anner.themummy-第2部分

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modeled　lips。
　
　〃I　could　swear　this　is　the　Roman　period；〃　　he　said。
　
　〃But　the　style　。。。〃
　
　〃Lawrence；　it's　too　lifelike。　It's　a　Roman　artist　who　has　imitated　the　nineteenth…dynastic　style　to　perfection。〃
　
　〃And　how　could　such　a　thing　happen；　my　friend？〃
　
　〃Curses；〃　　Samir　whispered；　as　if　he　had　not　heard　the　question。　He　was　staring　at　the　rows　of　hieroglyphs　that　circled　the　painted　figure。　The　Greek　lettering　appeared　lower　down；　and　finally　came　the　Latin。
　
　〃　Touch　not　the　remains　of　Ramses　the　Great/〃　　Samir　read。〃　It's　the　same　in　all　three　tongues。　Enough　to　give　a　sensible　man　pause。〃
　
　〃Not　this　sensible　man；〃　　Lawrence　replied。〃　Get　those　workers　in　here　to　lift　this　lid　at　once。〃
　
　The　dust　had　settled　somewhat。　The　torches；　in　the　old　iron　sconces　on　the　wall；　were　sending　far　too　much　smoke　onto　the　ceiling；　but　that　he　would　worry　about　later。
　
　The　thing　now　was　to　cut　open　the　bundled　human　shape；　which　had　been　propped　against　the　wall；　the　thin　wooden　lid　of　the　mummy　case　carefully　laid　upright　beside　it。
　
　He　no　longer　saw　the　men　and　women　packed　at　the　entrance；　who　peered　at　him　and　his　find　in　silence。
　
　Slowly；　he　raised　the　knife　and　sliced　through　the　brittle　husk　of　dried　linen；　which　fell　open　immediately　to　reveal　the　tightly　wrapped　figure　beneath。
　
　There　was　a　collective　gasp　from　the　reporters。　Again　and　again　the　flashes　popped。　Lawrence　could　feel　Samir's　silence。　Both　men　stared　at　the　gaunt　face　beneath　its　yellowed　linen　bandages；　at　the　withered　arms　so　serenely　laid　across　the　breast。
　
　It　seemed　one　of　the　photographers　was　begging　to　be　allowed　into　the　chamber。　Samir　angrily　demanded　silence。　But　of　these　distractions；　Lawrence　was　only　dimly　aware。
　
　He　gazed　calmly　at　the　emaciated　form　before　him；　its　wrap　…　I　pings　the　color　of　darkened　desert　sand。　It　seemed　he　could　detect　an　expression　in　the　shrouded　features；　he　could　detect　something　eloquent　of　tranquillity　in　the　set　of　the　thin　lips。
　
　Every　mummy　was　a　mystery。　Every　desiccated　yet　preserved　form　a　ghastly　image　of　life　in　death。　It　never　failed　to　chill　him；　to　look　upon　these　ancient　Egyptian　dead。　But　he　felt　a　strange　longing　as　he　looked　at　this　one…this　mysterious　being　who　called　himself　Ramses　the　Damned；　Ramses　the　Great。
　
　Something　warm　touched　him　inside。　He　drew　closer；　slashing　again　at　the　outer　wrapping。　Behind　him；　Samir　ordered　the　photographers　out　of　the　passage。　There　was　danger　of　contamination。　Yes；　go；　all　of　you；　please。
　
　He　reached　out　and　touched　the　mummy　suddenly；　he　touched　it　reverently　with　the　very　tips　of　his　fingers。　So　curiously　resilient！　Surely　the　thick　layer　of　bandages　had　bee　soft　with　time。
　
　Again；　he　gazed　at　the　narrow　face　before　him；　at　the　rounded　lids；　and　the　sombre　mouth。
　
　〃Julie；〃　　he　whispered。〃　Oh；　my　darling；　if　only　you　could　see　。。。〃
　
　The　Embassy　Ball。　Same　old　faces；　same　old　orchestra；　same　old　sweet　yet　droning　waltz。　The　lights　were　a　glare　to　Elliott　Savarell：　the　champagne　left　a　sour　taste　in　his　mouth。　Nevertheless　he　drained　the　glass　rather　gracelessly　and　caught　the　eye　of　a　passing　waiter。　Yes；　anodier。　And　another。　Would　that　it　were　good　brandy　or　whisky。
　
　But　they　wanted　him　here；　didn't　they？　Wouldn't　be　the　same　without　the　Earl　of　Rutherford。　The　Earl　of　Rutherford　was　an　essential　ingredient；　as　were　the　lavish　flower　arrangements；　the　thousands　upon　thousands　of　candles；　the　caviar；　and　the　silver；　and　the　old　musicians　sawing　wearily　at　their　violins　while　the　younger　generation　danced。
　
　Everyone　had　a　greeting　for　the　Earl　of　Rutherford。　Everyone　wanted　the　Earl　of　Rutherford　to　attend　a　daughter's　wedding；　or　an　afternoon　tea；　or　another　ball　such　as　this。　Never　mind　that　Elliott　and　his　wife　rarely　entertained　anymore　in　either　their　London　town　house　or　the　country　estate　in　Yorkshire…that　Edith　spent　much　of　her　time　in　Paris　now　with　a　widowed　sister。　The　seventeenth　Earl　of　Rutherford　was　the　genuine　article。　The　titles　in　his　family　went　back…one　way　or　another…to　Henry　VIII。
　
　Why　hadn't　he　ruined　everything　long　ago？　Elliott　wondered。　How　had　he　ever　managed　to　charm　so　many　people　in　whom　he　had　no　more　than　a　passing　interest；　at　best？
　
　But　no；　that　wasn't　the　entire　truth。　He　loved　some　of　these　people；　whether　he　cared　to　admit　it　or　not。　He　loved　his　old　friend　Randolph　Stratford；　just　as　he　loved　Randolph's　brother；　Lawrence。　And　surely　he　loved　Julie　Stratford；　and　he　loved　watching　her　dance　with　his　son。　Elliott　was　here　on　account　of　his　son。　Of　course　Julie　wasn't　really　going　to　marry　Alex。　At　least　not　any　time　soon。　But　it　was　the　only　clear　hope　on　the　horizon　that　Alex　might　acquire　the　money　he　needed　to　maintain　the　landed　estates　he　would　inherit；　the　wealth　that　was　supposed　to　go　along　with　an　old　title；　and　seldom　did　anymore。
　
　The　sad　part　was　that　Alex　loved　Julie。　The　money　meant　nothing　to　either　of　them；　really。　It　was　the　older　generation　that　did　the　scheming；　and　the　planning；　as　they　have　always　done。
　
　Elliott　leaned　against　the　gilded　railing；　gazing　down　at　the　soft　drift　of　young　couples　turning　beneath　him；　and　for　a　moment；　he　tried　to　shut　out　the　din　of　voices；　and　hear　only　the　sweet　strains　of　the　waltz。
　
　But　Randolph　Stratford　was　talking　again。　Randolph　was　assuring　Elliott　that　Julie　needed　only　a　little　prodding。　If　only　Lawrence　would　say　the　word；　his　daughter　would　give　in。
　
　〃Give　Henry　a　chance；〃　　Randolph　said　again。〃　He's　only　been　in　Egypt　a　week。　If　Lawrence　will　take　the　initiative　。。。〃
　
　〃But　why；〃　　Elliott　asked；〃　should　Lawrence　do　mat？〃
　
　Silence。
　
　Elliott　knew　Lawrence　better　than　Randolph　knew　him。　Elliott　and　Lawrence。　No　one　really　knew　the　whole　story；　except　the　two　men　themselves。　At　Oxford　years　ago；　in　a　carefree　world；　they　had　been　lovers；　and　the　year　after　they'd　finished；　they　had　spent　a　winter　together　south　of　Cairo　in　a　houseboat　on　the　Nile。　Inevitably　the　world　had　separated　them。　Elliott　had　married　Edith　Christian；　an　American　heiress。　Lawrence　had　built　Stratford　Shipping　into　an　empire。
　
　But　their　friendship　had　never　faltered。　They　had　spent　countless　holidays　in　Egypt　together。　They　could　still　argue　all　night　long　about　history；　ruins；　archaeological　discoveries；　poetry；　what　have　you。　Elliott　had　been　the　only　one　who　really　understood　when　Lawrence　retired　and　went　to　Egypt。　Elliott　had　envied　Lawrence。　And　there　had　been　the　first　bitterness　between　them。　In　the　small　hours；　when　die　wine　flowed；　Lawrence　had　called　Elliott　a　coward；　for　spending　his　remaining　years　in　London　in　a　world　he　did　not　value；　a　world　which　gave　him　no　joy。　Elliott　had　criticized　Lawrence　for　being　blind　and　stupid。　After　all；　Lawrence　was　rich　beyond　Elliott's　wildest　dreams；　and　Lawrence　was　a　widower　with　a　clever　and　independent　daughter。　Elliott　had　a　wife　and　son　who　needed　him　day　in　and　day　out　to　regulate　the　successes　of　their　wholly　respectable　and　conventional　lives。
　
　〃All　I　mean　to　say；〃　　Randolph　pressed；〃　is　that　if　Lawrence　would　express　his　wish　about　this　marriage　。。。〃
　
　〃And　the　small　matter　of　the　twenty　thousand　pounds？〃　　Elliott　asked　suddenly。　The　tone　was　soft；　polite；　but　the　question　was　unforgivably　rude。　Nevertheless　he　persisted。〃　Edith　will　be　back　from　France　in　a　week　and　she's　certain　to　notice　that　the　necklace　is　missing。　You　know；　she　always　does。〃
　
　Randolph　didn't　answer。
　
　Elliott　laughed　softly；　but　not　at　Randolph；　not　even　at　himself。　And　certainly　not　at　Edith；　who　had　only　a　little　more　money　now　than　Elliott　did　and　most　of　it　in　plate　and　jewels。
　
　Perhaps　Elliott　laughed　because　the　music　made　him　giddy；　or　something　about　the　vision　of　Julie　Stratford；　dancing　down　there　with　Alex；　touched　his　heart。　Or　perhaps　because　of　late　he　had　lost　the　ability　to　speak　any　longer　in　euphemisms　and　half…truths。　It　was　gone　along　with　his　physical　stamina；　and　the　sense　of　well…being　he　had　enjoyed　throughout　his　youth。
　
　Now　his　joints　hurt　more　and　more　with　every　passing　winter；　and　he　could　not　walk　half　a　mile　any　longer　in　the　country　without　suffering　a　severe　pain　in　his　chest。　He　did　not　mind　having　white　hair　at　fifty…five；　perhaps　because　he　knew　he　looked　rather　good　with　it。　But　it　bruised　him　secretly　and　deeply　to　have　to　use　a　cane　wherever　he　went。　These　were　all　mere　shadows；　however；　of　what　was　yet　to　e。
　
　Old　age；　weakness；　dependence。　Pray　that　Alex　was　happily　married　to　the　Stratford　millions；　and　not　before　too　long！
　
　He　felt　restless；　suddenly；　dissatisfied。　The　soft　swooshing　music　annoyed　him；　sick　to　death　of　Strauss；　actually。　But　it　was　something　keener。
　
　He　wanted　to　explain　it　suddenly　to　Randolph；　that　he；　Elliott；　had　made　some　crucial　mistake　a　long　time　ago。　Something　to　do　with　those　long　nights　in　Egypt；　when　he　and　Lawrence　would　walk　through　the　black　streets　of　Cairo　together；　or　rail　at　each　other　drunkenly　in　the　little　saloon　of　the　boat。　Lawrence
　
　had　somehow　managed　to　live　his　life　along　heroic　proportions；　he　had　acplished　things　of　which　others　were　simply　incapable。　Elliott　had　moved　with　the　current。　Lawrence　had　escaped　to　Egypt；　back　to　the　desert；　the　temples；　to　those　clear　star…filled　nights。
　
　God；　how　he　missed　Lawrence。　In　the　last　three　years　they　had　exchanged　only　a　handful　of　letters；　but　the　old　understanding　would　never　grow　dim。
　
　〃Henry　took　some　papers　with　him；〃　　Randolph　said；〃　small　matter　of　family　stock。〃　　He　glanced　about　warily；　too　warily。　Elliott　was　going　to　laugh　again。
　
　〃If　it　goes　as　I　hope；〃　　Randolph　continued；〃　I'll　pay　you　everything　I　owe　you；　and　the　marriage　will　take　place　within　six　months；　I　give　you　my　word。〃　　Elliott　smiled。
　
　〃Randolph；　the　marriage　may　or　may　not　happen；　it　may　or　may　not　solve　things　for　both　of　us…〃　〃Don't　say　mat；　old　boy。〃
　
　〃But　I　must　have　that　twenty　thousand　pounds　before　Edith　es　home；〃
　
　〃Precisely；　Elliott；　precisely。〃
　
　〃You　know；　you　might　say　no　to　your　son　once　hi　a　while。〃　　A　deep　sigh　came　from　Randolph。　Elliott　didn't　press　it。　He　knew　as　well　as　anyone　did　that