Скорбота сатани

Chapter 22

           Thenightingalesangonandon—thetallliliesswayedinthefaintwindasthoughnoddingwiseapprovalofthebird’swildmusic—and,gatheringonebriar-rosefromthehedge,Iturnedawaywithacuriousheavinessatmyheart—atroubleIcouldnotanalyseoraccountfor.IexplainedmyfeelingpartlytomyselfasoneofregretthatIhadevertakenupmypentoassault,withsneerandflippantjest,thegentleandbrilliantlyendowedownerofthislittlehomewherepeaceandpurecontentdwelthappilyinstudent-likeseclusion;—butthiswasnotall.Therewassomethingelseinmymind—somethinginexplicableandsad—whichthenIhadnoskilltodefine.Iknownowwhatitwas—buttheknowledgecomestoolate!

           Returningtomyowndomains,IsawthroughthetreesavividredlightinoneoftheupperwindowsofWillowsmere.Ittwinkledlikealuridstar,andIguidedmystepsbyitsbrilliancyasImademywayacrossthewindinggarden-pathsandterracesbacktothehouse.Enteringthehall,thepageinscarletandgoldmetme,andwitharespectfulobeisance,escortedmetomyroomwhereAmielwasinwaiting.

           "Hastheprinceretired?"Iaskedhim.

           "Yes,sir."

           "Hehasaredlampinhiswindowhashenot?"

           Amiellookeddeferentiallymeditative.YetIfanciedIsawhimsmile.

           "Ithink——yes—Ibelievehehas,sir."

           Iaskednomorequestions,butallowedhimtoperformhisdutiesasvaletinsilence.

           "Good-nightsir!"hesaidatlast,hisferreteyesfasteneduponmewithanexpressionlesslook

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