第一百九十六章 日食
九 日食
读者刚才已经看到，马吕斯发现，或者说他以为发现了，那位姑娘名叫玉秀。
爱情越深，渴望越切。知道她名叫玉秀，这已经很多了，但还远远不够。三四个星期内，马吕斯把这点幸福吞噬殆尽。他还想得到更多。他想知道她住在哪里。
他犯了第一个错误：掉进了斗士长凳旁的陷阱。他又犯了第二个错误：勒布朗先生独自来卢森堡公园时，他没有留在那里。现在他犯了第三个，也是最大的一个错误：他跟踪了“玉秀”。
她住在西街最僻静的地方，一栋外表朴素的三层新楼房里。
从那一刻起，马吕斯在卢森堡公园见到她的幸福之上，又增添了跟踪她回家的幸福。
他的渴望与日俱增。他至少知道了她的名字——一个迷人的名字，一个真正的女人名字；他知道她住在哪里；他想知道她是谁。
一天晚上，他跟到她们家，看见她们从车行道大门进去后，他也跟着进去，大胆地问门房：
“那位刚进去的先生是住一楼的吗？”
“不是，”门房回答，“他住三楼。”
又进了一步。这次成功壮了马吕斯的胆。
“临街的？”他问。
“当然！”门房说，“这房子只临街。”
“那位先生是做什么的？”马吕斯又问。
“他是吃利息的绅士，先生。一个非常好的人，虽然自己并不富裕，但乐于接济穷人。”
“他叫什么名字？”马吕斯追问。
门房抬起头说：
“您是警察局的密探吗，先生？”
马吕斯悻悻地走了，但心里很高兴。他正在接近目标。
“好，”他想，“我知道她叫玉秀，是个靠利息过活的绅士的女儿，就住在西街那栋楼的三楼。”
第二天，勒布朗先生和女儿只在卢森堡公园待了一小会儿；天还没黑他们就走了。马吕斯像往常一样跟他们到西街。到了车行道门口，勒布朗先生让女儿先进去，然后自己在跨过门槛前停下来，盯着马吕斯看了看。
第三天，他们没有来卢森堡公园。马吕斯白等了一整天。
夜幕降临时，他到西街，看见三楼窗户里有灯光。
他在窗下踱步，直到灯熄。
第四天，卢森堡公园仍不见人影。马吕斯等了一整天，然后去他们窗下站岗。一直站到晚上十点。
他的晚餐自然没吃。高烧滋养着病人，爱情滋养着恋人。
他就这样过了一星期。勒布朗先生再也没有出现在卢森堡公园。
马吕斯陷入忧郁的猜想中；他白天不敢盯着车行道大门，只满足于晚上去凝视那扇窗户里的红灯。有时他看见有影子掠过窗玻璃，心就怦怦直跳。
第八天，他来到窗下，窗户里没有灯光。
“咦！”他说，“还没点灯。可是天已经黑了。难道他们出去了？”他一直等到十点。等到半夜。等到凌晨一点。三楼窗户里没有一丝光亮，也没有人进楼。
他心情沉重地离开了。
第二天——对他来说只有明天和明天，可以说他没有今天——第二天，他在卢森堡公园没见到人；这他预料到了。黄昏时，他去了那栋楼。
窗户里没有灯光；窗帘拉上了；三楼一片漆黑。
马吕斯敲了车行道大门，走进去，对门房说：
“三楼那位先生呢？”
“搬走了，”门房回答。
马吕斯晃了一下，虚弱地问：
“什么时候？”
“昨天。”
“他现在住在哪里？”
“我什么都不知道。”
“他没留下新地址？”
“没有。”
门房抬起眼睛，认出了马吕斯。
“啊！是您！”他说，“这么说您还真是个密探？”
The reader has just seen how Marius discovered, or thought that he
discovered, that _She_ was named Ursule.
Appetite grows with loving. To know that her name was Ursule was a
great deal; it was very little. In three or four weeks, Marius had
devoured this bliss. He wanted another. He wanted to know where she
lived.
He had committed his first blunder, by falling into the ambush of the
bench by the Gladiator. He had committed a second, by not remaining at
the Luxembourg when M. Leblanc came thither alone. He now committed a
third, and an immense one. He followed “Ursule.”
She lived in the Rue de l’Ouest, in the most unfrequented spot, in a
new, three-story house, of modest appearance.
From that moment forth, Marius added to his happiness of seeing her at
the Luxembourg the happiness of following her home.
His hunger was increasing. He knew her first name, at least, a charming
name, a genuine woman’s name; he knew where she lived; he wanted to
know who she was.
One evening, after he had followed them to their dwelling, and had seen
them disappear through the carriage gate, he entered in their train and
said boldly to the porter:—
“Is that the gentleman who lives on the first floor, who has just come
in?”
“No,” replied the porter. “He is the gentleman on the third floor.”
Another step gained. This success emboldened Marius.
“On the front?” he asked.
“Parbleu!” said the porter, “the house is only built on the street.”
“And what is that gentleman’s business?” began Marius again.
“He is a gentleman of property, sir. A very kind man who does good to
the unfortunate, though not rich himself.”
“What is his name?” resumed Marius.
The porter raised his head and said:—
“Are you a police spy, sir?”
Marius went off quite abashed, but delighted. He was getting on.
“Good,” thought he, “I know that her name is Ursule, that she is the
daughter of a gentleman who lives on his income, and that she lives
there, on the third floor, in the Rue de l’Ouest.”
On the following day, M. Leblanc and his daughter made only a very
brief stay in the Luxembourg; they went away while it was still broad
daylight. Marius followed them to the Rue de l’Ouest, as he had taken
up the habit of doing. On arriving at the carriage entrance M. Leblanc
made his daughter pass in first, then paused, before crossing the
threshold, and stared intently at Marius.
On the next day they did not come to the Luxembourg. Marius waited for
them all day in vain.
At nightfall, he went to the Rue de l’Ouest, and saw a light in the
windows of the third story.
He walked about beneath the windows until the light was extinguished.
The next day, no one at the Luxembourg. Marius waited all day, then
went and did sentinel duty under their windows. This carried him on to
ten o’clock in the evening.
His dinner took care of itself. Fever nourishes the sick man, and love
the lover.
He spent a week in this manner. M. Leblanc no longer appeared at the
Luxembourg.
Marius indulged in melancholy conjectures; he dared not watch the
porte-cochère during the day; he contented himself with going at night
to gaze upon the red light of the windows. At times he saw shadows flit
across them, and his heart began to beat.
On the eighth day, when he arrived under the windows, there was no
light in them.
“Hello!” he said, “the lamp is not lighted yet. But it is dark. Can
they have gone out?” He waited until ten o’clock. Until midnight. Until
one in the morning. Not a light appeared in the windows of the third
story, and no one entered the house.
He went away in a very gloomy frame of mind.
On the morrow,—for he only existed from morrow to morrow, there was, so
to speak, no to-day for him,—on the morrow, he found no one at the
Luxembourg; he had expected this. At dusk, he went to the house.
No light in the windows; the shades were drawn; the third floor was
totally dark.
Marius rapped at the porte-cochère, entered, and said to the porter:—
“The gentleman on the third floor?”
“Has moved away,” replied the porter.
Marius reeled and said feebly:—
“How long ago?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where is he living now?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“So he has not left his new address?”
“No.”
And the porter, raising his eyes, recognized Marius.
“Come! So it’s you!” said he; “but you are decidedly a spy then?”
