨白的脸上淌下来了。他跪在旁边，吻着她美丽的细长的手，把两颗泪珠掉在上面。 随后他重新坐下。她也定了定神，很安静的继续讲她的身世。 终于有个作家把她捧了出来。他在这个古怪的女人身上发见有魔性，有天才，认为她是一个“戏剧的典型，代表时代的新女性”。自然，在那么许多人之后，他也把她占有了。而她在那么许多人之后也让他占有了，不但毫无爱情，甚至还有跟爱相反的情绪。可是他造成了她的名片，她也造成了他的名片。 “现在，”克利斯朵夫说，“人家对你可没办法了；轮到你来随心所欲的支配他们了。” “你以为是这样吗？”她辛酸的回答。 于是她又讲起另外一件被命运播弄的事。——她对一个自己瞧不起的坏蛋发生了热情：他是个文人，拿她最痛苦的秘密作了写文章的材料，然后把她丢了。 “我瞧不起他，把他看做跟我脚底下的泥巴一样。可是我爱他，只要他叫一声，我就会跑去向这个该死的家伙低头；想到这点，我气坏了。可是有什么办法？我的心永远不爱我的理智所喜欢的对象。感情和理性，两者必有一个受委屈。我有一颗心。我也有一个肉体。它们叫着，嚷着，都要求满足。我又没有制服它们的武器，我没有信仰，我是自由的……哼，自由！老做着我的心和肉体的奴隶，它们要这个要那个，往往都是我不愿意要的。它们使我屈服，我只觉得惭愧。可是怎么办呢？……” 她停了一会，呆呆的用钳子拨着火灰，然后又说：“我看到书上说做戏的人是麻木不仁的。事实上，我所见到的那一批，的确是虚荣的大孩子，除了些争面子的小问题，什么思想都没有。我不知道他们和我，究竟谁才是真正的戏子。我相信决不是我。总之我替他们付了代价。” 她打住了话头，时间已经到了夜里三点。她站起身子想走。克利斯朵夫劝她等天亮再回去，姑且在床上躺一躺。她却宁可坐在熄灭的壁炉旁边，继续在寂静无声的屋子里谈话。 “你明天会累的。” “我惯了。可是你呢……明儿有事吗？” “我是闲人。要十一点才替一个学生上课呢……并且我身子很棒。” “那就更需要睡觉了。” “是的，我睡得象死人一样。无论什么痛苦都抵抗不了瞌睡。有时我恨透了。糟掉了多少光阴！……偶尔熬上一夜，对睡眠报复报复，我倒是挺高兴的。” 他们继续轻轻的谈着，中间隔着长时间的静默。克利斯朵夫睡着了。法朗梭阿士看着笑笑，扶着他的头不让它倒下来……她胡思乱想，靠窗坐着，望着漆黑的园子，园子不久也亮起来了。七点左右，她轻轻唤醒了克利斯朵夫，和他道别。 在同一个月里，她又来了一回，恰好克利斯朵夫不在家，门关着。以后克利斯朵夫把公寓的钥匙交给她，让她能随时进去。果然，好几次克利斯朵夫都出去了，她在桌上留下一小束紫罗兰，或是在纸上写几个字，涂几笔速写，漫画，——表示她来过了。 一天晚上，她从戏院出来，到克利斯朵夫家谈天。她发见他在工作，两人谈了几句，就发觉彼此都没有上回那样的兴致。她想走；可是太晚了。并非克利斯朵夫阻止她，而是她自己的意志不允许她再走。于是他们留着，都动了欲念。 他们便互相占有了。