JК
The Real Life of Sebastian Knight :: Набоков Владимир Владимирович
Страница: 93 из 124'
I don't know why, but the atmosphere of the place drove me somehow to affected speech and manner.
'And what is more,' she said, lifting a sharp-nailed finger, 'j'ai une petite surprise pour vous. But first we'll have tea.' I saw that I could not avoid the farce of tea this time; indeed, the maid had already wheeled in a movable table with glittering tea things.
'Put it here, Jeanne,' said Madame Lecerf. 'Yes, that will do.'
'Now you must tell me as explicitly as possible,' said Madame Lecerf, 'tout ce que vous croyez raisonnable de demander а une tasse de thй. I suspect you would like some cream in it, if you have lived in England. You look English, you know.'
'I prefer looking Russian,' I said.
'I'm afraid I don't know any Russians, except Helene, of course. These biscuits, I think, are rather amusing.'
'And what is your surprise?' I asked.
She had a funny manner of looking at you intently – not into your eyes though, but at the lower pan of your face, as if you had got a crumb or something that ought to be wiped off. She was very lightly made up for a French woman, and I thought her transparent skin and dark hair quite attractive.
'Ah!' she said. 'I asked her something when she telephoned, and – ' she stopped and seemed to enjoy my impatience.
'And she replied,' I said, 'that she had never heard the name.'
'No,' said Madame Lecerf, 'she just laughed, but I know that laugh of hers.'
I got up, I think, and walked up and down the room.
'Well,' I said at length, 'it is not exactly a laughing matter, is it? Doesn't she know that Sebastian Knight is dead?'
Madame Lecerf closed her dark velvety eyes in a silent 'yes' and then looked again at my chin.
'Have you seen her lately – I mean did you see her in January when the news of his death was in the papers? Wasn't she sorry?'
'Look here, my dear friend, you are strangely naпve,' said Madame Lecerf. 'There are many kinds of love and many kinds of sorrow. Let us assume that Helene is the person you are seeking. But why ought we to assume that she loved him enough to be upset by his dying? Or perhaps she did love him, but held special views about death which excluded hysterics? What do we know of such matters? It's her personal affair. She'll tell you, I suppose, but until then it's hardly fair to insult her.'
'I did not insult her,' I cried. 'I am sorry if I sounded unfair. But do talk about her.
I don't know why, but the atmosphere of the place drove me somehow to affected speech and manner.
'And what is more,' she said, lifting a sharp-nailed finger, 'j'ai une petite surprise pour vous. But first we'll have tea.' I saw that I could not avoid the farce of tea this time; indeed, the maid had already wheeled in a movable table with glittering tea things.
'Put it here, Jeanne,' said Madame Lecerf. 'Yes, that will do.'
'Now you must tell me as explicitly as possible,' said Madame Lecerf, 'tout ce que vous croyez raisonnable de demander а une tasse de thй. I suspect you would like some cream in it, if you have lived in England. You look English, you know.'
'I prefer looking Russian,' I said.
'I'm afraid I don't know any Russians, except Helene, of course. These biscuits, I think, are rather amusing.'
'And what is your surprise?' I asked.
She had a funny manner of looking at you intently – not into your eyes though, but at the lower pan of your face, as if you had got a crumb or something that ought to be wiped off. She was very lightly made up for a French woman, and I thought her transparent skin and dark hair quite attractive.
'Ah!' she said. 'I asked her something when she telephoned, and – ' she stopped and seemed to enjoy my impatience.
'And she replied,' I said, 'that she had never heard the name.'
'No,' said Madame Lecerf, 'she just laughed, but I know that laugh of hers.'
I got up, I think, and walked up and down the room.
'Well,' I said at length, 'it is not exactly a laughing matter, is it? Doesn't she know that Sebastian Knight is dead?'
Madame Lecerf closed her dark velvety eyes in a silent 'yes' and then looked again at my chin.
'Have you seen her lately – I mean did you see her in January when the news of his death was in the papers? Wasn't she sorry?'
'Look here, my dear friend, you are strangely naпve,' said Madame Lecerf. 'There are many kinds of love and many kinds of sorrow. Let us assume that Helene is the person you are seeking. But why ought we to assume that she loved him enough to be upset by his dying? Or perhaps she did love him, but held special views about death which excluded hysterics? What do we know of such matters? It's her personal affair. She'll tell you, I suppose, but until then it's hardly fair to insult her.'
'I did not insult her,' I cried. 'I am sorry if I sounded unfair. But do talk about her.