Мхи старої садиби
Rappaccini's Daughter
Beforedescendingintothegarden,Giovannifailednottolookathisfigureinthemirror,—avanitytobeexpectedinabeautifulyoungman,yet,asdisplayingitselfatthattroubledandfeverishmoment,thetokenofacertainshallownessoffeelingandinsincerityofcharacter.Hedidgaze,however,andsaidtohimselfthathisfeatureshadneverbeforepossessedsorichagrace,norhiseyessuchvivacity,norhischeekssowarmahueofsuperabundantlife.
"Atleast,"thoughthe,"herpoisonhasnotyetinsinuateditselfintomysystem.Iamnoflowertoperishinhergrasp."
Withthatthoughtheturnedhiseyesonthebouquet,whichhehadneveroncelaidasidefromhishand.Athrillofindefinablehorrorshotthroughhisframeonperceivingthatthosedewyflowerswerealreadybeginningtodroop;theyworetheaspectofthingsthathadbeenfreshandlovelyyesterday.Giovannigrewwhiteasmarble,andstoodmotionlessbeforethemirror,staringathisownreflectionthereasatthelikenessofsomethingfrightful.HerememberedBaglioni’sremarkaboutthefragrancethatseemedtopervadethechamber.Itmusthavebeenthepoisoninhisbreath!Thenheshuddered—shudderedathimself.Recoveringfromhisstupor,hebegantowatchwithcuriouseyeaspiderthatwasbusilyatworkhangingitswebfromtheantiquecorniceoftheapartment,crossingandrecrossingtheartfulsystemofinterwovenlines—asvigorousandactiveaspideraseverdangledfromanoldceiling.Giovannibenttowardstheinsect,andemittedadeep,longbreath.
