I got out of the car at Gertholm, ran along the steep, hard, low road, crossed the stream through a single wooden bridge, and finally met Albertina, who was painting in front of the church, with its bell towers standing like a thorny red rose in full bloom. The triangular lintels on the church gate are ingenious and integrated; the stone reliefs are pleasant to the eye and the symmetrical angels are vivid. Faced with our young men and women of the twentieth century, we hold religious celebrations of the thirteenth century with candles as usual. Albertina unfolded the canvas and painstakingly copied the images of these angels. She imitated Elsteir's paintings and made great efforts to grasp the sublime charm. The master once said to her that the sublime charm made him brilliant and could create a pair of new angels, and whatever he saw. Angels are quite different. She packed up her paintings. We snuggled up to each other, went back to the low road, left the chapel, let it be quiet, as we did not see, let it listen to the constant gurgling of the stream. Suddenly, the car flew up, did not return to the original road, but diverted to take us home. We drove past Maguville-Ogyoz. The setting sun shines on the semi-new and semi-old churches and spreads an everlasting beauty. If you want to see the true face of the relief, it seems that it is necessary to see through the flowing pearlescent liquid. The Virgin Mother, Saint Elizabeth and Saint Joaquin are still floating in the unpredictable whirlpool, but they do not drip, or float on the water, or bathe in the sunshine. Modern sculptures stand on pillars, emerge from the heat wave and dust, waist to waist with the golden sails of the setting sun. A cypress tree in front of the church is like a sacred object in a sanctuary. We got out and looked for a moment and paced a few steps. Albertina's feeling of Italian straw hat and silk scarf (straw hat and silk scarf did not give her any comfortable feeling), when she walked around the church, she got another impulse and showed lazy satisfaction, which in our eyes was elegant and moving; the silk hat and straw hat were just our daughters. My friend's new outward style, but I feel lovely, I use my eyes to chase the straw hat and silk towel in the twilight * the vast reflection on the Cuibai. She couldn't appreciate herself, but she realized that she was charming because she smiled at me, made a pose, and straightened out the headdress: "I don't like it, it's been repaired," she pointed to the church and said to me. She immediately remembered Elstier's precious and irreproducible remarks about the beauty of ancient stone sculpture. Albertina could see at a glance whether it had been repaired. It's incredible that she has reached a deplorable level of ignorance of music, while her appreciation of architectural art is full of success. Not to mention Elstier, even I don't like this church. The front of the church is painted with sunlight, but it doesn't interest me. I came down to see it just to please Albertina. However, I think that Impressionist painters are self-contradictory; why do they so admire the objective architecture, but are indifferent to the change of the church in the sunset? That's right, "Albertina said to me." I don't like it; but I like its name Ogyoz, which is charming and proud. However, we should ask Brishaw why he calls St. Mars "Clothes". Saint Mars. Let's go next time, shall we? She looked at me with black eyes and said that the straw hat was pressing over her eyebrows, just as she used to wear a polo cap. Her veil was blowing. I got into the car with her. I'm so glad to go to St. Mars with her tomorrow and brave the hot summer. In such weather, people just want to soak in the water. They see the two ancient bell towers of the church, like two rose salmon, with diamond tiles, bowing slightly inward, like full of roses. The scales of the old pointed fish, covered with moss, a piece of orange and red, Pisces looks motionless, but emerged in the clear and transparent blue water. Leaving Maguville, we came to the intersection for a short cut. There was a farm at the intersection. Albertina stopped several times and asked me to fetch some cider or cider by myself and bring it back for her to drink. People must have said it wasn't sparkling wine, so we drank it happily. We snuggled close to each other. Albertina was locked in the car, and the villagers could not see her easily, so I returned the bottle; we went back on the road, as if we were going to continue our life in pairs. They could imagine that we were living a lover's life, parking and drinking in the middle of the road, but only for a short time; if they found out later, Albertina drank her large bottle of cider and guessed that she might have gone further; she did not seem to be able to bear the distance she kept with me for a while, if it did not make her uncomfortable at ordinary times; she was wearing a short cloth skirt, her bare legs were close to my legs, and she pressed her face against mine. To my face, I only felt her cheeks pale for a while, feverish for a while, flushed, and somewhat hot to soft, like the expression often seen by girls in the suburbs. At such moments, her personality * tends to mutate, her voice immediately loses its normal, mute, unrestrained and almost dissolute. Night fell. How happy it was to feel that she was snuggling in my arms and wearing her silk scarf and straw hat. It reminded me that the couples I met along the way were not so dear to each other, shoulder to shoulder. I may have a feeling of love for Albertina, but I dare not let her be aware of it. I do not show my face *. Even if I have this kind of love in my heart, it is only a worthless reality, which can be strictly controlled in actual actions; I always feel that this kind of love is impossible to achieve. It is excluded from the life scene. But my jealousy keeps me going, and it keeps me from leaving Albertina, even though I know that the only way to cure my jealousy is to break with her and run away. I could even prove it by her side, but I had to try not to let that scene of arousing jealousy reappear in my mind. That's what happened. One day, it was sunny and we went to Rifbell for lunch. Like a tea hall in a long corridor, the glass door is open. Outside the door are patches of sunny and gilded grass. The splendid dining hall seems to merge with the grass. The bartender, with a rose face and a comb of flame, was running in the hall in the public, but his movements were not as fast as usual, because he was no longer an ordinary fellow, but the head of the hall; but because his activities were in line with nature, he walked away from time to time, in the dining hall and approached from time to time, but outdoors, for those who preferred to be in the garden. Customer service, people see him here and there, like a running statue of a handsome god, standing in the dining hall, only to see the bright lights in the building, green grass outside the building echoes the building hall, another line in the shade of green trees, bathing in the scenery of outdoor life. He entertained us for a while. Albertina was absent-minded in what I said to her. She stared at the young man in the running hall. For a few minutes, I felt that the person I loved was close, but I couldn't ask for it. See their eyebrows, mysterious, in front of me seems to have a difficult word to say, probably is the continuation of dating privacy in the past, but I was kept in the dark, it may be the aftermath of the autumn wave he once secretly sent her - so I have become a third party in the way, for the third party people are always hiding. Even when the boss shouted at him and he answered, Albertina continued to bury herself in the meal, but looked at her as if the restaurant and garden were just the black-haired God in the running hall, the hall of light inside and outside in the colorful background. For a moment, I wondered if she would follow him and leave me alone at the table. But in a few days, I left the bitter impression behind. I decided not to go to Riverbell again. Moreover, although Albertina assured me that she was going to Riverbell for the first time, I promised her that she would never go to Riverbell again. I also denied that the fast-legged runner was the only one who looked at her, in order to make her not think that I accompanied her deprived her of a pleasure. Sometimes I went to Riverbell, but I was alone, drinking like I did last time. As I dried up the last bottle of wine, I looked at the rose ornaments painted on the white wall and moved my joy to the ornaments. She is the only one in the world who exists for me; I take turns to chase her with elusive eyes, touch her, lose her, I am insensitive to the future, only care about my rose ornaments, she is like a butterfly, dancing around another stopped butterfly, ready to be with him in the action of the ultimate joy of this life. Maybe it's a special coincidence that when I want to break up with a woman, I will never ask her to give me a refreshing oil to comfort my pain, even though I have suffered for her lately, because they have caused other people's pain, but they have the analgesic. It calmed my mind and made me take a walk, although I only regarded it as the expectation of the next day, and the next day itself, although it aroused my desire for tomorrow, it would not be different from the first day, even if it was a walk, it had its own taste, and I put up my hands and feet. Where Albertina went straight here, and now I'm not with her, neither at her aunt's house nor at her girlfriends'house. This taste, although not from the joy of the heart, but because of the alleviation of trouble, but very strong. Because after a few days, whenever I recall the farm where we drank cider, or just think of the steps we had taken in front of St. Mars, I remember Albertina walking beside me in her cap, and she was by my side, and that feeling immediately gave me a flat, indifferent image of the renovated church. How much chastity was added, so that the sunlit church facade would naturally stand firm in my memory, as if someone had put a large painkiller on our hearts. I sent Albertina to Baville, just to find her in the evening and lie down beside her, under the cover of the night, on the beach. Of course, I don't see her every day, but I can comfort myself: "If she talks about her schedule, I still occupy the most place." We spent a long time together, making me drunk day and night, so sweet that I sent her to Baville and she jumped out of the car. An hour later, I was no longer lonely in the car, as if she had left a few flowers in the car before she got off. I may not have to see her every day; I will be happy to leave her, and I feel that the comfort effect of happiness can last for days. But when she said goodbye to me, I heard her say to her aunt or one of her girlfriends, "See you tomorrow at 8:30. Don't be late. They'll be ready at 8:15." I love a woman whose conversation is like a land of hiding ferocious waters; people can feel at any time that there is an invisible undercurrent inside and outside the words that makes people cold; people can find shameless seepage everywhere, but the undercurrent itself is hidden. When I heard Albertina's words, my inner peace was destroyed in an instant. I wanted to ask her to meet her the next morning in order to prevent her from going on this mysterious 8:30 date, which they talked about in front of me and was all in secret. For the first few times, she undoubtedly had to obey me, but reluctantly gave up her original plan; then, she might find that I was intent on disrupting her plan; so people kept everything from me, and I became deaf and blind. However, there is also the possibility that I am excluded from these grand gatherings is nothing great, probably because I am afraid that I think a certain female guest is shallow and vulgar or annoying, just do not invite me to participate. Unfortunately, this kind of life has been tightly entangled with Albertina's life. It has not only worked for me personally; it has calmed me down; but it has caused uneasiness to my mother, who admitted her uneasiness and, in turn, destroyed my inner peace. When I came home, I was happy and determined to end this life at any time. I thought it was all my own will to end this life. Unexpectedly, my mother heard that I had asked the driver to go to Albertina and said to me, "How much do you spend?" (Franois spoke concisely and vividly, more forcefully:'Spending money is like running water'). Don't be like Charlie De Sevigny, "continued his mother." His mother once said, "His hand is a crucible, and silver melts as soon as it arrives." Besides, I think you went out enough with Albertina. I'm sure I'm telling you that's too much. Even for her, it seems ridiculous. I'm glad that this will relieve you of your worries. I don't ask you to stop seeing her, but it's not impossible for you to lose sight of her in the end." My life with Albertina had no great joy --- at least the great joy I felt --- but I had hoped to choose a peaceful moment and change it someday. I had never wanted to hear my mother say that this kind of life had suddenly become indispensable to me, because it had been suffered. Threats. I told my mother that her words delayed the decision she had asked me to make for two months. If it hadn't been for her, the decision would have been visible by the end of the week. Mother laughed (so as not to make me sad) and laughed at her advice, which had an immediate effect. She promised me not to repeat the old words, so that I would not have to cut corners again. But since my grandmother died, every time she could not help laughing, she would stop laughing, and eventually she almost sobbed bitterly. Maybe it was because she felt guilty about forgetting herself, maybe it was because she forgot and triggered another outbreak of heart disease. She recalled that our grandmother, as if a fixed idea had taken root in my mother's mind, had always caused a mental illness to my mother. I felt that this old illness had added a new mental illness to it, which had something to do with me, with my mother worrying about the consequences of my close relationship with Albertina; but she dared not. Set barriers to our intimate relationship, because I just showdown with her. But she did not seem to believe that I would not be deceived. She remembered how many years my grandmother and she hadn't talked to me about my work or about a more healthy rule of life. I often said that their persuasion had left me completely distracted and prevented me from starting work alone, and that, despite their acquiescence, I hadn't taken that rule. Stick to the rules of life.

After dinner, the car brought Albertina back; the sky was still light; the air was not so hot, but after a hot day, we both longed for the cool air we had never seen; we saw a crescent before our exciting eyes (the night when I often went to Princess Gelmont's house, and Ah). On the night when Albertina called me, the moon looked like that, too. It looked like a light, thin peel, and then, like a quarter-petal of fresh fruit, it seemed that an invisible knife began peeling it in the sky. I went to my girlfriend a few times, a little later, so she would have to wait for me in front of the market arcade in Mainville. At first, I couldn't recognize her; I was in such a mess that she probably wouldn't come, and she probably misunderstood. Just then I saw her. She was wearing a blue-dotted white dress with a waist. She jumped lightly into the car and sat beside me. The light jump was more like a small animal than a little girl. As soon as she got into the car, she caressed me endlessly, just like a little bitch. When the night falls, when the sky is full of stars, as the hotel manager told me, if we don't take a bottle of champagne for a walk in the woods, we'll stretch out our arms and legs under the dunes, without worrying that there are still people walking around on the dim dike, and they'll look at everything on the dark sand beach. I don't know, although it's only two steps away from me; I saw girls walking in front of the vast background of the water for the first time. The graceful posture is full of feminine charm, the tenderness of the sea and the beauty of the body. I grabbed the same jade body and hugged it tightly in my arms. We were covered with the same night tent, close to the seaside. The sea is calm, divided in two by a trembling light; we tirelessly listen to the singing of the sea, share joy, the sea suddenly silent breath, for a long time stopped breathing, almost as if the ebb tide stopped rushing; suddenly, the waiting tide finally came late, and whispered at our feet. I finally brought Albertina back to Baville. When we got to her house, we had to stop kissing for fear of being seen; she was not sleepy, so she went back to Balbeck with me, and I sent her back to Balbeck for the last time; early taxi drivers slept without looking at the hour. In fact, I returned to Balbeck when the morning dew was wet. This time, although I was alone, my girlfriend seemed to be beside me, and I was drunk by the endless source of kisses. On the table, there's a telegram for me, or a postcard. Albertina again! When I left her and came back in the car, she wrote in Gertholm and told me she was thinking of me. I read and went to bed. At this time, I found that the first day on the velvet curtain was bright, I said to myself, we hugged for a night and still loved each other. The next morning, when I saw Albertina on the embankment, my heart was beating with drums for fear that she would reply that I was not free this day and could not accept my invitation to go out for a walk. This invitation, I wanted to stop talking and procrastinate for a long time. I was particularly disturbed that she was cold and worried; that some of her acquaintances had come; that she had no doubt planned her afternoon activities, and that I had been excluded. I looked at her, at Albertina's graceful posture, her rosy appearance, and when she looked at me, she unveiled the mystery of her inner intentions. I wondered what decision she would make. It was up to her to decide whether my afternoon was a blessing or a curse. A young girl, her whole state of mind, her whole prospects for survival, took a fatal form of allegorical significance in front of me and put it on display. When I finally made up my mind, when I tried to keep quiet and asked her, "Let's go for a walk together right away until evening, shall we?" When she answered, "I'd love to." My blushing face suddenly stopped and clouds dispersed, and my long restless mood suddenly calmed down, returning my original sweeter face, comfortable and calm, which people often do after storms. I murmured to myself, "She's so nice, what a lovely person!" Immersed in the passion, although not as drunk obsession, but after all, more profound than friendship, and the upstream society has no choice but to hope for the passion. We quit the car only when the Villandilans invited dinner and Albertina was not available to go out with me. I could use those days to inform those who wanted to see me that I was still in Balbeck. I allow Saint Lucia to come here on these days, but only these days. Because once he arrives unexpectedly, I would rather not see Albertina than risk letting him meet her. I would not let the pleasure and calmness I have maintained in recent years be damaged or my jealousy revived. Only when Saint Lucia leaves will I be at ease. He also regretted that he would never come to Barbeck without my call. How I envied Mrs. de Gelmont when she spent her time with him, and I wanted to see him at all costs! Everyone is constantly changing the position of our relationship. People move forward unknowingly but forever, but we often see them as unchanged. The observation time is so short that the movement that drives them forward is difficult to detect. However, we only need to choose their two images in our own memory. These two images are left by them at different but relatively close moments. They have not changed much, at least not obviously, but the difference between the two images can measure their cold and warm affinity with us. Move. When he talked to me about the Vildirans, I was terrified lest he should ask me and visit them, which was enough to confuse all the joy I had had with Albertina there, because I was jealous, and I always felt the fire of jealousy burning. But thankfully, Robert made it clear to me that, contrary to my fears, he did not want to meet them anyway. No, "he said to me." I find this circle of doctrine extremely disgusting. " At first, I didn't understand the meaning of the adjective "Catholicism" which modifies the Vildeland family, but the finishing touches of St. Louis's sentences made me feel at ease. It was the usual way for wise men to use words and make strange sentences. It was always astonishing and incomprehensible. Gadfly

"It's in these places," he said to me. "Everyone is pulling together and hugging together. Don't tell me it's not a sect; it's sweet to people in the circle and cold to people outside. The question is not whether to live or not, like Hamlet, but whether to belong to this sect. You are from a small circle, and my uncle Charles is from a small circle. What do you want? Oh, I never liked it. It's not my fault."

Of course, the rules that I imposed on Saint Lucia that I would not be allowed to see me without my greeting were generalized. In Las Player, in Ferdinand, in Montessorvan and elsewhere, whoever I gradually associate with, I strictly enforced them; but when I looked upstairs from the restaurant. The train passing at three o'clock was dragging smoke, leaving a dull haze in the deep cliff Canyon of Baville. Having lingered for a long time on the gloomy half-hillside and forgotten to return, I do not hesitate to welcome the guests who are coming to enjoy refreshments with me. At this time, the guests are still playing hide-and-seek with me and immortals are swimming in this hazy cloud belt. I have to admit that this guest came with my prior consent, and it was not Saniette almost every time, and I always regretted it. However, Saniette was deliberately unpleasant (it would be even more disappointing if he came not to tell stories but to be a guest). Although he was more educated, smarter and Better-Behaved than many others, he seemed not only to have no joy with him, but also to have nothing but depression. Well, you've been frustrated all afternoon. Perhaps if Saniette admitted frankly that he was worried about causing misery, people would not have to be afraid of his visit. Trouble is the least serious of all the faults that people can bear. It may only exist in the imagination of others or be infected by the Enlightenment of others. This enlightenment can affect his simplicity. But he tried so hard not to be seen as being ignored that he did not dare to recommend himself. It is true that he is not as reasonable as some people. Those people always like to raise their hats when they meet people in public. If they miss you for a long time and suddenly find you in a hall with the dignitaries they don't know, they will not hesitate to give you a loud hello, but they will quickly apologize. Don't be surprised by their joy and excitement. After a long time of meeting, you will find that you are happy to continue your old life. You will be overjoyed. Saniette, on the contrary, lacked courage. At Mrs. Verdiland's house, or on the narrow-gauge train, if he wasn't afraid to disturb me, he could have told me that he was willing to come to Barbeck to see me. Such a proposal would not frighten me. But he didn't say that. He didn't volunteer anything to me, but he looked sad and indestructible, just like the glaze on the porcelain. But in his eyes, there was an urgent desire to see you --- unless he found a more interesting person --- but he mingled it with the desire not to let anyone find himself. With an eager desire to see others, he said to me indifferently, "Don't you know what you are doing these days? Because I might be going to Barbeck. But no, it's nothing great. I'm just asking you about it. This look * can not deceive people, and those irony symbols, we can use to express our feelings contrary to our intentions, in fact, at a glance, people can not help thinking, how can there be such a person said the following words: "I am invited everywhere, so that I do not know what to do," in fact, to cover up their lack of. The fact of being invited. Moreover, what's more, this indifferent look *, perhaps because of the mixed ingredients of import is not the will of the mind, to cause you pain, is far from fear of trouble or straightforward desire to see you can do, that is to say, that pain, that disgust, belongs to the norm of ordinary social courtesy relations. In love, a lover puts forward a disguised suggestion to a woman who does not love him. He says that he will visit her the next day, but immediately changes his mind. He says that he does not have to do so. He does not even insist on the suggestion he just made, but keeps a fake and indifferent attitude. Suddenly, something strange to me emerged from Saniette's people, which made people have to answer him kindly: "No, unfortunately, this week, I will explain to you another day..." So I let others come here. Although they are far less valuable than him, they do not have his worried eyes, nor his bitter mouth. He would like to go to his master's house to visit others, but every time he visits others, he always keeps his mouth shut. Unfortunately, Saniette seldom did not meet my visitors on the small train, and they seldom did not say to me at the Vildeland house, "Don't forget, I'm going to see you on Thursday." It happened that day, too, that I told Saniette that I was not free. Therefore, he eventually imagined life as full of jokes behind his intentional plans, even if it was not against him intentionally. On the other hand, how can people remain unchanged and become morbidly reckless if they are too cautious? It was the only time that he came to see me without my permission. There was a letter just in time. I don't know who sent it and left it on the table. After a while, I found him absent-minded while listening to me. He had no idea of the origin of the letter, but he was fascinated by it. I always felt that his glazed eyes were about to leave their tracks and throw them on the letter. I watched as it was being magnetized by his curiosity. It's like an eagle rushing at a snake. He couldn't bear it any longer, so he changed the position of the letter as if to help me tidy up the room. He thought it was still not addictive, so he picked up the letter, turned it over and fell over, as if the action of a manipulator. Another manifestation of his rashness is that once tied to you, he can't walk. Because that day was very hard for me, I asked him to take the next train and leave in half an hour. He did not doubt that I was suffering, but he answered me, "I'll stay for an hour and a quarter, and then I'll leave." Afterwards, I felt guilty because every time I could call him to visit, but I didn't. Who knows? Perhaps, even if I had eliminated his misfortune, others would invite him, and he would immediately abandon me in a different way, so that my invitation would have double benefits, one for his joy, the other for me to get rid of his entanglement.

In the days after I received the guests, I naturally did not wait for people to come and the car came to pick us up, Albertina and I. When we returned to the hotel, Amy stood on the first step of the hotel, looking at how much I tipped the driver, her eyes were red, hot and greedy. Even though I held my hand tightly, I couldn't hide the coin or paper money that was tightly sealed in my hand. Amy's eyes broke my palm. In a twinkling of an eye, he turned around because he was cautious, educated and even satisfied with small favors. However, when the money falls into another person's hands, it will arouse an irrepressible curiosity in his heart and make him salivate. In this short moment, he looked like a child reading Jules Verne's novel, absorbed in the devil, or like a diner at a dinner party, sitting in a restaurant, not far from you, watching someone cut wild chicken for you, but he had no ability. Or willing to take a share, so he temporarily put aside his serious thoughts, staring at the wild bird, so greedy eyes, only love and jealousy make it smile.

In this way, we go for a ride day after day. On one occasion, however, when I took the elevator upstairs, the driver of the elevator said to me, "That gentleman has been here. He left a message for me to tell you." When the driver said this to me, his voice trembled faintly, he coughed at me and spattered my face with saliva. I have a bad cold!" He went on, as if I couldn't see it myself." The doctor said I had pertussis, "he said, coughing and spitting at me again." Don't get tired of talking, "I said to him kindly, pretending to be so. I'm afraid of getting pertussis. If I get this disease, and I get suffocated easily, it will kill me. But he flaunts himself, like a strong man who is unwilling to wear a sick hat. He still keeps talking and spitting. It's OK, it's OK, "he said. (Maybe it's OK with you, I think, but it's OK with me.) Besides, I'm going to Paris soon. (Great, I hope he doesn't pass me whooping cough before he leaves.) I've heard that "he picked it up again." Paris is beautiful. It's much more beautiful than Monte Carlo. Although there are some runways, even customers, and the foreman, they all go to Monte Carlo for vacation. They often tell me that Paris is not as beautiful as Monte Carlo. They may have made a mistake, but as a foreman, he should not be a fool; to master all the orders and ensure the supply of guest meals, it is necessary to have brains! I was told that it was better than writing plays and books." The driver lowered me to the bottom floor as soon as he saw that the button was not working, but in a twinkling of an eye he got it right again. I told him that I would rather climb up the stairs than say anything. I didn't want pertussis. But the driver pushed me back into the elevator in an infectious but friendly cough. No more problems. Now, I've got the button. Looking at his endless nagging, I was anxious to know the name of the visitor and what he left behind. When he compared Barbeck, Paris and Monte Carlo, who was beautiful, I said to him (as if a tenor singer of Bonjarman Godda bored you, you said to him: Or sing me a debauch? West bar): "Who on earth came to see me?" It was the gentleman who went out with you yesterday. I'll get his business card. It's in my porter's room." Because, the night before I went to Albertina, I had taken Robert de Saint-Lou to East Sierra Station. I thought the elevator driver was talking about Saint-Lou, but it was actually a car driver. Because he used the word "the gentleman who went out with you" to refer to the driver, he told me at the same time that a worker was also a gentleman, just like a gentleman in the upper class. I just had a vocabulary class. Because, in fact, I've never been hierarchical. If I hear someone calling a driver a gentleman, it's like Count X who's only eight days since he got the title. He hears me say to him, "The Duchess seems tired." He turns around and looks at who I'm talking about. The reason is simple: there's no habit of honor; I never distinguish between workers and workers. The bourgeoisie and the aristocracy, I may not care less about treating each other as friends. I have a preference for workers, followed by aristocrats, not out of interest, but knowing that people can ask aristocrats to be polite to workers, more than they get from bourgeoisies, or that aristocrats do not despise workers as bourgeoisies, or that aristocrats are willing to be polite to everyone, just like beautiful women. Laugh, because they know how to laugh. Although my attitude of treating the people equally with the people of the upper class has been recognized by the upper class, I can't say that, in turn, it will always satisfy my mother. It's not that she makes some distinctions on humanity. As long as Franois is upset or sick, she will always be comforted and cared for by her mother, and her emotional trust is no less than that of her best friend. But my mother was the apple of my grandfather's eye, and it was hard to accept hierarchy without being social. In vain, the Gombre family welcomed the most beautiful theory of human equality. When a slave struggled for liberation, he openly spoke in proportion to "you", and unconsciously spoke to me without a third person. My mother was very dissatisfied with this selfish change of self-esteem. She was in Hui with Saint-Simon. The description in the memoir is the same. Every time, when an old man, who had no such rights, seized an excuse and obtained the honor of "Your Highness" in a notarized document, or seized an excuse, he could not repay the rent debt owed or avoided by the Duke and gradually take it for himself, such discontent broke out sometimes. Come out. At that time, there was a stubborn "Gombre Spirit", which required centuries of propaganda of goodness (my mother's goodness is infinite) and equality theory to disintegrate it. I dare not say that in my mother's mind, some "Gombre Spirit" can melt away. He could not reach out to give the slave a kiss, but was willing to give him ten francs (besides, ten francs make the slave happier). In her opinion, whether she admits it or not, the master is the master, while the servant is only fit for those who eat in the kitchen. When she found out that a driver of a car had dinner with me in the dining room, she was not satisfied, so she said to me, "I think it's better to make friends than a driver." Just like if it's about marriage, she would say, "You'll feel better about the right person." The driver (fortunately, I never thought of inviting him) came to tell me that he was sent to Balbeck to catch up with the bus company during the tourist season and let him return to Paris the next day. This reason, especially because the driver is charming, speaks simply and plainly, and seems to be speaking all the words in the Gospels, so we believe it. But the reason is only half right. In fact, he had nothing to do in Balbeck. Anyway, the company doubted the honesty of the young evangelicals who depended on the Holy Wheel and hoped that he would return to Paris as soon as possible. Indeed, if the young apostle miraculously completed the multiplication when he counted the kilometres of his car to Mr. De Charles, he would, on the contrary, take off six of the money he received when he paid the company's account, and thus conclude that the company had either no one to visit Balbeck again, and that the season had indeed passed, or In any case, the best way is to recall him to Paris. In fact, there is nothing important to do in Paris. The driver's intention is to avoid off-season whenever possible. I said -- (I didn't know about it at the time, and if I knew about it, I would have avoided a lot of trouble) -- that he was too close to Morrel (but they always pretended not to know each other in front of others). From the day he was called back, it was not known that he had a way to stay. We had to rent a car and go out for a stroll. Sometimes, in order to distract Albertina, and because she liked riding, we rented several saddlehorses. The car is worn out." What a broken car! Albertina complained. I always want to be alone in the car. Although I do not want to set a good deadline for myself, but I hope to end this life, I complain that this life can not, not only make me lose my job, but also make me lose my joy. Sometimes, however, the habits that govern me are abruptly abolished, most often when I am temporarily replaced by a past I want to live with joy. I especially liked to go sightseeing. One day, I left Albertina at her aunt's house, and I rode to visit the Vildirans. I was on a wild road in the woods, because the Vildirans blew the scenery in front of me. Wild road winding along the cliff cliff, then, on both sides of Maolin Diecui, narrow forest dangerous road, straight into the deep canyon. In a few moments, I was surrounded by bare rocks, and through the gaps in the rocky woods I could see the sea. The rocks and the sea floated in front of me as if they were the remnants of another world: I recognized the primitive landscapes Elstier had taken for two wonderful watercolor paintings, one called The Poet Meets the Muse. The other one is The Boy Meets the Horse. I saw these two paintings at the Duchess of Gelmont. When I recall the scenery in the painting, the foreground of my eyes is vividly painted. I am so super-dusty and refined that I would not be surprised if I met a mythological figure during my travels, just like Elstier's prehistoric teenagers. Suddenly, my horse stood up, and it heard a strange sound. I managed to stop the horse and almost fell to the ground. I looked up at the sound, and tears filled my eyes. I found that about fifty meters above my head, in the sunshine, between two shining steel wings. Loaded with a living creature, although its appearance is not clear, but I feel quite like a person's face. I was thrilled as if a Greek had seen a demigod and demigod for the first time in his life. I couldn't help crying. Once I saw it clearly, the wonderful sound came from my head --- the plane was still very rare at that time --- and I thought, for the first time in my life, I saw the plane, so why don't I cry? At this moment, as at that time, I heard a moving sentence read in a newspaper. I saw the tears begin to flow from the plane. However, the pilot seemed to linger on his own course; I felt that in front of him - and in front of me, if habits hadn't yet taken me prisoner - he had opened up a path to heaven and life; the farther he flew, he hovered over the sea for a while, and then he made a firm decision, which seemed to attract some kind of extraterrestrial attraction. Force touched, get rid of gravity, like returning home, only to see a gentle movement of the golden wings, and then roll straight into the sky.

Turning back to the driver of the car, he not only asked Morrel to let the Vildirans switch to the car and replace their open coach (which is easier to do since the Vildirans have always been generous to their regular customers in their circle), but the more difficult thing to do was for him, the driver of the car. Instead of their driving style, that is, the passionate, grey-minded young man. It was settled in the following way in a few days. Morrel first let people steal the complete set of necessary harness for the coachman's harness. One day, he couldn't find a horse to chew; another day, he couldn't find a rope. In a few days, his cushion disappeared, the whip was missing, the cover cloth, the whip, the horseshoe and the suede were missing one after another. But he always managed to piece things together; he was only often late, which made Mr. Vildiran very angry with him and put him in a state of depression and pessimism. The driver couldn't wait to break in and threatened Morrel that he would go back to Paris. Do nothing and do nothing. Morrel was full of rhetoric and persuaded Mr. Vildiran's servants that the young coachman had threatened to trap them one by one. He thought it was great that he could subdue six of them by one. Morrel instigated them not to give up on him. But for himself, he can't intervene, just send them a message so that they can start first. They calculated that when Mr. and Mrs. Vildiran went out for a walk with their friends, the servants rushed to the stables and rushed at the young people. I'm going to talk about it later --- although it's about to happen soon, it's because I'm interested in those people later --- that day, a friend of the Vildeland family was on vacation at their home, and before he left, they wanted him to go out for a stroll because he was leaving that night.

When everyone went out for a walk, to my great surprise, Morrel went out for a walk with us that day and was supposed to play the violin in the bushes. Halfway down the road, he said to me, "Hey, my arm hurts. I don't want to tell Mrs. Vildeland, but please ask her to bring one of her servants. Hossler, for example, asked him to bring me an instrument. I think it's better to call another one, "I answered.

"Hossler for dinner." Morrel looked angry." Come on, I don't want to give my violin to anyone." Only later did I understand why. Hossler is the beloved brother of a young coachman. If he stayed at home, he would not help his younger brother. During the walk, Morrel whispered to me for fear that Big Hossler would hear, "This is a great boy," Morrel said. Besides, his brother is also good. If only he hadn't had that deadly alcoholism. What, drinking?" Asked Mrs. Vildiran, who had never thought she had a good drunken coachman, her face turned white with rage. You haven't seen me, and you're always muttering that it's a miracle that he never had an accident when he drove you. Did he bring someone else? You just need to see how many times he turned back. He's blue and blue today. I don't understand why he didn't whine. He broke all the roofs of his car. No wonder I couldn't see him today, "said Mrs. Vildiran, shuddering at the thought that the catastrophe might be on her head." You made me sad. " She wanted to hurry home, but Morrel picked up a Bach tune and kept pulling it all the way. As soon as she got home, she rushed to the garage and found that the shafts were new, and Hossler was bleeding. She did not ask for any more information, and immediately told him that she no longer needed the coachman and gave him some money. However, the coachman himself did not want to accuse his hateful colleagues. He believed that his fellows had stolen his harness one after another, and he knew that if he swallowed his breath, he could only be regarded as dead. When the ghost looked at him, he only asked to leave, so that he could be at peace. The next day the driver came into the room. It was not long before Mrs. Verdiland (she had to find another one) was so satisfied with him that she recommended him warmly to me as an absolutely reliable person. I hired him in Paris to cut short and pay him a daily salary without knowing the details; I was so impatient that I would write all the details into Albertina's story. At this time, I was in Las Prieur, where I took my girlfriend for the first time to dinner, and Mr. de Charles was accompanied by Morrel, who pretended to be the son of a "housekeeper", who earned a fixed annual salary of 30,000 francs, had a car, a number of housekeepers, gardeners and property escorts. People and tenants were under his command. But I just can't hold my breath. Can I give the reader a bad impression of Morrel? In fact, it's better to say that he's full of contradictions. For some time, he's really a little lovely.

I was surprised to hear that the coachman had been thrown out of the door. To my surprise, the driver who replaced the coachman was the one who took us, Albertina and I, to the mountains and rivers. But he kept making up a story in front of me, and it was so amazing that people heard that he had really returned to Paris, and that they had invited him from Paris to drive for the Vildillans. I had not flashed a second's doubt about it. The dismissal of the coachman was the reason Morrel had a few words with me in order to show me how sorry he was when the great boy left. Besides, in addition to my time alone, except when he jumped at me with joy, Morrel was in Las Player, where everyone welcomed me enthusiastically, and felt that he had deliberately alienated the person who was harmless to him because he had crossed the river, broken the bridge, and deprived me of exposure to him. Any possibility of a protective look * (in fact, I didn't want to take that attitude at all), so he stopped keeping me at arm's length. I attribute the change of Morrel's attitude to the influence of Mr. de Charles. Indeed, under his influence, Morrel is not so narrow and dull as an artist in some respects, but in other respects, he listens to his master's endless instructions, even if the whole story is deceptive. It's all talk, which makes him even more clumsy. What Mr. de Charles could tell him was, in fact, what I had expected. How could I not predict the prophet and guess what people later told me (I'm not sure about that, but the testimony Andrey gave about Albertina, especially later, I always felt very unreliable, because, as we have seen in the past, she didn't like me in her heart. Girlfriend, even jealous of her, but anyway, if something really happens, then both of them hide the question from me: Albertina knows Morrel very well? Just as the coachman was about to be dismissed, Morrel's abnormal attitude towards me changed my view of him. I always thought he was mean by nature. When he needed me, the young man was slave to me. Later, when he helped him, he turned his face and refused to recognize anyone. I formed my opinion about him. To this end, it should be added that Mr. De Charles has a clear relationship with prostitution, as well as a consequential animal instinct. When the animal sex is not satisfied (when the animal sex is seized) or causes complications, he will be depressed; but this personality * is not always so ugly, but always so ugly. Full of contradictions. It is like an old book of the Middle Ages, full of errors and absurd legends and obscene-dark content, but it is an outstanding hodgepodge. At first I thought that his art, in the field where he was really regarded as a master, gave him an advantage over the skill of the performer. On one occasion, I said my desire to start working, and he said to me without thinking, "Go ahead and make a name for yourself."

"Who said that?" I asked him. De Fontana said to Chateaubrion." He also knows a love letter from Napoleon." That's right, "I thought to myself." He's literary. But I don't know where he read this sentence. I'm afraid it's the only sentence he knows about all the ancient and modern literature, because he repeats it to me every night. In another word, he turned over and repeated it in front of me in order not to let me talk to anyone about anything about him. He thought it was a literary language, but in fact it was only a French language, or at least it did not express any kind of meaning, maybe only to a deceitful servant. Useful, this sentence is: "Doubts other people's people." In fact, from this foolish motto to what de Fontana said to Chateaubriand, Morrel's sexuality is evident, though varied, but not as contradictory as it appears. This kid, for a few pennies, can do anything without guilt - probably not without weird annoyance, sometimes even madness, but the word guilt is not related to this wind horse cow - this kid, as long as it is profitable, he will take advantage of the danger of others to get chestnuts, this kid put money above everything else. The position, but not the kindness above the natural feelings of ordinary human beings, or this kid, but put his first prize certificate of the Academy of Music and Drama above money, in the flute class or counterpart work class, no one can say that he is not a word. He burned with anger and started a nameless fire that was both yin and poisonous, rooted in what he called widespread fraud. (Perhaps he generalized some of the special circumstances of hostile people he met.) He never talked about anybody, but played his tricks secretly, distrusted nobody, and was proud to get rid of the widespread fraud. My misfortune is that because of the inevitable consequences of my return to Paris, his distrust did not "act" on the driver of Balbeck. On the driver, he may find a similar person, that is to say, contrary to his motto, a doubtful person of praise, a dumb person who pretends to be deaf in front of an honest person, but A suspicious person who fits in with a hooligan. He felt - but it was not an absolute mistake - that it would be of great benefit to guard against others, so that he would always be able to turn big things into small ones, small things into small ones and turn bad things into good ones. In the courtyard building of Belger Street, people could not grasp him by any means, and there was nothing they could do to deal with him. As long as he goes on, he may be able to make some achievements, and one day he will become a master of the violin judgement committee of the prestigious Academy of Music and Drama Competition. Everyone will be respectful to him.

But it may be perfectly logical to find such contradictions in Morrel's mind. In fact, his nature *, like a crumpled piece of paper, crumpled to disorder, so that it is impossible to return to normal state. He seems to have a relatively high moral standard, and he writes very beautiful words. What's missing is that he writes letters for hours, telling his brothers that he treats his sisters badly, that he is their brother, that he is their pillar, and that they are not polite to their brothers.

In a twinkling of an eye, the summer was over. When we got off the train in Duville, we saw only the sun, warmed by hazy clouds and mists, falling off into a red wheel in a purple sky. In the evening, a peaceful and tranquil atmosphere descended on this lush saline-alkali grassland and attracted many Parisians to Duville for vacation. Most of them were painters, but they rushed back to their own cabin villas early. Several lights have been put on. Only a few cows looked at the sea and moaned, and a few cows were more interested in humans and turned their attention to our cars. Only one painter set up an easel on a steep slope, trying to capture the tranquility of the vast area and the soft light. Or, this cow is unconsciously doing its duty to serve as a model for the painter because of their gaze, their free and easy posture, after people go home, in their own unique way, for the evening out of the atmosphere of rest is already night. If I go out for a walk in the afternoon, I have to go back to add clothes at 5 o'clock at the latest. At this time, the round and red sun falls into the tilted mirror, which used to be horrible. But now, the sunset is like Greek saltpeter, and on the glass of my bookcase, it ignites the war of the sea. I hastened to put on my tuxedo without swallow tail and acted like a curser, evoking alert and frivolous love. It was I who went to Riverbell for dinner with St. Lou. It was I who thought I had taken Miss De Stemaria to Linzhong Island for dinner that night. I unconsciously hummed at that time. In the same minor tune; I looked at the mirror, Fang recognized the singer who sang and stopped from the song. In fact, he could only sing this song. The first time I sang this song was when I fell in love with Albertina, but I thought I might never know her heart. Later, I sang it in Paris, when I stopped loving her, a few days after I first took possession of her. Now I sang again, when I fell in love with her again and would go to dinner with her. The hotel manager regretted it. He thought that I would eventually live in Las Player instead of his shop. He said he had heard that fever was prevalent there, and the source of the disease was death in the "beak" swamp and the swamp. ” Water. I like this diversity *, my life is spread out to three planes, so I see the richness and variety of life; moreover, when people temporarily turn back to the past, that is, unlike their own for a long time, their sensibility, because they are not weakened by habits, can accept extremely strong impressions at the very least. The wonderful stimulation makes all the previous things pale, and because of these impressions, we will be like a drunk once and crazy. It's usually dark when we get on a coach or a regular coach. The coach takes us to the station to take a small train. In the waiting room, the chief Dean said to us, "Ah! You go to Las Player! Damn it, she's so disgraceful, Mrs. Vildiran, that she let you sit on the train for an hour at night just for dinner. Then, at ten o'clock in the evening, we have to go back in the face of the ghost wind. You can see that you have nothing to do, "he added, rubbing his hands. Maybe he said this because he was not satisfied that he had not been invited, or maybe he was a busy person, even if he was busy.

Usually there's some satisfaction, "no time" to do your silly things.

Of course, it's reasonable for a person to write reports, sort out accounts, answer business letters all day and keep a close eye on the exchange. When he sneers at you and says, "You're so comfortable and idle all day," he feels proud of being superior to others. However, this superiority can also be used to show contempt, or even worse (because when you go to town for dinner, busy people eat as well), if your pastime is to write Hamlet or just read it. Whether you write or read Hamlet, busy people seldom think about it. They are not interested in culture. When people engage in cultural activities, they come across them by chance. They always think that culture is just a game for idlers to kill time. They may think so. In their own industry, it is the same culture that makes some administrators or managers who may not be as good as them. Members stand out. Faced with this group of lucky people, they admire them all. They say something in their mouths: "It seems that he is a great scholar, an outstanding person." However, the chief Dean can't understand why I like to eat dinner in Las Player because, as he said, although critically mentioned, a dinner "represents a real trip," I think it's a very attractive trip, because travel itself is not the destination. Yes, people don't have fun on the journey, because it's the meeting that makes people happy. The charm of travel is hard to be influenced by the whole atmosphere. Now it was dark, and I left the hotel hotspot, which had become my home, and boarded the train compartment with Albertina. When the wheezing train came into the station, there was a flashing light on the window glass, indicating that the train had reached a stop. I was afraid that Dr. Godard would not find us and hear the call from the station. So I opened the door of the carriage, but it was not the regular passengers who rushed into the carriage, but the wind, rain and cold. In the vast night, I can see the fields, hear the sea surging, we are traveling in the vast fields. Albertina took out a small mirror from a gold box she was carrying and looked at it, ready to meet people in her inner circle. Indeed, several times before dinner, Mrs. Verdiland asked Albertina to clean up in her bathroom. Although I was as calm as my recent life, I was still a little uneasy and jealous. I had to be separated from Albertina at the foot of the stairs. I stayed alone in the salon and in the small circle. The next day, I asked Mr. De Charles how to dress more elegantly. Then, I ordered a set of toiletries in Gardier's. It was Albertina's pleasure and mine. Happy. It is a guarantee of psychological peace for me, and it is a kind of care and comfort for my girlfriend. Because she must have guessed that I wasn't happy that she left me at Vildiran's house, so in the carriage, she was all dressed up for dinner.

Among Mrs. Vildiran's frequent visitors, Mr. de Charles is now included. He has been in the circle for several months and is a frequent visitor among them. Regularly, three times a week, in the waiting room or on the platform of West East Sierra Station, passengers entering and leaving the station can see the fat man passing by, only to see him with grey hair, black beard and lip grease, which is less dazzling at the end of the season than in the hot summer, because the intense sunshine in summer makes him more prominent and hot. It's half melted. He headed straight for the train and could not help looking at the coolies, the soldiers, the young men in tennis clothes, who were both fierce and timid. After looking at it, he immediately pulled down his eyelids, which were almost closed, with the zeal of the church priest in prayer, and the perseverance of a good wife or ladies who were devoted to love. Frequent visitors are convinced that he certainly did not see them because he went to another box (Mrs. Shebadov often did the same thing). He can't figure out whether people are satisfied or dissatisfied when they are found with him, but he leaves you the right to find him if you have the desire to find him. Words. In the first few times, the doctor didn't want to find him and asked us to leave him alone in his carriage. Ever since he gained prominence in the medical profession, his hesitation has become more apparent. He smiles, leans back and looks at Tsky through his nose-grippers, either deliberately mocking or turning around to surprise his colleagues: "You see, if I'm alone, I'll still be there." Boy... But for my wife's sake, after hearing what you told me, I wondered if I could let him travel with us, "the doctor whispered." What did you say? Mrs. Godard asked. Nothing. It's none of your business. It's not for women, "the doctor answered, blinking his eyes, with a solemn satisfaction with himself, a moderate look, somewhere between the grim, joking faces of his students and patients and the uneasy expressions of witty jokes in the Villandilan family, and then speaking in a low voice. Mrs. Godard only heard two words, one was "charity" and the other was "tongue". In the doctor's language, the former refers to the Jewish race, and the latter refers to the talkative, and Mrs. Godard took it for granted that Mr. de Charles might be a talkative Seleno. She really did not understand that, because of this, the Baron was excluded. As the elder of the small circle, she had the responsibility to ask everyone not to leave him alone. So we all went to Mr. De Charles's private room, led by Dr. Godard, who was always at a loss. Mr. De Charlus was leaning in the corner, reading a book by Balzac. He had noticed that people were hesitating, but he did not even raise his eyes, just as the deaf-mute could tell from the air flow that normal people could not feel that someone came behind him. His attitude towards others was cold, and he had a real nerve. Sensitive feeling. This kind of nervousness, because of its habits and ubiquity, has caused Mr. de Charles many imaginary pains. Just like those nervous patients who feel a little chilly, they suspect that someone upstairs opens the window, rushes into the door angrily and sneezes, and so does Mr. De Charles. As long as someone looks worried in front of him, they conclude that someone has told him what he said about him. However, people don't have to show indifference, or they don't have to face calmly or deliberately, but they can imagine one by one. On the contrary, it is easy to hide the truth of his unknown slander from him in good faith. He saw Godard's hesitation at a glance, and the employers thought that the man who was buried in the book hadn't found them yet. When they stood in the right place, he suddenly extended his hand to them, which surprised the old guys. However, he owed Dr. Godard a little, but immediately held his head up, No. Scrap uses his hand in Swedish gloves to hold the hand that the doctor has extended to him. We insist on traveling with you, and we must not leave you alone in your corner like this. It's a great pleasure for us, "Dr. Godard said to the Baron in good faith.

"I'm honored," said the baron, leaning over and looking coldly. I'm glad to hear that you have decided to choose this country to put down your account..." She wanted to say that the ancient Jews had built "holy tabernacles" in the desert, but she seemed to remember that the word was Hebrew, which was a great disrespect to a Jew and might have implications. So she chooses another kind of expression which she considers friendly, that is, a kind of solemn expression: "Set you down in this land, I mean'your house Gods'(indeed, these house Gods' kitchen Gods'do not belong to the Christian God, but belong to a religion that has already died. It is no longer handed down by disciples, so there is no need to worry about the risk of offence. But we, unfortunately, are not allowed to choose residences in the same area because the school is open and the doctor has to see a doctor. She pointed to a cardboard box and said to him, "Besides, you see, like us women, we are not as strong * happy as we are; we have to carry a lot of burdens with us even when we go so close to the Vildeland family." Just then, I read the Baron's Balzac book. It's not a binding book. It's a casual purchase, like the Beckett book he borrowed from me the first year. This is a collection of books on his shelf, like the one with an inscription: "Baron de Charles Collection," sometimes replaced by "Inproeliis nonsemper" and another motto, "Nonsine Labore" in order to show the Gelmont family's diligent interest in reading. But we found that these inscriptions were soon replaced by other inscriptions, trying to cater to Morrel's liking. Later, Mrs. Godarle found a topic that she thought was more personal to the baron." I don't know if you agree with me, sir, "she said after a short pause." But I'm open-minded. As I said, since people are sincere and sincere in their beliefs, all religions are good. Unlike those people, I saw a Protestant... It's like water phobia. I was told that my religion was true." Mr. de Charles said. This is a blind believer, "Mrs. Godard thought." Swan, except in the end, is more kind and tolerant. He really belongs. On the contrary, however, barons are not only Christians, as we all know, but also medieval pious. For him, as for the thirteenth century sculptors, the Christian Church, in terms of its vivid meaning, inhabits many living creatures and is considered to be real: prophets, apostles, angels, saints of all walks are crowded with the descending Son, the Virgin Mother and the Father, God, all martyrs and saints. Teachers, like their followers, have a distinct image, crowded with porches and chapels. Among them, Mr. De Charles chose Michelle, Gabriel and Raphael as lovers. He often met with them and asked them to convey his prayers to God before the throne of God. Therefore, Mrs. Godard's Yin-Yang mistake makes us very happy.

Latin means "no good for pleasure".

Latin means "no pains, no gains".

For the time being, the religion territory is not listed, let alone the doctor. He came to Paris with a shabby box and a peasant mother's advice. He devoted himself to his studies, almost purely vulgarized. He had to sacrifice a considerable number of years to advance his medical career, so he never paid attention to self-cultivation. He has gained more and more prestige, not more and more experience. His literal understanding of the word "honor" is both satisfying because he is vain and distressed, because he is a good boy. This poor De Charles, "he said to his wife that evening," when he said to me that he was honored to travel with us, I was very upset. Feel, this poor devil, he has nothing to do with Kola, he despises himself.

Soon, however, the regular visitors managed to control the embarrassment of coming to Mr. De Charles, and there was no need for them to follow the compassionate guidance of Mrs. Godard. Undoubtedly, with his presence, they will keep the memory of Tsky's revelation in mind, and constantly think of their traveling companion's sexual eccentricity. And it's this sex * eccentricity that tempts them. In their view, this kind of sexual eccentricity gives the Baron such a taste of speech, not to mention that his conversation is very pleasant, but some of them dare not praise it, but that taste makes Brishaw's own fun of talking and laughing dull. And from the beginning, everyone was happy to admit that he was smart." Genius neighbours madness."The doctor is of high opinion. However, if the prince's wife is thirsty for knowledge and asks him to go on talking, he has nothing to say, because his knowledge of genius is at best nothing more than this motto. Besides, it seems to him that this motto has not been proven enough, unlike his typhoid fever and joint. The inflammation is like the palm of your hand. Moreover, although he became prominent, he was still poorly educated: "Don't ask, Mrs. Prince, don't ask me, I'm here to rest at the beach. Besides, you don't understand me. You don't understand medicine." After apologizing quickly, Mrs. Prince did not say a word. She thought Godard was a charming man. Finally, she realized that celebrities were not always easy to approach. At the beginning, people eventually felt that Mr. De Charles was smart, despite his faults (or what people generally call him that). Now, just because of his defect, people think he is smarter than others, but they don't know what the reason is. One of the simplest and clearest maxims, cleverly advocated by scholars or sculptors, and elaborated by Mr. de Charles on love, jealousy and beauty, has been digested and absorbed in physical practice by virtue of his unique, secret, delicate and deformed experience. The charming flavor, which originates from a psychological state, is similar to the psychological state that our tragic literature has always described to us. It is embodied in a Russian or Japanese drama, where artists perform this kind of flavor. When he did not hear him, everyone ventured to make a malicious joke: "cough!" The sculptor whispered because he saw a young conductor with long eyelashes like an Indian monastery dancer, and Mr. De Charlus could not help staring at him. "If the Baron began to send an autumn wave to the conductor, we would not be able to reach the terminal, and the train would turn upside down." Look at his gesture. We're not on a small train, but on a cable tractor. But in fact, if Mr. De Charles did not come, he would only be with ordinary people along the way, without such a man of oil, noodles, big belly and self-restraint as his companion. People would be disappointed that he was quite like a suspicious box imported from a foreign country. Send out a kind of peculiar fruit fragrance, as long as the thought of being able to taste it personally, the heart will be lively. From St. Martin's Oak Station, where De Charles boarded the bus, to the East Sierra Station, where Morrel followed, the journey was short, but the old male employers felt more satisfied one by one. Because as long as the violinists are not present (and if the ladies and Albertina want to stay away from everyone in order not to interfere with their conversation), Mr. De Charlus is free to pretend to avoid certain topics and talk about "things that people commonly call bad customs and so on." Albertina was not in the way, because she was always with the ladies, and the young girl was so interested that she did not want to be present that she restrained the freedom of others to talk. But I can easily bear her not staying with me, but she has to be in the same carriage with me. Because I am no longer jealous of her, nor any love for her. I don't think what she did in those days when I didn't see her. On the contrary, even if I stayed there, a simple partition might cover up a betrayal. That would be unbearable for me. Soon, she If I had gone with the ladies to the next compartment, because they could no longer stay where they were, or they might have hindered the speakers, such as Brishola, Dr. Godard, and Charles, and I could not explain to them why I was hiding, so I got up and left them where I was and wanted to see that. Whether there was any abnormal behavior in it, I went to the next compartment. Until Eastern Sierra, Mr. De Charles had been unscrupulous all the way, sometimes speaking frankly of his blatant claim that there was no good or bad virtue in his eyes. He made clever remarks to show that he was open-minded and believed that his virtues would not arouse any doubt in the hearts of the old employers. He thought there were only a few people in the world, as he later put it in his mantra, "Have a bottom in his heart". But he envisioned no more than three or four of them, and none of them were on the Normandy coast. The assumption made by such a shrewd and homeless person can be shocking. Even those who he thought were somewhat knowledgeable, he smugly assumed that they only knew something vaguely, and that by saying so to them, he could free someone from the suspicion of his interlocutor, while his opponent pretended to approve of what he said out of courtesy. Son. He even estimated that I had some knowledge and guess about him, but he thought that this kind of public opinion was totally large and mellow. He thought that my opinion was much older than the actual situation. As long as he denied such or other details, people would believe it. On the contrary, if he said that the general situation of knowledge always preceded the details of knowledge, that would be the case. However, it provides great convenience for investigating details, because it destroys the invisible ability and does not allow hypocrites to cover up their favorites. Naturally, when Mr. De Charles is invited to dinner by a regular guest or a friend of his regular guests, he always tries to put forward ten names in succession. Among them, Morrel's name must be brought out. He is not confused at all. He always puts forward various reasons for saying that he can be with him in the evening. How happy and pleasant it would be to be invited together, and the hosts, who seemed to be obedient, could replace all the reasons he had put forward with only one reason, and the only reason that remained unchanged was that he loved him, but he thought they knew nothing about it. Likewise, Mrs. Vildiran always seemed generous in accepting Mr. De Charles's semi-artistic and semi-human motives of interest in Morrel, and repeatedly warmly thanked the Baron for his kindness to the violinist. One day, however, Morrel and he were late because they didn't come by the train and heard the hostess say, "We're waiting for the ladies!" The Baron would have been shocked and stunned to hear that, for he would not have moved once he arrived at Las Player, giving a face to the priests who were in charge of the chapel or the clergymen who were in charge of the catalogue cards, and sometimes sleeping there for two nights in succession (when Morrel was granted leave of forty-eight hours). Mrs. Vildiran then arranged their two adjacent rooms to their satisfaction and said, "Don't be embarrassed if you want to play some music. The walls are as thick as castles. There are no other people on your floor. My husband sleeps as heavy as lead." In those days, Mr. De Charles took over from the Prince's wife to welcome future guests at the station. She was not welcomed far because of her poor health. Because he spoke so fascinatingly about her health that all the guests came in worried about her health. It was unexpected that the hostess was wearing half-robed and half-exposed skirts. Lightweight, Pavilion and jade standing in front of us, we can not help but cry out.

For, for a time, Mr. de Charles had become Mrs. Vildiran's bosom of mind, and Mrs. Shebadorf's second wife. Mrs. Vildiran did not have much certainty about her position in the upper class, much worse than that of Mrs. Prince. She thought that if she wanted to look at the little core, it was because she despised other people and preferred the little core. This false sentiment is the nature of the Vildirans, and all the people with whom they can't communicate are regarded as nuisances. People can surely believe that the hostess will believe that the princess's wife has a heart of stone and is not moved to meet the beautiful man. But she is stubborn, and firmly believes that even for your wife, she does not want to deal with pests is frank and rational. Moreover, for the Vildirans, the number of disgusting people is decreasing. In bathing life, an introduction is not likely to cause trouble in the future, but in Paris people may be very afraid of the consequences. Some prominent figures, who did not bring their wives to Balbeck, opened the door to all activities. They approached Las Player on their own initiative, and the disgusting people turned into fashionable men. This is the case with Prince Gelmont. If Dreyfusianism had not such a strong appeal that he could climb the ramp to Las Player in one breath, the absence of the Prince's wife would not have made him decide to go to the Villediland as a bachelor. Unfortunately, that day he was catching up with the mistress. People are away from home. Moreover, Mrs. Verdiland was not sure whether he and Mr. de Charles belonged to the same upper class society. The Baron did say that Duke Gelmont was his brother, but it was probably a lie of an adventurer. Despite his graceful, lovely and loyal manner to the Vildirans, the hostess hesitated to invite him to join Prince Gelmont. She consulted Tsky and Brishaw: "Baron and Prince Gelmont, no way." My goodness, madam, I want to invite one of the two. I think it can be said that..." One of the two, please. Let me ask you again?' Mrs. Vildiran was angry and said again. I asked if it would be possible for you to invite them together. Ah! Madam, these things are very difficult to make clear." There was no malice in Mrs. Vildiran's remarks. She was sure of the baron's style, but when she said so, she did not think so at all. She only wanted to know if she could invite the prince and Mr. De Charles to come together at the same time, but whether it would be in harmony with each other. She did not use any of these ready-made terms. Malicious, these terms are very popular in the "small circle" of art. In order to raise her status with Mr. de Gelmont, she wanted to take him to a charity festival in the afternoon after lunch, during which some coastal crew would perform a grand voyage. But because she did not have time to manage everything, she appointed her inner Baron to perform her duties. You know, they shouldn't be left motionless like a cast. They should come and go, showing busy scenes. I don't know all the famous places there. But you, you often go to Barbeck Beach Pier, you can let them practice well, anyway you can't tired. You may be more knowledgeable than I am, Mr. de Charles. You know better how to call the small crew. But after all, we are looking for trouble for Mr. de Gelmont. He may be a big fool on the racetrack. Yo! My God, I speak ill of the jockey. By the way, I seem to remember that you are the jockey. Hey! Baron, you did not answer me. Are you a jockey? Don't you want to go out with us? Hold on. This is a Book I received. I think it will interest you. This is Lu Xiong's book. The title of the book is very unique: Between Men.

As for me, I am particularly glad that Mr. de Charles has often replaced Mrs. Shebadov, because I am at odds with Mrs. Shebadov and have fallen out over a trivial but deeply bitter affair. One day, sitting on a small train, as usual, I was very considerate of Prince Shebadov's wife, when I saw Mrs. de Villebarisis getting on the train. She did come to the princess's house in Luxembourg for a few weeks, but because I went to see Albertina every day, I never answered the invitation of the Marquis and her royal mistress. I felt guilty when I met my grandmother's friend and chatted with her for a long time out of sheer obligation (not leaving Prince Shebadov's wife). Besides, I don't know at all, Mrs. de Villebalisis knows exactly who the girlfriend sitting next to me is, but she doesn't want to know her. At the next stop, Mrs. de Villebalisis left the carriage, and I even blamed myself for not helping her get off the train. Then I sat next to the prince's wife. However, it seems as if --- in a precarious situation, afraid of being heard to speak ill of oneself, afraid of the disasters that often occur to those who are looked down upon --- change at first sight. Mrs. Shebadov buried herself in her Two World Reviews and was too lazy to start her lips when she answered my questions. Finally, she said that I made her feel headache. I have no idea what crime I committed. When I said goodbye to Mrs. Prince, the usual smile did not shine on her face. She pulled down her chin with cold courtesy. She did not even reach out to me, and never spoke to me again. But she had to talk to the Vildirans --- but I didn't know what to say --- because I asked the Vildirans if I was wrong with Prince Shebadov, and they all scrambled to answer, "No! No No No! She doesn't like intimacy!" They did not want to provoke discord between me and her, but she eventually convinced people that she was indifferent to hospitality and was an incompatible figure with the vanity of this upper class society. Only those who have seen such a politician are considered to be the most comprehensive, toughest and most inaccessible politicians since he came to power; only those who have seen politicians lose power, with lovely smiles, bow down to beg for the haughty respect of a journalist; only those who have witnessed Dr. Godard's revival (his). The new patient sees him as a rigid iron bar; and only by understanding how proud and anti-fashionable Princess Shebadov is everywhere, how painful love is, how fashionable the bitter wine of her tragic defeat, can we realize the truth that in human society, the law - it naturally contains. There are exceptions - it must be like this: cruel people are the weak who people don't want to accept, while strong people seldom consider people's willingness to accept them, but only the warmth that is regarded as the weakness by the mediocre people. Hundred Years of Loneliness

Besides, I should not make any comments on Prince Shebadov's wife. It's so common for her to have this kind of situation! One day, while burying someone of the Gelmont family, an important man standing next to me pointed to a slender, handsome gentleman. In the whole Gelmont family, "the man next to me said to me," this man is the most extraordinary and special. He is the Duke's brother." I hastened to tell you that he had made a mistake. This gentleman, who had no relatives with the Galmont House for any reason, was named Florence Salofis. The VIP turned around immediately and never again greeted me.