Джозеф Конрад - Suspense

Cosmo nodded.

“For years he had been a very devoted and faithful servant to us, but I suppose he, too, like so many of his betters, fell under the spell of Monsieur de Montevesso’s wealth. When my parents rejoined me in France, he had his wish at last and married Aglae, my mulatto maid. He was quite infatuated with her, and now he makes her terribly wretched. She is really devoted to me, and there cannot be any doubt that Bernard had been bribed by my husband to play the part of a spy. It seems incredible, but I have had it from the count in so many words. Bernard let himself be corrupted years ago, when Monsieur de Montevesso first sent me back to my parents in a rage, and next day was nearly out of his mind with agony at having done so. Yes, it dates as far back as that. That man so faithful to us in our misfortunes allowed himself to be bought with the greatest ease. Everybody, from the highest to the lowest, was in a conspiracy against a poor girl whose only sin was her perfect frankness. When Bernard came over to France with my parents, I was already aware of this, but Aglae wanted to marry him, and so I said nothing. She probably would not have believed me then.”

“And could you bear that wretch near you all those years?” exclaimed Cosmo, full of indignation. She smiled sadly. She had borne the disclosure, and had kept the secret of greater infamies. She had all her illusions about rectitude destroyed so early that it did not matter to her now what she knew of the people about her.

“Oh, Cosmo,” she exclaimed suddenly, “I am a hardened woman now, but I assure you that sometimes when I remember the girl of sixteen I was, without an evil thought in her head, and in her ignorance surrounded by the basest slanderers and intrigues, tears come into my eyes. And since the baseness of selfish passions I have seen seething round the detestable glory of that man in Elba, it seems to me that there is nowhere any honesty on earth—nowhere!” The energy of that outburst contrasted with the immobility of the pose gave to Cosmo the sensation of a chill.

“I will not mention us two,” said Cosmo, “here in this room. But I know of at least two honest men on earth. They are your father and mine. Why didn’t you write to father, Adèle?”

“I tell you I was a child. What could I write to him? Hasn’t he retired out of the world for so many years only not to see and not to hear? That’s one of your honest men. And as to my poor father who is the soul of honour, such is the effect of long misfortune on the best characters and of temptations associated with his restored rank that there have been moments when I watched his conduct with dread. Caste prejudices are an awful thing, but, thank God, he had never a thought of vengeance in his mind. He is not a courtier.”

“I have heard about it,” interrupted Cosmo, “from the marquis himself. He is a dear old man.”

The two by the mantel–piece exchanged dim smiles.

“I had to come here with him,” said Adèle. “He cannot do without me. I too was glad to get away from the evil passions and the hopeless stupidities of all the people that had come back without a single patriotic feeling, without a single new idea in their heads, like merciless spectres out of a grave, hating the world to which they had returned. They have forgotten nothing and learned nothing.”

“I have seen something of that myself,” murmured Cosmo. “But the world can’t be put back where it was before you and I were born.”

“No! But to see them trying to do it was intolerable. Then my husband appeared on the scene, hired this palazzo, and insisted on us all living here. It was impossible to raise a rational objection to that. Father was never aware of half I went through in my life. I learned early to suppress every expression of feeling. But in the main we understand each other without talking. When he received Count Helion’s letter offering us this house, he just looked at me and said: ‘I suppose we must.’ For my part I go through life without raising any objections to anything. One has to preserve one’s dignity in some way; and is there another way open to me? Yes, I have made up my mind; but I must tell you, Cosmo, that notwithstanding the amazing tour we made ten years ago amongst Monsieur de Montevesso’s problematic relations, those two sisters and that niece have been a perfect novelty to me. I only hope I never betrayed my surprise or any feeling at all about it.” The countess raised her eyes to Cosmo’s face. “I have spoken of it to you as I have never spoken to anybody in my life, because of old memories which are so much to me, and because I could not mistrust anybody of your name. Have you been wearied by this long tale?”

“No,” said Cosmo. “But have you thought how it is going to end?”

“To end!” she said in a startled tone which affected Cosmo profoundly. “To end! What do you mean? Everything is ended already.”

“I was thinking of your endurance,” said Cosmo.

“Do I look worn out?” she asked.

Cosmo raised his head and looked at her steadily. The impression of her grace and her strength filled his breast with an admiring and almost oppressive emotion. He could find nothing to say, not knowing what was uppermost in his mind, pity or admiration, mingled with a vague anger.

“Well, what do you see in my face?”

“I never have seen such serenity on any face,” said Cosmo. “How sure of itself your soul must be.”

Her colour became heightened for a moment, her eyes darkened as she said in a grateful tone: “You are right, Cosmo. My face is not a mask.”

But he hardly heard her. He was lost in wonder at the sudden disorder of his thoughts. When he regained his mental composure he noticed that Madame de Montevesso seemed to be listening.

“I wonder whether the count is still with my father,” she said. “Ring that bell on the table at your hand, Cosmo.”

Cosmo did so, and they waited looking at each other. Presently the door swung open, and, at the same time, the cartel above it began to strike the hour. Cosmo counted eleven, and then Madame de Montevesso spoke to Bernard who waited in silence.

“Is Monsieur le Comte still with my father?”

“I haven’t seen him come out yet, Madame la Comtesse.”

“Tell your wife not to wait for me, Bernard.”

“Yes, Madame la Comtesse.” Bernard backed out respectfully through the door.

“How fat he is, and what sleek hair,” marvelled Cosmo. “And what a solemn manner. No wonder I did not recognise him at once. He showed me into your father’s room, you know. He looks a special envoy’s confidential man all over. And to think that he is your household spy! I wonder at your patience.”

“Perhaps if I had anything to conceal I would have had less patience with the spy,” she said, equably. “I believe that when we lived in Paris, he wrote every week to Monsieur de Montevesso, because, you know, he can write quite well. I wonder what he found to write about. Lists of names, I suppose. Or perhaps his own views of the people who called, with bits of overheard conversations.”

“It’s incredible,” murmured Cosmo. “It’s fantastic. What contempt he must have for your husband.”

“The most remarkable thing,” said Madame de Montevesso, “is that I am convinced that he doesn’t write any lies.”

“Yes,” said Cosmo, “I assume that. And do you mean that the count is paying him every week for that sort of thing? It’s an ugly farce.”

“Don’t you think,” said the countess, “that something serious may come of it some day?” Cosmo made a hopeless gesture.

“The man you married is mad,” he said with intense conviction.

“There have been times when I felt as if I were mad myself,” murmured Madame de Montevesso. “Take up your hat,” she added quickly.