a book of scoundrels-第32部分

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glittered　those　proud　initials　‘R。　F。'　　‘What　do　they　stand　for？'　asked　this　demon　Barlow。　　And　when　the　patriotic　Tommy　hesitated　for　an　answer；　the　preceptor　exclaimed　with　ineffable　contempt；　‘Race　de　fous'！　　It　is　no　wonder；　then；　that　this　foe　of　his　fatherland　feared　to　receive　a　letter　openly　addressed；　rather　he　would　slink　out　under　cover　of　night　and　seek　his　correspondence　at　the　poste　restante；　like　a　guilty　lover　or　a　British　tourist。

The　Chteau　de　Presles　was　built　for　his　reception。　　It　was　haunted　by　a　secret；　which　none　dare　murmur　in　the　remotest　garret。　　There　was　no　more　than　a　whisper　of　murder　in　the　air；　but　the　Marquis　shuddered　when　his　wife's　eye　frowned　upon　him。　　True；　the　miserable　Menaldo　had　disappeared　from　his　seminary　ten　years　since；　but　threats　of　disclosure　were　uttered　continually；　and　respectability　might　only　be　purchased　by　a　profound　silence。　　Here　was　the　Abb　he　received　with　a　grin　complacent　as　Shylock's；　for　was　he　not　conscious　that　when　he　liked　the　pound　of　flesh　was　his　own！

With　a　fiend's　duplicity　he　laid　his　plans　of　ruin　and　death。　　The　Marquise；　swayed　to　his　will；　received　him　secretly　in　the　blue　room　（whose　very　colour　suggests　a　guilty　intrigue）；　though　never；　upon　the　oath　of　an　Abb's　dictation；　and　when　her　husband　returned　to　St。　Amand　he　was　instantly　thrust　into　prison。　　Nothing　remained　but　to　cajole　the　sons　into　an　expressed　hatred　of　their　father；　and　the　last　enormity　was　committed　by　a　masterpiece　of　cunning。　　‘Your　father's　one　chance　of　escape；'　argued　this　villain　in　a　cassock；　‘is　to　be　proved　an　inhuman　ruffian。　　Swear　that　he　beat　you　unmercifully　and　you　will　save　him　from　the　guillotine。'　　All　the　dupes　learned　their　lesson　with　a　certainty　which　reflects　infinite　credit　upon　the　Abb's　character　was　revealed　before　he　parted　his　lips　in　speech。　　Unmoved　he　stood　and　immovable；　he　treated　the　imprecations　of　the　Marquis　with　a　cold　disdain；　as　the　burden　of　proof　grew　heavy　on　his　back；　he　shrugged　his　shoulders　in　weary　indifference。　　He　told　his　monstrous　story　with　a　cynical　contempt；　which　has　scarce　its　equal　in　the　history　of　crime；　and　priest；　as　he　was；　he　proved　that　he　did　not　yield　to　the　Marquis　himself　in　the　Rabelaisian　amplitude　of　his　vocabulary。　　He　brought　charges　against　the　weird　world　of　Presles　with　an　insouciance　and　brutality　which　defeated　their　own　aim。　　He　described　the　vices　of　his　master　and　the　sins　of　the　servants　in　a　slang　which　would　sit　more　gracefully　upon　an　idle　roysterer　than　upon　a　pious　Abb