介绍:
下拉有英文文稿
Three tables away sat a group of young men, one of whom had a nose that looked as if it had been in an argument with a fist. His skin was pockmarked and he was talking loudly about the rights of citizens. He had no doubt drunk more than a skinful of wine, for he kept standing up and shouting out: “Citizens, the wind is changing! The old regime will be blown away. All is dust, all is dust!” His friends quickly pulled him back down onto his seat. Yann had been watching all this intently and did not at first notice Têtu wrapping his scarf about him and putting on his hat. “Where are you going?”
“I have someone to see. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. You are to wait here for me. If Milkeye comes looking for us, make yourself scarce.” Têtu set off purposefully, across the Pont Marie toward the left bank. He knew that he had to get the boy out of Paris. The only hope of doing so lay with a friend of his, the English banker Charles Cordell. He walked on, remembering the night all those years ago at the theater in Le Havre, it was the first time met Cordell. The two of them had struck up an unlikely friendship. Their mutual interest, to begin with at least, was magic, for Cordell fancied himself something of an amateur conjurer. Cordell soon realized that prejudice made people underestimate the dwarf. Têtu was not taken seriously, so he was told things other men would never have heard. Ladies confided in him, young men spouted their views. The dwarf listened to the gossip of the coffeehouses, the prittle-prattle of the salons, and the oratory of the clubs. Cordell, like Têtu, knew that these places were where the real intrigue lay. The two would meet regularly at the Café Royal,where Têtu would tell Cordell all he had heard and seen. This information gave the banker a clearer idea of what was going on and how best to advise his clients. The snow was still falling as Têtu made his way toward the rue du Dragon, with its grand, imposing houses. They stood waiting for what felt like a lifetime before a housekeeper came hurrying out, carrying a lantern. “Is Monsieur Cordell in? I need to see him urgently. Will you say that Têtu is here?” The housekeeper went inside, closing the door behind her. Têtu stood waiting, stamping his feet and blowing on his frozen hands. The door opened again and he was shown into the hall. His teeth were chattering as the housekeeper took his coat, hat, and scarf. He stamped the snow off his shoes as he heard the door above him open, and looked up the stairwell at Charles Cordell. Têtu had never been more pleased to see his friend’s grave, bespectacled face.
“Why, my dear friend, you look half frozen.” said Cordell, coming forward with his hand outstretched.
“I need your help. I am in a great deal of trouble,” said Têtu. And before he had even been taken into the elegant drawing room he had told Cordell the story of Topolain’s death. “This is a great loss,” said Cordell, taking Têtu over to the fire and bringing out a bottle of cognac,“So . . . Kalliovski . . .” Têtu nodded:“I have been a complete idiot,” he said angrily. “I knew he was a master of disguise, yet I too was nearly taken in by him. Do you know what gave him away? His hands, his large, ugly hands.”
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