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In such risings of fire and risings of sea--the firm earth shaken by the rushes of an angry ocean which had now no ebb, but was always on the flow, higher and higher, to the tenor and wonder of the beholders on the shore--three years of tempest were consumed. Three more birthdays of little Lucie had been woven by the golden thread into the peaceful tissue of the life of her home.
Many a night and many a day had its inmates listened to the echoes in the corner, with hearts that failed them when they heard the thronging feet. For, the footsteps had become to their minds as the footsteps of a people, tumultuous under a red flag and
with their country declared in danger, changed into wild beasts, by terrible enchantment long persisted in.
Monseigneur, as a class, had dissociated himself from the phenomenon of his not being appreciated: of his being so little wanted in France, as to incur considerable danger of receiving his dismissal from it, and this life together. Like the fabled rustic who raised the Devil with infinite pains, and was so terrified at the sight of him that he could ask the Enemy no question, but immediately fled; so, Monseigneur, after boldly reading the Lord's Prayer backwards for a great number of years, and performing many other potent spells for compelling the Evil One, no sooner beheld him in his terrors than he took to his noble heels.
The shining Bull's Eye of the Court was gone, or it would have been the mark for a hurricane of national bullets. It had never been a good eye to see with--had long had the mote in it of Lucifer's pride, Sardanapalus's luxury, and a mole's blindness--but it had dropped out and was gone. The Court, from that exclusive inner circle to its outermost rotten ring of intrigue, corruption, and dissimulation, was all gone together. Royalty was gone; had been besieged in its Palace and `suspended,' when the last tidings came over.
The August of the year one thousand seven hundred and ninety-two was come, and Monseigneur was by this time scattered far and wide.
As was natural, the head-quarters and great gathering-place of Monseigneur, in London, was Tellson's Bank. Spirits are supposed to haunt the places where their bodies most resorted, and Monseigneur without a guinea haunted the spot where his guineas used to be. Moreover, it was the spot to which such French intelligence as was most to be relied upon, came quickest. Again: Tellson's was a munificent house, and extended great liberality to old customers who had fallen from their high estate. Again: those nobles who had seen the coming storm in time, and anticipating plunder or confiscation, had made provident remittances to Tellson's, were always to be heard of there by their needy brethren. To which it must be added that every new comer from France reported himself and his tidings at Tellson's, almost as a matter of course. For such variety of reasons,
Tellson's was at that time, as to French intelligence, a kind of High Exchange; and this was so well known to the public, and the inquiries made there were in consequence so numerous, that Tellson's sometimes wrote the latest news out in a line or so and posted it in the Bank windows, for all who ran through Temple Bar to read.
On a steaming, misty afternoon, Mr. Lorry sat at his desk, and Charles Darnay stood leaning on it, talking with him in a low voice. The penitential den once set apart for interviews with the House, was now the news-Exchange, and was filled to overflowing. It was within half an hour or so of the time of closing.
`But, although you are the youngest man that ever lived,' said Charles Darnay, rather hesitating, `I must still suggest to you---'
`I understand. That I am too old?' said Mr. Lorry.
`Unsettled weather, a long journey, uncertain means of travelling, a disorganised country, a city that may not be even safe for you.'
`My dear Charles,' said Mr. Lorry, with cheerful confidence, you touch some of the reasons for my going: not for my staying away. It is safe enough for me; nobody will care to interfere with an old fellow of hard upon four-score when there are so many people there much better worth interfering with. As to its being a disorganised city, if it were not a disorganised city there would be no occasion to send somebody from our House here to our House there, who knows the city and the business, of old, and is in Tellson's confidence. As to the uncertain travelling, the long journey, and the winter weather, if I were not prepared to submit myself to a few inconveniences for the sake of Tellson's, after all these years, who ought to be?'
`I wish I were going myself,' said Charles Darnay, somewhat restlessly, and like one thinking aloud.
`Indeed! You are a pretty fellow to object and advise!' exclaimed Mr. Lorry. `You wish you were going yourself? And you a Frenchman born? You are a wise counsellor.'
`My dear Mr. Lorry, it is because I am a Frenchman born, that the thought (which I did not mean to utter here, however) has passed through my mind often. One cannot help thinking, having had some sympathy for the miserable people, and having abandoned something to them,' he spoke here in his former thoughtful manner, `that one might be listened to, and might have the power to persuade to some restraint. Only last night, after you had left us, when I was talking to Lucie---'
`When you were talking to Lucie,' Mr. Lorry repeated. `Yes. I wonder you are not ashamed to mention the name of Lucie! Wishing you were going to France at this time of day!'
`However, I am not going,' said Charles Darnay, with a smile. `It is more to the purpose that you say you are.'
`And I am, in plain reality. The truth is, my dear Charles,' Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and lowered his voice, `you can have no conception of the difficulty with which our business is transacted, and of the peril in which our books and papers over yonder are involved. The Lord above knows what the compromising consequences would be to numbers of people, if some of our documents were seized or destroyed; and they might be, at any time, you know, for who can say that Paris is not set a-fire to-day, or sacked to-morrow! Now, a judicious selection from these with the least possible delay, and the burying of them, or otherwise getting of them out of harm's way, is within the power (without loss of precious time) of scarcely any one but myself, if any one. And shall I hang back, when Tellson's knows this and says this--Tellson's, whose bread I have eaten these
sixty years--because I am a little stiff about the joints? Why, I am a boy, sir, to half a dozen old codgers here!'
`How I admire the gallantry of your youthful spirit, Mr. Lorry.'
`Tut! Nonsense, sir!--And, my dear Charles,' said Mr. Lorry, glancing at the House again, `you are to remember, that getting things out of Paris at this present time, no matter what things, is next to an impossibility. Papers and precious matters were this very day brought to us here (I speak in strict confidence; it is not business-like to whisper it, even to you), by the strangest bearers you cap imagine, every one of whom had his head hanging on by a single hair as he passed the Barriers. At another time, our parcels would come and go, as easily as in business-like Old England; but now, everything is stopped.'
`And do you really go to-night?'
`I really go to-night, for the case has become too pressing to admit of delay.'
`And do you take no one with you?'
`All sorts of people have been proposed to me, but I will have nothing to say to any of them. I intend to take Jerry. Jerry has been my body-guard on Sunday nights for a long time past, and I am used to him. Nobody will suspect Jerry of being anything but an English bull-dog, or of having any design in his head but to fly at anybody who touches his master.'
`I must say again that I heartily admire your gallantry and youthfulness.'
`I must say again, nonsense, nonsense! When I have executed this little commission, I shall, perhaps, accept Tellson's proposal to retire and live at my ease. Time enough, then, to think about growing old.'
This dialogue had taken place at Mr. Lorry's usual desk, with Monseigneur swarming within a yard or two of it, boastful of what he would do to avenge himself on the rascal-people before long. It was too much the way of Monseigneur under his reverses as a refugee, and it was much too much the way of native British orthodoxy, to talk of this terrible Revolution as if it were the one only harvest ever known under the skies that had not been sown--as if nothing had ever been done, or omitted to be done, that had led to it--as if observers of the wretched millions in France, and of the misused and perverted resources that should have made them prosperous, had not seen it inevitably coming, years before, and had not in plain words recorded what they saw. Such vapouring, combined with the extravagant plots of Monseigneur for the restoration of a state of things that had utterly exhausted itself, and worn out Heaven and earth as well as itself, was hard to be endured without some remonstrance by any sane man who knew the truth. And it was such vapouring all about his ears, like a troublesome confusion of blood in his own head, added to a latent uneasiness in his mind, which had already made Charles Darnay restless, and which still kept him so.
Among the talkers, was Stryver, of the King's Bench Bar, far on his way to state promotion, and, therefore, loud on the theme: broaching to Monseigneur, his devices for blowing the people up and exterminating them from the face of the earth, and doing without them: and for accomplishing many similar objects akin in their nature to the abolition of eagles by sprinkling salt on the tails of the race. Him, Darnay heard with a particular feeling of objection; and Darnay stood divided between going away that he might hear no more, and remaining to interpose his word, when the thing that was to be went on to shape itself out.
The House approached Mr. Lorry, and laying a soiled and unopened letter before him, asked if he had yet discovered any traces of the person to whom it was addressed? The House laid the letter down so close to Darnay that he saw the direction--the more quickly because it was his own right name. The address, turned into English, ran:
`Very pressing. To Monsieur heretofore the Marquis St. Evrémonde, of France. Confided to the cares of Messrs. Tellson and Go., Bankers, London, England.'
On the marriage morning, Dr. Manette had made it his one urgent and express request to Charles Darnay, that the secret of this name should be--unless he, the Doctor, dissolved the obligation--kept inviolate between them. Nobody else knew it to be his name; his own wife had no suspicion of the fact; Mr. Lorry could have none.
`No,' said Mr. Lorry, in reply to the House; `I have referred it, I think, to everybody now here, and no one can tell me where this gentleman is to be found.'
The hands of the clock verging upon the hour of closing the Bank, there was a general set of the current of talkers past Mr. Lorry's desk. He held the letter out inquiringly; and Monseigneur looked at it, in the person of this plotting and indignant refugee; and Monseigneur looked at it, in the person of that plotting and indignant refugee; and This, That, and The Other, all had something disparaging to say, in French or in English, concerning the Marquis who was not to be found.
`Nephew, I believe--but in any case degenerate successor--of the polished Marquis who was murdered,' said one. `Happy to say, I never knew him.'
`A craven who abandoned his post,' said another--this Monseigneur had been got out of Paris, legs uppermost and half suffocated, in a load of hay--`some years ago.'
`Infected with the new doctrines,' said a third, eyeing the direction through his glass in passing; `set himself in opposition to the last Marquis, abandoned the estates when he inherited them, and left them to the ruffian herd. They will recompense him now, I hope, as he deserves.'
`Hey?' cried the blatant Stryver. `Did he though? Is that the sort of fellow? Let us look at his infamous name. D--n the fellow!'
Darnay, unable to restrain himself any longer, touched Mr. Stryver on the shoulder, and said:
`I know the fellow.'
`Do you, by Jupiter?' said Stryver. `I am sorry for it.'
`Why?'
`Why, Mr. Darnay? D'ye hear what he did? Don't ask, why, in these times.'
`But I do ask why.'
`Then I tell you again, Mr. Darnay, I am sorry for it. I am sorry to hear you putting any such extraordinary questions. Here is a fellow, who, infected by the most pestilent and blasphemous code of devilry that ever was known, abandoned his property to the vilest scum of the earth that ever did murder by wholesale, and you ask me why I am sorry that a man who instructs youth knows him? Well, but I'll answer you. I am sorry because I believe there is contamination in such a scoundrel. That's why.'
Mindful of the secret, Darnay with great difficulty checked himself, and said: `You may not understand the gentleman.'
`I understand how to put you in a corner, Mr. Darnay,' said Bully Stryver, `and I'll do it. If this fellow is a gentleman, I don't understand him. You may tell him so, with my compliments. You may also tell him, from me, that after abandoning his worldly goods and position to this butcherly mob, I wonder he is not at the head of them. But, no, gentlemen,' said Stryver, looking all round, and snapping his fingers, `I know something of human nature, and I tell you that you'll never find a fellow like this fellow, trusting himself to the mercies of such precious protégés. No, gentlemen; he'll always show `em a clean pair of heels very early
in the scuffle, and sneak away.'
With those words, and a final snap of his fingers, Mr. Stryver shouldered himself into Fleet-street, amidst the general approbation of his hearers. Mr. Lorry and Charles Darnay were left alone at the desk, in the general departure from the Bank.
`Will you take charge of the letter?' said Mr. Lorry. `You know where to deliver it?'
`I do.'
`Will you undertake to explain, that we suppose it to have been addressed here, on the chance of our knowing where to forward it, and that it has been here some time?'
`I will do so. Do you start for Paris from here?'
`From here, at eight.'
`I will come back, to see you off.'
Very ill at ease with himself, and with Stryver and most other men, Darnay made the best of his way into the quiet of the Temple, opened the letter, and read it. These were its contents:
`Prison of the Abbaye, Paris.
June 21, 1792.
MONSIEUR HERETOFORE THE MARQUIS,
`After having long been in danger of my life at the hands of the village, I have been seized, with great violence and indignity, and brought a long journey on foot to Paris. On the road I have suffered a great deal. Nor is that all; my house has been destroyed--razed to the ground.
`The crime for which I am imprisoned, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, and for which I shall be summoned before the tribunal, and shall lose my life (without your so generous help), is, they tell me, treason against the majesty of the people, in that I have acted against them for an emigrant. It is in vain I represent that I have acted for them, and not against, according to your commands. It is in vain I represent that, before the sequestration of
emigrant property, I had remitted the imposts they had ceased to pay; that I had collected no rent; that I had had recourse to no process. The only response is, that I have acted for an emigrant, and where is that emigrant?
`Ah! most gracious Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, where is that emigrant? I cry in my sleep where is he? I demand of Heaven, will he not come to deliver me? No answer. Ah Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I send my desolate cry across the sea, hoping it may perhaps reach your ears through the great bank of Tilson known at Paris!
`For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name, I supplicate you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, to succour and release me. My fault is, that I have been true to you. Oh Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, I pray you be you true to me!
`From this prison here of horror, whence I every hour tend nearer and nearer to destruction, I send you, Monsieur heretofore the Marquis, the assurance of my dolorous and unhappy service.
`Your afflicted
`GABELLE'
The latent uneasiness in Darnay's mind was roused to vigorous life by this letter. The peril of an old servant and a good one, whose only crime was fidelity to himself and his family, stared him so reproachfully in the face, that, as he walked to and fro in the Temple considering what to do, he almost hid his face from the passers-by.
He knew very well, that in his horror of the deed which had culminated the bad deeds and bad reputation of the old family house, in his resentful suspicions of his uncle, and in the aversion with which his conscience regarded the crumbling fabric that he was supposed to uphold, he had acted imperfectly. He knew very well, that in his love for Lucie, his renunciation of his social place, though by no means new to his own mind, had been hurried and incomplete. He knew that he ought to have systematically worked it out and supervised it, and that he had meant to do it, and that it had never been done.
The happiness of his own chosen English home, the necessity of being always actively employed, the swift changes and troubles of the time which had followed on one another so fast, that the events of this week annihilated the immature plans of last week, and the events of the week following made all new again; he knew very well, that to the force of these circumstances he had yielded :--not without disquiet, but still without continuous and accumulating resistance. That he had watched the times for a time of action, and that they had shifted and struggled until the time had gone by, and the nobility were trooping from France by every highway and byway, and their property was in course of confiscation and destruction, and their very names were blotting out, was as well known to himself as it could be to any new authority in France that might impeach him for it.
But, he had oppressed no man, he had imprisoned no man; he was so far from having harshly exacted payment of his dues, that he had relinquished them of his own will, thrown himself on a world with no favour in it, won his own private place there, and earned his own bread. Monsieur Gabelle had held the impoverished and involved estate on written instructions, to spare the people, to give them what little there was to give--such fuel as the heavy creditors would let them have in the winter, and such produce as could be saved from the same grip in the summer--and no doubt he had put the fact in plea and proof, for his own safety, so that it could not but appear now.
This favoured the desperate resolution Charles Darnay had begun to make, that he would go to Paris.
Yes. Like the mariner in the old story, the winds and streams had driven him within the influence of the Loadstone Rock, and it was drawing him to itself, and he must go. Everything that arose before his mind drifted him on, faster and faster, more and more steadily, to the terrible attraction. His latent uneasiness had been, that bad aims were being worked out in his own unhappy land by bad instruments, and that he who could not fail to know that he was better than they, was not there, trying to do something to stay bloodshed, and assert the claims of mercy and humanity. With this uneasiness half stifled, and half reproaching him, he had been brought to the pointed comparison of himself with the brave old gentleman in whom duty was so strong; upon that comparison (injurious to himself) had instantly followed the sneers of Monseigneur, which had stung him bitterly, and those of Stryver, which above all were coarse and galling, for old reasons. Upon those, had followed Gabelle's letter: the appeal of an innocent prisoner, in danger of death, to his justice, honour, and good name.
His resolution was made. He must go to Paris.
Yes. The Loadstone Rock was drawing him, and he must sail on, until he struck. He knew of no rock; he saw hardly any danger. The intention with which he had done what he had done, even although he had left it incomplete, presented it before him in an aspect that would be gratefully acknowledged in France on his presenting himself to assert it. Then, that glorious vision of doing good, which is so often the sanguine mirage of so many good minds, arose before him, and he even saw himself in the illusion with some influence to guide this raging Revolution that was running so fearfully wild.
As he walked to and fro with his resolution made, he considered that neither Lucie nor her father must know of it until he was gone. Lucie should be spared the pain of separation; and her father, always reluctant to turn his thoughts towards the dangerous ground of old, should come to the knowledge of the step, as a step taken, and not in the balance of suspense and doubt. How much of the incompleteness of his situation was referable to her father, through the painful anxiety to avoid reviving old associations of France in his mind, he did not discuss with himself. But, that circumstance too, had had its influence in his
course.
He walked to and fro, with thoughts very busy, until it was time to return to Tellson's and take leave of Mr. Lorry. As soon as he arrived in Paris he would present himself to this old friend, but he must say nothing of his intention now.
A carriage with post-horses was ready at the Bank door, and Jerry was booted and equipped.
`I have delivered that letter,' said Charles Darnay to Mr. Lorry. `I would not consent to your being charged with any written answer, but perhaps you will take a verbal one?'
`That I will, and readily,' said Mr. Lorry, `if it is not dangerous.'
`Not at all. Though it is to a prisoner in the Abbaye.'
`What is his name?' said Mr. Lorry, with his open pocket-book in his hand.
`Gabelle.'
`Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle in prison?'
`Simply, "that he has received the letter, and will come."'
`Any time mentioned?'
`He will start upon his journey to-morrow night.'
`Any person mentioned?'
`No.'
He helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and cloaks, and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the old Bank, into the misty air of Fleet-street. `My love to Lucie, and to little Lucie,' said Mr. Lorry at parting, `and take precious care of them till I come back.' Charles Darnay shook his head and doubtfully smiled, as the carriage rolled away.
That night--it was the fourteenth of August--he sat up late, and wrote two fervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the strong obligation he was under to go to Paris, and showing her, at length, the reasons that he had, for feeling confident that he could become involved in no personal danger there; the other was to the Doctor, confiding Lucie and their dear child to his care, and dwelling on the same topics with the strongest assurances. To both, he wrote that he would despatch letters in proof of his safety, immediately after his arrival.
It was a hard day, that day of being among them, with the first reservation of their joint lives on his mind. It was a hard matter to preserve the innocent deceit of which they were profoundly unsuspicious. But, an affectionate glance at his wife, so happy and busy, made him resolute not to tell her what impended (he had been half moved to do it, so strange it was to him to act in anything without her quiet aid), and the day passed quickly away. Early in the evening he embraced her, and her scarcely less dear namesake, pretending that he would return by-and-by (an imaginary engagement took him out, and he had secreted a valise of clothes ready), and so he emerged into the heavy mist of the heavy streets, with a heavier heart.
The unseen force was drawing him fast to itself, now, and all the tides and winds were setting straight and strong towards it. He left his two letters with a trusty porter, to be delivered half an hour before midnight, and no sooner; took horse for Dover; and began his journey. `For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the honour of your noble name!' was the poor prisoner's cry with which he strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was dear on earth behind him, and floated away for the Loadstone Rock.
THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK 三年的疾风暴雨就在这样的烈火熊熊、人潮汹涌中过去了一一愤怒的海洋一浪高过一浪，冲击着坚实的地面，永远向前奔腾，从不后退，让岸上的入看得心惊胆战，目眩神骇。小露西的三个生日的金丝又织进了她家庭生活的平静的经纬里。
那屋里的人曾在多少个日日夜夜里谛听过街角的回声，他们听见众多的杂沓脚步声便总不禁心慌意乱。因为那种声音在他们心里已成了一个民族的脚步声，它在一面红色旗帜之下奔腾激荡，宣布他们的国家处于危急之中，并被一种旷日持久的魔法变作了疯狂的野兽。
老爷们已经没有人欣赏。他们在法兰西已没有人需要，因此大有被全部赶走的危险，甚至连性命也难保，可是老爷们作为一个阶级又已摆脱了跟这种现象的关系。正如寓言中那个乡巴佬一样，煞费力气请出了魔鬼，却叫魔鬼吓得魂不附体，立即逃之夭夭，再也不敢向他提出问题了。老爷们也是这样，在大胆地倒着念主祷文多年之后，在使用了许多召唤魔鬼的强力符咒之后，终于见到了魔鬼的狰狞形象，却只好撒开高贵的脚丫子逃掉。
当年宫廷里珠光宝气的牛眼明灯已经不见了，否则全国的子弹风暴准会给它们穿上许多窟窿。明灯从来不可信，不能靠他们照亮问题。他们有毛病，有路西福的骄傲，萨丹纳帕拉斯的奢侈和鼹鼠的盲目——可是他们已经落伍了，消失了。宫廷，从排他性的核心到最外层的阴险、贪婪、骄奢淫逸的腐朽圈子，也全都消失了。王权消失了：先在宫殿里受到围困，而在最后的消息到达时，它便被“暂停”了。
一千七百九十二年八月到了，老爷们此刻已经风流云散，逃到了天涯海角。
老爷们把他们在伦敦的首脑部和会议厅设在台尔森银行乃是顺理成章的事。据说鬼魂喜欢在生前常到的地方出没，因此没有了钱的老爷们也常在他们过去存钱的地方出没。何况那儿有关法国的消息来得最快，又最为可靠。再有，台尔森银行是个最慷慨大方的地方，对于从高位跌落的老主顾常给予阔绰的援助。而那些及时预见到即将来临的风暴、看出会有抢掠和没收的危险而事先把钱汇到台尔森银行的贵族们，总有他们手头拮据的弟兄们来打听消息。还必须加上一条，每一个从法国来的人都几乎理所当然地要到台尔森报到，同时报告自己的行踪。由于诸如此类的原因，台尔森银行那时简直就成了法国情报的高级交换站。由于此事已是众所周知，所以前来打听消息的人络绎不绝，台尔森有时便把最新消息扼要写出，贴在银行墙壁上，让路过伦敦法学会的人观看。
一个雾气沉沉的郁闷的下午，罗瑞先生坐在办公桌边，查尔斯.达尔内靠桌站着跟他低声谈话。这几是当年的悔罪室，后来作过“银行当局”的接待室，现在变成了新闻交换站，人多得挤不下。离关门时间已不到半小时。
“可是，即使你是世界上最年轻的人，”查尔斯.达尔内相当犹豫地说，“我仍然要建议你一—”
“我明白。你是想说我年纪太大？”罗瑞先生说。
“气候多变，路又远，旅行工具又没有把握，再加上一个四分五裂的国家、一个就连你去怕也不安全的城市。”
“我亲爱的查尔斯，”罗瑞先生快活而自信地说，“你正好说中了我应该去，而不是不该去的理由。我去是安全的。那儿有那么多值得干扰的人，谁会来干扰我这个快八十岁的老头子呢！至于说城市混乱，要不是因为城市混乱，这边银行干吗往那边银行派人呢—一那得是台尔森信得过的人，而且了解那边城市和业务的一贯情况的人。至于路远、车船困难和冬天的气候，我在台尔森这么多年，银行有了困难我不去谁去？”
“我倒希望我能去，”查尔斯.达尔内略觉不安地说，好像是在自言自语。
“够呛！给你出主意，或是要反对你，实在太困难！”罗瑞先生叫了起来。“你是在法国出生的，可你竟想去？你可真会出主意！”
“我亲爱的罗瑞先生，正因为我出生在法国，我才常有这种想法（不过我并不曾打算在这儿细谈）。我对受苦受难的人民有一定的同情，还放弃了一些东西给他们，因此也就不禁以为别人会听我的话，我可能有力量劝说他们掌握好分寸，”说到这儿他恢复了一向的深思态度说，“就在昨天晚上你离开之后，我还跟露西谈起一一”
你跟露西谈起，”罗瑞重复他的话，“是的。我真不明白你提起露西的名字怎么会不脸红！在这种时候竟然想到法国去！”
“可是，我并没有去，”查尔斯.达尔内微笑着说。“是因为你说起要到法国去，我才说的。”
“可我确实要去法国。事实是，亲爱的查尔斯，”罗瑞先生瞟了一眼远处的“银行当局”，放低了嗓子，“你想象不出我们做业务有多么困难，那边的帐册文件又有多么大的危险。上帝才知道，若是我们某些文件被抢走或毁掉，会造成多么严重的后果。而那是很可能的。因为，你知道，谁也难以保证巴黎城今天就不会毁于大火，明天就不会遭到洗劫！现在必须不失时机地对这些帐册文件进行准确选择，把它们埋到地下或藏到安全的地方去。而能办好这事一—如果还有人能办到的话——却又不致浪费宝贵的时间的就只有我，别的人都不行。台尔森知道这一点，而且提出了要求，我能退缩么？我吃台尔森的面包已经六十年了！只因为我的关节有点僵硬就退缩么？唉，在这几这半打古里古怪的老头子面前我还是个娃娃呢！”
“我真佩服你老当益壮的侠义精神，罗瑞先生。”
“咄！废话，先生——我亲爱的查尔斯，”罗瑞先生又瞥了“银行当局”一眼。“你得记住，在目前情况下，不论想把什么东西运出巴黎都几乎是不可能的。就在这几天还有些你难以想象的怪人给我们带来了文件和珍贵的东西。每个人通过关卡时脑袋都是挂在一根头发丝上的。（我对你说的这话要绝对保密，就是悄悄提起也违背了办业务的规矩呢）换个时候我们的包裹是可以自由通行的，跟在经营商业的英格兰一样，可是现在办不到。”
“你今晚真要走么？”
“真要走，因为情况紧急，不容耽误。”
“不带人么？”
“向我建议过各种各样的人，但我对他们不愿发表意见。我打算带杰瑞去。很久以来杰瑞就是我星期日晚上的保镖，习惯了。没有人会怀疑杰瑞除了是头英国獒犬之外还会是别的什么，除了扑向侵犯他主人的人之外，脑子里还会有别的念头。”
“我必须再说一遍，我衷心佩服你老当益壮的侠义精神。”
“我必须再说一遍，废话，废话！等我完成了这桩小小的任务，也许会接受台尔森的建议，退休下来享几天清福。那时侯再思考人生易老的问题也不为晚。”
这一番话是在罗瑞先生平时的办公桌前说的，那时贵族老爷们就在桌前一两码远处成群结队地挤来挤去，夸口说不久就要对那些流氓进行惩罚。当了难民的倒霉老爷们和英格兰当地的正统派都觉得这场可怕的革命是普天之下仅有的一次并未播种却竟出现了的恶果。这是他们一贯的思路，仿佛这场革命并非是因为干了什么，或是没干什么而引起的；仿佛并不曾有人在多年前就预言过革命必然到来似的（那些人对法国千百万人民所受的苦难和原可为人民谋福利的资源的浪费与滥用早有认识）；仿佛他们并不曾用明白的话语记录下自己的观察所得似的。这样的胡说八道，还有老爷们种种异想天开的计划（他们企图重新实施当年闹得民穷财尽天怒人怨的计划），任何头脑清醒明白真象的人也难以忍受而不表异议。查尔斯.达尔内此时满耳朵就是这样的论调，它们使他感到仿佛脑袋里的血流已经乱成了一团，再加上早已使他不安的隐藏的内疚，他益发心乱如麻了。
说话的人中还有皇家高等法院律师斯特莱佛，此时他正是春风得意，话匣子一开，嗓门就特别大。他正在向老爷们阐述自己的计划：如何对人民进行爆炸，把他们从地球表面消灭，然后不靠他们照样过日子。还加上一些类似于在尾巴上撒盐以消灭老鹰的设想。达尔内对他的话特别反感。正当达尔内考虑是走掉不听，还是留下插嘴时，注定要发生的事发生了。
“银行当局”来到了罗瑞先生身边，把一封肮脏的没有拆开的信放到了他的面前，问他是否发现了收信人的任何线索。那信放得离达尔内很近，他看到了姓名地址——一眼就看清楚了，因为那正是他的原名。那封面译成英语是
“特急。英国伦敦台尔森公司烦转法国前圣埃佛瑞蒙德侯爵先生收。”
结婚那天早晨，曼内特医生曾向查尔斯.达尔内提出严格的特殊要求：有关这个姓氏的秘密必须继续保持，不能泄漏，除非医生同意取消保密。因此别的人谁也不知道那是他的姓，他的妻子不会怀疑，罗瑞先生更不会怀疑。
“没有，”罗瑞先生对“当局”回答，“我已向这儿的每个人打听过，没有人能告诉我这位先生的地址。”
时钟指针接近了关门时间，一大群人谈着话从罗瑞先生的办公桌前走过，罗瑞先生便拿出信来向他们打听。这一个满肚子阴谋和怒气的老爷难民看了看，那一个老爷难民看了后，再一个，又一个，每一个都用英语或法语说了些有关这位失踪侯爵的难听的话。
“侄子，我相信是——总之是个堕落的继承人——被暗杀了的漂亮的侯爵的侄于，”一个说。“幸好，我不认识他。”
“一个放弃了自己岗位的胆小鬼，”另一个说——说活的大人是藏在一车干草里脚朝天离开巴黎的，几乎给憋死了——“是几年前的事了。”
“中了时髦理论的毒，”第三个人透过眼镜顺便望了望收信人的姓名地址，“跟最后一个侯爵作对，该继承庄园时却放弃了，把它交给了暴徒。现在他们会报复他了，我希望。活该。”
“嗨？”粗喉咙大嗓门的斯特莱佛叫了起来，“他真放弃了么？他是那种入么？我们来看看这个丢脸的名字，该死的家伙！”
达尔内再也控制不住自己了，他碰了碰斯特莱佛的肩头说：
“我知道这人。”
“你知道么，天呀？”斯特莱佛说，“我感到遗憾。”
“为什么？”
“为什么，达尔内先生？你听见他干了什么事么？在这样的时代，你就别问为什么了吧！”
“可我很想问问。”
“那我就再告诉你一遍，达尔内先生：我感到遗憾。因为你提出了这种反常的问题而遗憾。有这么一个人，因为受到了人世间最险恶最亵渎的魔鬼信条的传染，竟然把财产放弃给了世界上最坏的杀人如麻的流氓，而一个教育青年的人竟然会认识他。对此你却要来回我为什么感到遗憾，好吧，我来回答你。我是因为相信这样的坏人会传播毒素而遗憾的，这就是我的理由。”
达尔内考虑到保密的需要，竭尽全力克制住了自己说，“你可能并不了解这位先生。”
“可我懂得怎样驳倒你，达尔内先生，”一贯居高临下的斯特莱佛说，“我讲给你听。若是这家伙也算是正人君子，我是怎么也想不通的。你可以当面告诉他这话——并代我向他致意。你还可以代替我转告他，我不明白他把自己在人间的财富和地位全放弃给了这些杀人暴徒之后为什么没有当上个草头王。可是，不，先生们，”斯特莱佛四面望了望，打了—个响指，“我对人性略知一二，我可以告诉你们，像他那样的人是决不会把自己交给这样的宝贝部下支配的。不会的，先生们，他总是一有风吹草动，老早就溜之大吉，脚板底下一向纤尘不染。”
说完这话斯特莱佛先生又打了最后一个响指，在听众的一片赞扬声中横冲直撞挤出门去，踏上了舰队街。罗瑞先生和查尔斯.达尔内在人群离开银行之后单独留在了桌旁。
“你愿意负责交这封信么？”罗瑞先生说。“你知道交信的地方么？”
“知道。”
“你能不能向收信人解释一下，我们估计这信是因为希望我们能转交才文到这几来的，在这儿实际上己放了相当久了。”
“我会解释的。你是从这儿出发去巴黎么？”
“从这儿。八点出发。”
“我马上回来给你送行。”
达尔内怀着对自己、对斯特莱佛和大部分其他的人的不安心情，尽快地走到法学会一个安静角落，拆开信读了起来，信的内容是这样的：
巴黎，修道院监狱，
１７９２年６月
前候爵先生，
在长期冒着被村里的人杀死的危险之后我终于被抓住了，遭到了残酷的虐待和侮辱，然后被押着长途步行列了巴黎，沿途备受折磨。这还不够，我的房子也给毁掉了一—夷为平地。
前侯爵先生，他们告诉我，使我受到拘禁、还要受到审判、甚至丢掉性命（若是得不到你的慷慨援救的话）的罪恶，是因为我为一个外逃贵族效劳，反对了人民，背叛了人民的权威。我申辩说，我是按照你的命令为他们办事的，并没有反对他们，可是没有用。我申辩说我早在没收外逃贵族财产之前就已豁免了他们欠纳的捐税，没有再收租，也没有诉诸法律，但仍然没有用。他们唯一的回答是，我既然是为外逃贵族办事的，那么，那外逃贵族在哪儿？
啊，最仁慈的前侯爵先生，那外满贵族在哪儿？我在梦里哭世，他在哪儿？我抬头问天，他会不会来解救我？可是没有回答。啊，前候爵先生，我把我孤苦无告的哀泣送到海外，但愿它能通过名驰巴黎的了不起的台尔森银行到达你的耳里！
看在对上天、对正义、对慷慨无私、对你高贵的姓氏的爱的分上，我恳求你，前侯爵先生，快来帮助我，解救我。我的错误是对你的真诚。啊，前侯爵先生，我祈祷你也以真诚待我！
我从这可怖的监狱里保证为你竭尽我悲惨不幸的绵薄之力，尽管我每一小时都在走向毁灭，前侯爵先生。
你受到摧残的加伯尔
这封信把达尔内隐藏在心里的不安变作了强烈的内疚。一个善良的老家人，唯一的罪过是对他和他的家庭的忠诚。他所遭到的危险此时似乎正带着怨怼瞪眼望着他。因此，当他在法学会内徘徊踌躇思考着办法时几乎不敢正视过往的行人。
他很明白，尽管他对使得他那古老家族的劣迹和丑名达于顶点的行为深恶痛绝，尽管他满心僧恶地怀疑他的叔父，尽管他的良心使他厌恶那个说来应由他支持的破落家庭，他的做法却并不彻底。他很明白，虽然放弃自己的地位并非当时新出现的想法，但是由于他爱上了露西，行动便不免仓促匆忙，浅涉即止。他明白应当作出系统安排并亲自监督完成，但却只是想想而已，并没有做到。
他所选择的这个英国家庭所带给他的幸福和永远积极工作的需要，还有时代的迅速变化、层出不穷的麻烦——这一周的计划推翻了上一周未成熟的计划，下一周的事件又要求作新的部署，这样的局面使他随波逐流了。这一点他很清楚，也并非没有感到不安，只是没有对它作持续的、不断加强的抵制。他曾关注时局，想找个行动的时机，时局却变化着纠缠着拖了下去。然后贵族们便开始经过法国的阳关大道和偏僻小径大批逃亡。贵族们的财产陆陆续续被没收，被毁灭，连姓氏也快给抹掉了。这一切他都知道，法国的每个可能要追究他的新政权他也都知道。
但他没有压迫过人，没有关押过人。他不但远离了横征暴敛，而且主动放弃了自己那份收入，投入了一个不会偏袒他的世界，在那儿找到了自己的地位，赚来了自己的面包。加伯尔先生按照他的书面指示处理了他那衰败困顿的庄园财产。他要加伯尔体恤百姓，能给的都给他们——冬天给他们还了高利贷后留下的柴禾，夏天给他们还了高利贷后留下的农产品。加伯尔先生为了自己的安全毫无疑问早已提出过这些事实和证据为自己辩护，现在只好把这一切公诸于世了。
这个想法促使查尔斯.达尔内下定了破釜沉舟的决心：到巴黎去。
是的，正如在古老故事里的老水手一样，海风和洋流已把他送进了磁礁的磁力圈，那礁石正把他不容抗拒地吸引过去。他心里出现的每一并事都在越来越迅速有力地把他推向那可怕的磁力。他心里隐藏的不安是：在他自己不幸的国土上某些坏人正在追求邪恶的目标。他明知自己比他们强，却并不在那几努力制止流血、坚持仁爱和人道的要求。他一半是压抑这种不安，一半又受这种不安的谴责，禁不住把自己跟那个责任感很强的勇敢老人作了个尖锐的对比。这种不利的对比立即令他感到侯爵大人在冷笑，那冷笑今他无地自容。他也感到斯特莱佛在冷笑，他那根据陈旧的理由所发出的冷笑尤其粗野、令人难堪。何况还有加伯尔的信：一个无辜的囚徒，有了生命危险，要求他给予正义、荣誉和切实的名分。
他下定了决心：他必须到巴黎去。
是的，磁力礁吸引着他，他必须扬帆前进，直至触礁为止。他并不守道有礁石，也看不出有什么危险。他已做过的事虽说不上完美，意图却根明显，因而他感到，若是他在法国露面承认有那种意图，他是会受到感激的。于是，他面前升起了种种行善光荣的幻想，那是多少志士仁人的乐观的海市蜃楼。他甚至有了，一种幻觉：自己能产生某种影响，把目前肆无忌惮的革命引上轨道，
虽然下了决心，他还在那儿徘徊。他觉得在他离开之前这事既不能让露西知道，也不能让她爸爸知道。他不能让露西承受离别之苦，而往事对她父亲又是个讳莫如深的危险问题，因此只能让他接受既成事实，而不必让他承受提心吊胆、迟疑不决的痛苦。至于对自己处境的不利因索究竟应当让她的父亲知道多少，他也没有多加考虑，因为他吃力地避免着在老人心里唤起法国的旧事。这也是他不辞而别的原因之一。
他来回地踱着步，匆忙地思考着，直到应当回银行跟罗瑞先生告别的时候。他打算一到巴黎就去见这位老朋友，可现在对自己的打算却只能只字不提。
银行门口有一辆马车，马已备好，杰瑞也已穿好皮靴，一切齐备。
“那封信我已经交到了，”查尔斯.达尔内告诉罗瑞。“我不同意让你带书面的答复去，不过，请你带个口信也汾是可以的吧？”
“可以，我很乐意，”罗瑞先生说，“要是没有危险的话。”
“一点危险也没有，虽然是带给修道院监狱一个囚犯的。”
“他叫什么名字？”罗瑞先生拿着打开的笔记本说。
“加伯尔。”
“加伯尔。要我给关在牢里的不幸的加伯尔带什么口信？”
“很简单：‘信己收到，他立即赶来。’”
“他告诉了你时候么？”
“他明天晚上就出发。”
“提到什么人没有？”
“没有。”
他帮助罗瑞先生穿上好几层短衣和外套，裹得厚厚的，陪着他从古老的银行温暖的空气里走了出来，进入舰队街的薄雾里。“向露臣和小露西转达我的爱，”老罗瑞在分手时说，“好好照顾她们，等我回来。”查尔斯.达尔内在马车离开时摇摇头，意义不明地笑了笑。
八月十四日晚他熬夜写了两封热情洋溢的信。一封给露西，说明他有重大任务必须去巴黎一趟，并向她详细解释了他深信在那儿不会有危险的理由。另一封信是给医生的，请他代为照顾露西和他们亲爱的孩子，也谈了上面的问题，并竭力保证不会出意外。对两人他都答应一到巴黎立即来信报告平安。
那一天好难熬一一他跟父女俩在一起，心里却保留了共同生活以来的第一次秘密。要对坦诚相待、毫无芥蒂的他们进行清白的欺骗，确实今人难受。他满怀柔情地望着快活地忙碌着的妻子，心里更认定了不能把即将发生的事告沂她（他曾几乎想对她和盘托出，因为没有她无言的帮助，他做任何事都感到别扭）。这一天匆匆过去了。黄昏时他拥抱了她，也拥抱了跟她同名也同样可爱的宝宝，装作马上就会回来的样子（他借口有约会外出，导巴收拾了一箱衣物偷存在外面）。他便这样进入了沉重街道的沉重的雾里，带着一颗比那雾还要沉重的心。
那看不见的力量正吸引着他迅速前去，而漫天的怒潮与狂飙也都往那儿飞卷。他把两封信交给了一个可靠的看门人，要他晚上十一点半送去，不能更早些，这才骑上去多佛的马，开始了旅行。“看在对上天、对正义、对慷慨无私、对你高贵姓氏的爱的分上！”这是那可怜的囚徒的呼唤。他就是用这呼唤鼓起勇气，抛开了他在这世上所爱的一切，向那磁礁漂流而去的。 |
