Chapter 3 Dr. Hirsch's Duel

Messrs. Maurice Bran and Messrs. Armand Armagnac were walking across the sunlit Champs Elysées.The two are full of energy, decently dressed, not tall, exuding a lively and confident atmosphere.They all had black beards, but they were made into weird French-chic shapes, like fake mustaches glued on.Bran's wedge-shaped mustache is embedded in the lower lip, while Armagnac's unique chin has a well-defined chin, with two black hairs protruding from each side of the top of the jaw.They are both young and atheist, and although they are not flexible in their thinking, they are flexible and eloquent, and can explain it from different angles.They were students of the great scientist, political commentator and ethicist Dr. Hirsch.

Bran was famous for a proposal to erase the common word "Adieu" from all French classics and impose a small fine on anyone who used it in everyday life. “That way,” he said, “you won’t have the name of an imaginary God ringing around in your ears.” Mr. Armagnac focused on fighting militarism.He wanted "Aux armes, citoyens" ("Arm up, citizens") in "Marseillaise" to read "Aux greves, citoyens" ("Strike together, citizens").But there was something oddly French about his anti-militarism.He was once approached by a very wealthy and well-known English Quaker to discuss the problem of global disarmament, but he was deeply disappointed by Armagnac's proposal, because he proposed that the first step in disarmament is to be disarmed by soldiers. Their officers were put to death.

Indeed, in these respects the two young men were very different from their philosophical mentors and predecessors.Dr. Hirsch, though born in France and always brought up in his favored French upbringing, was of a different type in temperament.Mild-tempered, visionary, and kind-hearted, he was not lacking in his identification with transcendentalism despite his skeptical ideology.In short, he was more German than French.Although he was deeply loved by the French, subconsciously, the French resented his display of such a gentle peace.But throughout Europe, to those in this circle, Paul Hirsch was a scientific saint.His world view is grand and brave, showing the world his ascetic life and his somewhat rigid innocence.The doctor incorporated some viewpoints and positions of Darwin and Tolstoy, but he was neither anarchist nor anti-patriotic. On the issue of arms reduction, he held a moderate position and advocated gradual progress.As far as the research and development of some chemicals is concerned, the government of the republic puts a lot of trust in him.His latest invention, a silent explosive, is a closely guarded secret by the government.

His residence is located on an elegant and chic street.This street is very close to the Elysee Palace. In midsummer, it is lush and green like a park.Along the street was a row of chestnut trees, shaded by the sun, interrupted only at one point by a sizable café facing the street.Dr. Hirsch's house is just diagonally opposite the cafe, with white and green shutters, and the wrought iron balcony across the second floor is also painted green.Below the balcony is the entrance to the courtyard, and the path paved with tiles is lined with bushes, making it look vibrant.Bran and Armagnac walked into the courtyard, chatting briskly.

The doctor's old servant Simon came to open the door. He was wearing a black suit, glasses, gray hair, and a hidden look. He could easily be mistaken for a doctor himself.In fact, he fits the image of a scientist better.In contrast, Dr. Hirsch looks so ugly, his body looks like a forked carrot, but his huge round head is more prominent, which diverts people's attention away from his torso .Like an old doctor treating a prescription, Simon handed a letter to Mr. Armagnac with a serious face.Mr. Armagnac showed typical French impatience. He immediately tore open the letter and quickly scanned the contents:

The officer, named Di Bosque, was sitting on the stairs.He kicked at the furniture in all the other rooms; I locked myself in the study facing the café.If you still love me, please go to the cafe opposite, sit down at an open-air table and wait, I will find a way to get him there.I want you to answer his questions and deal with him.I can't see him personally, and I don't want to see him. . Armagnac looked at Bran.Bran took the letter, read it, and looked at Armagnac again.Then they walked quickly to a small table under the chestnut tree opposite, and each ordered a large glass of green absinthe.Obviously, this kind of wine can be drunk regardless of season or occasion.There were very few people in the cafe, only at one table was a soldier drinking coffee, at another table a tall man was drinking a small glass of fruit juice, and beside him was a priest who hadn't drunk anything.

Bran coughed dryly and said, "Of course we must help the teacher as much as we can, but—" He stopped abruptly, and after a moment of silence, Armagnac said: "There must be a reason why the teacher didn't see that person, but—" Before either of them had time to complete their own words, the person who broke into the doctor's house was kicked out from the opposite house.The bushes under the arched doorway swayed and parted abruptly, and the unwelcome guest was shot out like a cannonball. He was a stocky man, and he wore a little Tyrolean felt hat, and he did look a little Tyrolean.His shoulders were broad, but his legs were well-proportioned and agile, and he wore knee breeches and knitted stockings.His face was a nutty brown, with piercing, anxious chestnut eyes; his black hair was brushed harshly back from the hairline in a crew cut that framed his angular A hard skull; he also sported a bushy black mustache, sticking out like bison horns.It stands to reason that such a large head should be supported by a thick neck, but it is tightly wrapped by a long and large variegated scarf, including the ears. The scarf hangs down from the front and is copied into the jacket. It's like wearing another weird vest underneath.The color of the scarf is lifeless, a mixture of dark red, dark yellow and purple, which is probably a product of the East.All this gave the man an air of savagery, more like a Hungarian landowner than a French officer.But as soon as he opened his mouth, he could tell that he was an out-and-out Frenchman, with the impassioned enthusiasm of a French patriot, and that kind of energy even seemed a little absurd.No sooner had he emerged from the archway than he screamed into the street, "Are there any Frenchmen here?" as if summoning Christians in Mecca, the holy city of Islam.

Armagnac and Bran stood up when they heard the sound, but they were a step too late.People were coming here from the streets and alleys, and a small group of people quickly gathered.The man with the mustache showed the typical French sensitivity to street political activities. He quickly ran to a corner of the cafe, jumped onto the table, grabbed a chestnut branch to stabilize his body, and then began to shout loudly. Like when Camille Desmoulins handed out the oak-leaf cap badge to the masses calling for their revolution. "French fellows," he began to spout, "I am not qualified to speak. It is only God who helps me to speak here. Those who have learned not only to speak, but also to keep silent in this dirty parliament." sound—just like the spy hiding in the opposite house. No matter how much I pounded on his bedroom door, he was silent! Although he could hear my voice across the street, he would just shrink there and tremble, He is still silent. Oh, their silence can be eloquent too - these politicians. But the time has come, we who have no voice, must speak. You are betrayed to the Prussians. Just in At this moment, I was betrayed by that man. My name is Jules Dubosco, and I am an artillery colonel stationed in Belfort. Yesterday we captured a German spy in the Vosges Mountains and found a note from him, It's in my hands now. Hey, they tried to hoodwink; but I took this note straight to the man who wrote it--the man in the house across the way! Written by himself, with his Signed. Written about the secret of how to get the silent dynamite. Hirsch invented the silent dynamite and wrote this note. The note is in German and was found in a German pocket. It says : 'Tell the man that the formula for explosives is in a gray envelope, written in red ink, in the first drawer of the cabinet to the right of the secretary of the War Department's desk. Tell him to be careful. -PH'"

He spat out strings of short sentences like a machine gun.It seemed that either he was telling the truth, or he was crazy.The people who gathered here were all nationalists, and they started yelling threateningly.A handful of intellectuals, led by Armagnac and Bran, were equally outraged by their irrationality, but that only spurred the majority to become more aggressive. "If it's a military secret," Bran demanded loudly, "why are you still yelling in the streets?" "I can tell you why!" growled Dubosco over the din of the crowd. "I'm going to this man in a fair and calm way. If there's a reason for him to do this, he can tell me and I will absolutely keep it a secret." .But he refused to give any explanation. He sent me to a café to find two strangers, two of his servants. He kicked me out, but I'm going back there, and with the backing of the people of Paris."

A cry rose into the sky, and two stones flew towards the house, one of which smashed a window pane on the balcony.The colonel, filled with righteous indignation, rushed through the arch again, only to hear shouts and roars from the house.More and more people gathered, rushing towards the door of the traitor's house like a tide, crowding onto the railings and steps, watching the scene where the Parisians stormed the Bastille Prison was about to repeat itself.At the critical moment, the shattered French windows opened, and Dr. Hirsch appeared on the balcony.In an instant, the angry crowd was almost laughing because his image looked so comical in this scene.His long, bald neck and sloping shoulders looked like a champagne bottle, but that was fine.His coat hangs lifelessly as if hanging from a coat hook; his long red hair is a weedy weed, his cheeks and chin are ringed with a beard, but there is no hair around his mouth. The raw open land looks unusually awkward.He was pale and wore blue glasses.

Dr. Hirsch's face was livid, and his speech showed a little restraint, but his attitude was decisive, so when he spoke the third sentence, the commotion crowd fell silent. "...Now I have two things to say to you. The first is to my enemies, and the second is to my friends. To my enemies I want to say: yes, I will not meet Di Bosque, Even though he was furious outside the house. Yes, I got two people to meet him for me. I'll tell you why! Because I don't want to and can't see him, because seeing him is against my dignity and principles. The court will prove that I am innocent, but until then, as a gentleman, this gentleman owes me a judgment, and I shall fight him, and in presenting him to my lieutenant, I strictly—” Armagnac and Bran waved their hats furiously, and even the Doctor's enemies cheered at the unexpected challenge, drowning out the Doctor's next words, but they heard the following: " I will say to my friends that my personal weapon of preference is pure intellect, and a civilized human being must have self-control, to the limit. But as human beings, we are inevitably dragged down by the material world and genetic factors , and often become the guideline of our conduct. My books are successful, my theories are impeccable, but politically I am greatly discriminated against by the French, and almost personally attacked. I cannot be like Clemenceau and Drew Ryder speaks like that, because they have guns in their hands, and they speak hard. The French love duels as the English love sports. In this case, I can only follow the trend and give my proof: I might as well be a savage Add to what I did, and then go back to reason for the rest of my life." Di Bosque came out quickly, satisfied.Immediately two people in the crowd came forward and offered to be Colonel Dubosco's assistant.One of them was the ordinary soldier sitting alone at a table drinking coffee, and he simply said: "Sir, I would like to be your assistant. I am the Duke of Valogne." The other was the big man, his priest The friend tried to dissuade him at first, but then walked away alone. At nightfall, in the backyard of Cafe Charlemagne, people began to enjoy a simple dinner.Although there is no glass ceiling or gilded ceiling, the guests are almost all sitting under the uneven but delicate and elegant shade, with gardening plants and trees all over the surrounding and between the dining tables, people seem to have entered a dazzling and quiet small orchard .At a table in the middle a stocky priest sat alone, eating with great concentration a plate of small whitebait in front of him.He lives a simple and restrained life on weekdays, but he also enjoys this occasional and unexpected luxury.A sober gourmand, he kept his eyes fixed on the plate, which was neatly arranged on the side of the plate with red pepper, lemon, brown bread, butter and other condiments.Just as he was devoting himself to eating, a tall shadow landed on the table, and he saw his friend Flambeau sitting across from him, looking very depressed. "I'm afraid I can't get involved with it," he said gloomily. "I'm completely on the side of French military men like Dubosc, and I'm firmly against French atheists like Hirsch. But we've made mistakes in this matter. The duke and I thought it best to look into Dubosc first SK's allegations. I have to admit, it's a good thing we did." "So the note is a fake?" asked the priest. "That's the strange thing," replied Flambeau. "That note does look like Hirsch's handwriting, no one can see the flaws. But it was not written by Hirsch. If he was a patriotic Frenchman, he could not have written this note, because it is for The Germans provided information. If he was a German spy, he couldn't have written this note, oh—because the note did not provide the Germans with any valuable information." "You mean the intelligence is wrong?" asked Father Brown. "Wrong," Flambeau replied, "and exactly where Dr. Hirsch should have been right, about exactly where his secret formula was in his own office. Hirsch and the authorities We made it easy for the Duke and I to look into the secret drawer where Hirsch kept the formula at the War Office. Apart from the inventor himself and the Secretary of the War, we were the only ones who knew the secret. However, the Secretary of the War This was done only to prevent Hirsch from going to a duel. In this way, if it turns out that Di Bosco's allegations are false, we cannot support him." "Is it false?" asked Father Brown. "It's fake," his friend said dejectedly. "The note was made up by someone who didn't know anything. It said that the papers were in the cabinet to the right of the secretary's desk. In fact, the cabinet with the secret drawer was a little farther to the left of the desk. The note also stated that a long document written in red ink was contained in a gray envelope. But in fact, the document was not written in red ink, but ordinary black ink. This document except Hirsch , no one knows. Obviously, Hirsch knows the situation of the document well enough to make such a low-level mistake; besides, he can't be regarded as helping a foreign thief by misleading a foreign thief to rummage through a completely wrong drawer. ? This is ridiculous. I think we have to call it a day and apologize to Hirsch." Father Brown seemed to be thinking, as he forked a small whitebait. "Are you sure the gray envelope is in the cabinet on the left?" he asked. "Certainly," replied Flambeau. "The gray envelope—which is actually white—is in—" Father Brown put down the silver fish and fork, and looked directly at his companion opposite. "What?" His tone changed as he pressed. "Well, what?" repeated Flambeau, eating happily. "Not grey," said the priest. "You startled me, Flambeau." "Why did it scare you?" "I'm startled by what you say about the white envelope," replied Father Brown gravely. "If only it were gray! Damn it, it better be gray. But if it's white, it's a bad thing." I'm afraid the Doctor is really playing with fire." "But I told you, he couldn't write a note like that!" cried Flambeau. "What is written on the note does not correspond to the facts at all. Whether Dr. Hirsch is innocent or guilty, he is fully aware of these facts." "The man who wrote the note has all the facts," said the priest calmly. "Otherwise, he couldn't be so precise. You have to know a lot to be wrong about everything—it's not easy being wrong about everything." "You mean—?" "I mean that if a man happens to tell a lie, there will be some element of truth in his lie," said Father Brown without doubt. "If someone asks you to find a house and tells you it has a green gate, blue shutters, a front garden but no back garden, a dog but no cats, and people in it who drink coffee, don't Drink tea. If you don't find the house, you're saying it doesn't exist. But I'm not right. I say if you find a house with a blue door, green shutters, and a back garden, But there is no front garden, cats are everywhere, but dogs are shot when they show up, and people drink tea in large quantities but are banned from drinking coffee, then you know you have found the house. Only if the man knows the house like the back of his hand does he know Quite the opposite may be described." "What would that mean?" continued Flambeau. "I can't figure it out," Brown said. "I don't understand anything about Hirsch. If it's just that the left drawer is written as the right drawer, and the black ink is written as red ink, then, as you say, I think that's It's just a forger's negligence and a typo. But it's only three, and 'three' is a magic number that ends everything. It gives this thing away. The position of the drawer, the color of the ink, the color of the envelope , not even one of them is right, it can't be a coincidence. It's not a coincidence." "What would that be? Treason?" asked Flambeau, and resumed his meal. "I don't know," said Father Brown, puzzled. "The only thing that comes to mind is that... well, I never figured out the Dreyfus case. I always get a moral grip on some things, which is easier than others. You know, I judge a man by his words status, whether his family is happy, what he likes, what he doesn't like, etc. In the case of Dreyfus, though, I feel powerless, and what puzzles me is not that both parties have done terrible things, I know (though it is not fashionable to say so) that even in a high position, human nature remains the same, and can still be as evil as Chinci or Borgia. No--, what confuses me is the performance of the two factions Honesty. I don't mean the political parties; the common people have always maintained their unsophisticated honesty and are often fooled. I mean the participants in this case. I mean the plotters, if they were conspirators at all. That A traitor, if he was a traitor. I speak of those who must know the truth. Today Dreyfus still thinks he was wronged, and French politicians and soldiers still think that Dreyfus was not Not wronged, just a bad guy. I'm not saying they're right, I'm just saying they're acting like they're sure. I can't say these things, but I know what I'm trying to say." "I wish I could understand," said Flambeau. "Then what does this have to do with Hirsch?" "Think about it, suppose a man of great confidence," went on the priest, "begins to give information to the enemy, because it is only false information; suppose he even thinks he is saving his country by misleading foreigners; suppose This put him in the spy ring, and he was not being financed, he was not connected to anyone; assuming he was always in this conflicted, confused situation, never betraying the real information to the enemy, just letting them keep going Guess. His good side, if anything, would say: 'I didn't help the enemy, I said the left drawer.' And the evil side would say: 'But they might be able to see that I was talking about the right side .' I suppose it makes sense psychologically. We live in a civilized age after all, and you know what I mean." "From a psychological point of view, it may be possible," replied Flambeau, "and it would certainly explain why Dreyfus found himself wronged, while the judges were sure he was guilty. But history is immutable." , because Dreyfus's intelligence (if it did come from him) is literally accurate." "I'm not thinking of Dreyfus," said Father Brown. The people around them went to the empty table and became quiet.It was getting late, but the sun was still visible everywhere, as if accidentally entangled in the branches and leaves, unable to get away.In the silence Flambeau jerked his chair with a loud noise, put his elbows on the back of the chair, and said gruffly: "Oh, if Hirsch is really a cowardly traitor . . . ..." "You can't be hard on them," said Father Brown mildly. "It's not entirely their fault; but they lack instinct. I mean the kind that make a woman refuse to dance with a certain man, or a man avoid a certain investment." That intuition. People have been taught that there’s a sense of proportion in everything.” "Anyway," exclaimed Flambeau impatiently, "this kind of man doesn't deserve to be compared with my duelists at all, and I'm going to finish it off. Du Bosque may be a little crazy, but he's one of them." patriot." Father Brown continued to eat his silverfish. The indifference with which he ate the fish made Flambeau look again at the priest, and the pupils of his black eyes almost burst into flames. "What's the matter with you?" Flambeau demanded harshly. "Dubosque is a patriot, do you doubt him?" "My friend," said the priest, putting down his knife and fork almost in desperation, "I doubt everything, I mean everything that happened today. Although I have seen the whole process with my own eyes, I doubt all of it. I doubt that since this morning Everything I saw. This case is very different from the average criminal case. In ordinary cases, one person is more or less lying and the other is more or less telling the truth. And what I saw Two... well, I've given you every explanation I can think of that would satisfy anyone. But it doesn't satisfy me." "Nor am I," replied Flambeau, frowning.The priest, on the other hand, continued to eat his fish as if you could figure it out. "If you could only suggest that what was written in that note was true, I'd take it as brilliant cleverness, but ... well, what do you call it?" Flambeau asked. "I should say it's not convincing," replied the priest quickly. "I should say it's absolutely unconvincing. But that's what makes the whole thing weird. It's like a schoolboy lie. There's only three explanations here: Di Bosco's, Hirsch's, and I imagine. The note was either written by a French officer to discredit a French officer; or by a French officer to help a German officer; or by a French officer to mislead a German officer. Well, you would think, There must be something different about this secret note passed between government officials, military officers, etc. You think: there may be code words hidden in it, there must be unexplained acronyms; there may be some Rigorous scientific or technical terminology. But the content of this note is deliberately considered, and the content is obvious and clear at a glance: it is simply 'There is no silver three hundred taels here,' it seems... as if it is intentional for you to see through it at a glance Like." Before they had time to think about it, a short man in French military uniform came to their table like a gust of wind and sat down. "I have some startling news," said the Duke of Valogne. "I just came from the Colonel. He was packing his bags to leave the country and he asked us to come down and apologize on his behalf." "What?" cried Flambeau, suspecting something was wrong with his ears—"Apologize?" "Yes," said the duke stiffly, "in front of everyone, when the sword should have been drawn. You and I must go and apologize for him, and he's gone abroad." "What does that mean?" cried Flambeau. "He shouldn't be afraid of that little Hirsch! Damn it!" Flambeau was angry, but he didn't lose his temper: "No one should be afraid of Hirsch!" "I think it must be a conspiracy," said Valogne eagerly, "a conspiracy played by the Jews and the Masonics. They want to improve Hirsch's reputation by this-" Father Brown's expression was calm as usual, but he showed inexplicable satisfaction.His expression is at times ignorant and at other times wise.But there was always a flash of light at the moment when the mask of stupidity fell off and was transformed into a mask of wisdom, and Flambeau knew his friend well enough to know that Father Brown had suddenly realized.Father Brown didn't say anything, but just ate the fish on his plate. "Where did you last see this noble colonel?" asked Flambeau impatiently. "He's near the Hotel Saint-Louis, next to the Elysee Palace. We drove with him. I told you he was packing." "Do you think he's still there?" said Flambeau, frowning, looking at the table. "I don't think he's gone yet," replied the duke. "He's going to have a lot to pack—" "No," said Father Brown briefly, but stood up abruptly. "It's a short trip. A shortest one, in fact, but if we take a taxi we might catch him." Along the way, Father Brown refused to say another word, and the taxi drove straight to a corner near the St. Louis Hotel and stopped.After getting off the car, the priest led them into a side alley.The twilight was getting thicker, and the alley was already dark.When the Duke asked impatiently at one point whether Dr. Hirsch was guilty of treason at all, Father Brown replied absently: "No, just ambition—like Caesar." Then, somewhat irrelevantly, he added: " He lives alone, alone, and has to do everything himself." "Well, if he had ambitions, he should be satisfied now," said Flambeau sharply. "All Parisians will cheer, the damned colonel is running away with his tail between his legs." "Not so loudly," whispered Father Brown, "the colonel you curse is ahead." The other two were taken aback and retreated into the shadows by the wall, because they did see the sturdy figure of the fleeing duelist, carrying a bag in each hand, stepping forward in the night. walking.He looked the same as when they'd first met, only the traditional pair of trousers had been replaced by the fancy hiking shorts.It was obvious that he had sneaked out of the hotel. The alley they followed seemed to be the back of some building, like walking behind a stage set.On one side of the alley stretched a drab wall, with the occasional dark, dirty door, all closed, in the middle; except for some chalk graffiti left by the waifs who passed by, all of them were so tasteless.Sometimes you can see the canopy of trees exposed on the top of the wall, most of which are depressing evergreens; further back, against the gray-purple sky, you can see the long terrace roofs behind the tall buildings where Parisians live. Quite close, as if connected into one marble mountain.On the other side of the lane was a dark park, separated by high gilded railings. Flambeau looked around with a strange expression on his face. "You know what?" he said, "there's something about this place—" "Hi!" cried the Duke, "that man has disappeared. Like a damned elf, gone." "He has the key," explained Father Brown. "He must have slipped in through some garden door," as they spoke, they heard an inconspicuous wooden door in front of them "click" shut. Flambeau hurried forward a few steps.The door closed almost in his face.He stood in the doorway for a moment, twirling his black mustache with curiosity and irritation.Then he stretched his arms, and with a monkey-like thump, he climbed up to the top of the wall, where he stood like a black canopy against the purple night sky. The Duke looked at the priest. "Di Bosque's escape plan was much more complicated than we thought," he said, "but I think he is preparing to flee France." "He is fleeing," replied Father Brown. Valogne's eyes lit up, but her voice sank. "You mean he's going to kill himself?" "You will not find his body," replied the priest. Flambeau on the wall let out an exclamation. "My God," he said in French, "I recognize this place! Well, it's the street behind old Hirsch's house. I think I can recognize a person's back and a building the back of the house." "So Dubosc has really gone in!" cried the Duke, slapping his buttocks vigorously, "ah, they're going to meet after all!" With a sudden burst of French vigor, he leaped nimbly up the wall, beside Flambeau Sit down and kick your legs excitedly.The priest remained alone below, leaning against the wall with his back to the theater where a good play was about to take place.He looked thoughtfully at the distant park fence and the grove looming in the twilight. The Duke's aristocratic nature remained unchanged, and he found it exciting, wanting to observe the house openly instead of peeping, but Flambeau, with his burglar (and detective) instincts, had already leaped from the wall to the A tree with overgrown branches, so that he could crawl along a branch and approach a window that was the only light from the dark back of the tall house.The red curtains had been drawn, but one side was not fully down, exposing a gap.Flambeau ventured along a branch, almost to the end.He craned his neck to look in through the opening and saw Colonel Dubosco walking up and down the bright and luxurious bedroom.Though Flambeau was near the house, he could still hear what his companion was saying over the wall, and repeating it in a low voice. "Yes, they are finally meeting." "They'll never meet," said Father Brown. "Hirsch's right that duelists don't meet for things like this. Have you read that curious psychological novel by Henry James? There are two people who always Missing each other by accident makes them both start to fear each other and think it's meant to be. That's what our story is about, it's just weirder." "In Paris there is someone who can cure them of this paranoia," said the Duke of Valogne viciously. "If we catch them and force them to duel, they will have to meet." "Even on Judgment Day, they will not meet," the priest said. "Should the Almighty have raised his scepter and signaled the battle, had St. will come." "Hey, this is too amazing," the Duke cried impatiently: "Why can't they meet like normal people?" "They're the opposite of each other," replied Father Brown, with a wry smile on his face. "They are contradictory bodies that are opposed to each other. It can also be said that they will replace each other." He continued to stare at the darkening woods across the way.Flambeau couldn't help uttering an exclamation, and Valogne turned her head away.Flambeau, who had been looking towards the lighted room, saw the Colonel enter the room, take a step or two forward, and begin to take off his coat.The first thought that crossed Flambeau's mind was that a duel was really going to happen, but he soon changed his mind.Du Bosque's solid, broad chest and shoulders were all padded, and they came off with the coat.He was a thin man in only a shirt and trousers.He crossed the bedroom and headed for the bathroom, with no sign of a duel other than to wash up.He bent over to wash his face, dried his wet hands and face with a towel, turned around again, and the bright light shone on his face.His brown face was gone, as was his bushy black beard.It was a clean-shaven, pale face.除了那双鹰隼般锐利的褐色眼睛外，浑身上下丝毫看不到上校的影子。墙下的布朗神父仍然沉浸在苦思冥想中，似乎在自言自语： “正如我对弗朗博说过的那样。这些对立面不合常理。它们不成立。它们不会有冲突。如果双方非黑即白，不是固体就是液体，诸如此类的方面统统相反——那么一定有什么地方出问题了，先生，一定有什么地方不对劲。这两个人，一个金发，另一个黑发；一个矮胖，另一个瘦削；一个强壮，另一个虚弱。一个有八字须但没有山羊胡，因此你看不见他的嘴唇；另一个有山羊胡但没有八字须，所以你看不到他的下巴。一个人剃短了头发，却用围巾裹住脖子；另一个人穿着低领衬衫，却一头长发。凡此种种的对应关系实在是严丝合缝，先生，这里面一定存在问题。如此截然相反的两个人不可能发生争吵的情况。无论何时何地，一个亮相，另一个就不见了。两者的关系就如一张是面孔，另一张是面具；一个是锁，另一个是钥匙……” 弗朗博脸色煞白，凝视着屋里。房间主人背对着他站在一面镜子前，他已经在脸上贴好了一圈茂密的红发，那圈红发歪歪扭扭地从头上垂下来，紧贴着下巴，只露出带着讥讽意味的嘴。他看到镜中反射着一张苍白的脸，像犹大一样狞笑着，地狱之火在他周边熊熊燃烧。目睹眼前的景象，弗朗博不由得心头一紧。他看到一双凶光毕露的红褐色眼睛，随即又被一副蓝色眼镜遮住了。他披上一件宽松的黑色外套，朝房前走去，很快便消失了。不一会儿，对面街上传来一阵欢呼声，宣告希尔施博士又一次出现在阳台上。