追忆似水年华

I wasn't sure whether I was invited or not, and I wasn't anxious to go to the Galmont party, so I was hanging out alone, but summer didn't seem to be more anxious to die than I was. Although it was over nine o'clock, it lingered in Concorde Square, covering Ruckerso's Obelisk with rose nuts. Then, it changed the color of the obelisk, transformed it into another material, its strong sense of metal, making the Obelisk not only more precious, but also thinner and softer. People imagine that maybe this treasure can be twisted, maybe someone has already bent it slightly. The moon was hanging in the air, like a carefully peeled orange, although the surface was slightly damaged. In a few hours, it may turn into a golden hook. A poor little star crouched behind, accompanied by this lonely cold moon alone, but the moon is more courageous, while protecting his friends, while moving forward, as if holding an impractical weapon, holding the symbol of the East, waving his wonderful golden hook knife.

In front of the residence of Prince Galmont's wife, I met the Duke of Chartrello; I no longer remember that half an hour ago, I was still in a state of panic and worry that it would soon bother me again, and came unasked. People often have this kind of worry, but sometimes they are distracted, leaving the danger behind and recalling their panic for a long time afterwards. I said good-bye to the young Duke and went into the mansion. But here, I have to tell you a little bit about it. It's insignificant, but it's helpful to understand what's going to happen in the near future. Jean Christophe

That night, as always, there was a man who deeply missed the Duke of Chartrello, but did not know who he was. This man was Mrs. de Gelmont's door (then known as the "pager"). Mr. de Chartrello is far from being a dear relative of the Princess's wife - just a cousin - who was received by her salon for the first time in his life. The Duke's parents had been at odds with her for ten years, and it was only in the last half month that they got back together. That evening, they had to leave Paris for business, so they sent their sons to the meeting on behalf of their couple. However, a few days ago, Mrs. Prince's door met a young man on Champs Elysees Avenue and found him attractive. Although she tried her best, she failed to identify him. That's not because the young man is not polite and generous. The young gentleman's flattery and flattery were all accepted by the disciples. But Mr. de Chartrello was bold and cautious; the less he knew who he was dealing with, the more he refused to reveal his identity; and if he knew the details of his opponent, he might be even more frightened, even though the fear was unreasonable, because he never revealed the truth and let the other person see himself as an Englishman. But he was so generous to his disciples that he enjoyed them. The disciples were eager to meet him again, full of excitement and inquiry. But the Duke answered only one question to him: I don't speak French. In this way, they walked through Gabriel Street.

English means: I can't speak French.

Although the Duke of Gelmont had no scruple of pretending to be the mother of his cousin, he seemed to have found some traces of the Gouvernail mansion in the salon of Princess Gelmont-Baville, the arrangement of the salon was unique and refreshing in the social circle. It is generally believed that the lady is original and intelligent. After the dinner, no matter how big the party was, the guests at Prince Gelmont's house were divided into small circles of hard work and could turn around when needed. The prince's wife went to take the lead, as if she had chosen to sit in a small circle to show the social significance of the move. Moreover, she boldly named her name and attracted members of another small circle. For example, if you want to remind Mr. De Day that he is naturally happy, Mrs. De Villemi is sitting in another circle. She's sitting right behind her back and how beautiful her neck is, the Prince's wife does not hesitate to raise her voice: "Mrs. De Villemi, Mr. De Day is enjoying your neck." He's a great painter." Mrs. de Villemi understood that she was invited directly to the conversation, and with her delicate horseback riding, she slowly rotated her seat three-quarters, almost facing the Prince's wife, without disturbing the guests around her.

"You don't know Mr. Dedai?" The hostess asked, "It's not enough for her to turn her seat skillfully and embarrassingly when she's greeted." I don't know him, but I'm familiar with his works. Mrs. de Villemi answered, respectfully, gracefully, and admirably, and quietly saluted the famous painter who greeted her but had not been formally introduced to her.

"Come, Mr. Deday," said Mrs. Prince, "let me introduce you to Mrs. De Villemi." So Mrs. de Villemi gave her seat to the author of Dream as she had just turned to him. At that moment, Mrs. Prince pulled another seat in front of herself; indeed, she called Mrs. de Villemi for an excuse to leave the first circle, where she had spent ten minutes, and then appeared in the second circle, which was also given ten minutes. In only three and a quarter minutes, all the small circles were visited by her. Every time it seemed to be an improvisation, but the real purpose was to fully show how natural a lady was and how good she was at receiving people and things. But now, the guests of the evening party began to arrive one after another, and the hostess sat away from the entrance. Far away, with a straight upper body, an arrogant manner and almost Royal bearing, two eyes glittered with their fiery light, beside them were two not handsome Highnesses and the Lady of the Spanish Ambassador.

I lined up behind several guests who arrived one step earlier than me. Facing the prince's wife, there is no doubt that her beautiful appearance is not the only factor that keeps me fresh in my memory of the party, and there are so many things worth remembering. But the face of the hostess is so perfect and flawless that it seems to be a rolled commemorative medal. It is so beautiful that it retains eternal commemorative value for me. If you meet her guests a few days before the party, Mrs. Prince always says, "You must come, don't you?" It seemed that she was eager to talk to them. But on the contrary, once the guests came to her, she had nothing to say to them and did not get up to welcome them. She just stopped chatting with the two Royal Highnesses and the Ambassador's Madame for a moment and thanked them: "It's very kind of you to come." It was not that she really believed that the visitors came to the meeting to show their hearts, but to further show her kindness; thank you, and then sent the guests to the stream, adding, "Mr. de Gelmont is at the entrance to the garden, you go," and let the visitors visit by themselves without disturbing her. She did not even say a word to some of the guests, but showed them two amazing Onyx eyes, as if they were just visiting the gemstone exhibition.

The first person to enter the house before me was Duke Chartrello.

The guests who were already in the living room greeted him with a smile and shook hands. The Duke was busy returning courtesy, but did not find the door. But the door recognized him at a glance. This person's identity, how eager the door to know, in a moment, he will be clear. Menzi asked for the name of the "Englishman" who met two days ago, so that he could report that he felt not only excitement, but resentment for his boldness and impoliteness. He seemed to feel that he was going to disclose a secret to the public (but people couldn't perceive anything unusual), but it was a sin to be so abrupt and to expose it in public. When he heard the visitor's reply was "Duke Chartrello", he was proud and calm again. He knew all about the design of his badge. He hastened to take the initiative to supplement the other party's excessively self-humble identity and announced aloud: "Your Highness, Duke Chartrello!" The voice is not only the strong and powerful professional door, but also the tender and honey of loved relatives and friends. But now, it's my turn to report. I only looked at the hostess carefully, but she did not see me. I did not think much about the authority of the door in front of me. For me, the authority of this person was terrible - although the reason for fear was different from that of Mr. de Chartrello - the door was covered in black, like a jailer, surrounded by a group of slaves, dressed most pleasantly. Destination clothes, each strong, always ready to grab unauthorized intruders into the mansion, and throw him out. He asked my name, and I told him involuntarily, like a condemned prisoner tied to a wooden anvil. He immediately raised his head with dignity, without waiting for me to ask him to speak in a low voice - so that in case I really wasn't invited, I could save my face, and if I were invited, I would not lose the dignity of Prince Galmont's wife - he had already sung those palpitating syllables with enough strength to shake down the dome of the mansion.

The distinguished Huxley (whose nephew now occupies a decisive position in English literature) said that one of his female patients would never dare to go to the upper class again, because she often found an old man sitting in the seat where people politely invited her to attend. It was clear to her that either the action that led her to the table or the old gentleman sitting on it must be a phantom, for she could never be given a seat that had been occupied. However, in order to cure her illness, Huxley insisted that she go to the party again. She hesitated for a moment and felt overwhelmed. Her heart was torn open. I wondered whether people really had something to do with her expression of affection or whether she was guided by the illusion of nihility and sat on the knee of an old man with flesh and blood in the audience. 。 She was in great pain because she could not make up her mind for a moment. But maybe it's a lot worse than my distress at the moment. At the sound of my name, it seemed as if it was the forerunner of a catastrophe. In order to show my inner certainty and no doubt, I had to put on a firm look and walk to the Prince's wife.

When I traveled a few steps away from her, she found me, and this sign vanished my fears. She was no longer afraid of being the victim of a conspiracy. She did not sit still as she did when she saw other guests. Instead, she raised herself and welcomed me. Suddenly, I was like Huxley's patient, sighing comfortably. When she decided to sit in the chair, she found that the seat was empty, and finally realized that the old man was a phantom. The prince's wife smiled and shook hands with me. She stood up for a moment and gave me the honor as the last sentence of Maleb's poem says:

The angels stood up and paid tribute to them.

She apologized for the fact that the Duchess had not arrived, and as if she were not there, I would be bored. In order to say Good-day to me, she took my hand and swirled around me in a graceful manner. I felt immediately carried away by the whirlwind she raised. I simply thought she was going to be gracious to me right away, like a dancer who gave me an ivory stick or a watch. But in fact, she gave me nothing, as if she were not dancing Boston, but listened to Beethoven's most sacred quartet, worried about disturbing the magnificent music, stopped talking at once, or rather did not start talking at all, still glowing when I came in, just told my relatives. Where is Wang?

I left her and never dared to approach her again, feeling that she had absolutely nothing to say to me, that this tall, beautiful woman was as noble as many ladies who had gone to the guillotine proudly and did not dare to offer me Milesa, but sincerely repeated what she had said to me twice: "The Prince is in the garden, You go." However, if I go to the prince, it means that my doubts will disturb me in another way.

(1) A kind of medicinal liquor has special effect on treating vertigo.

No matter how he talked, he was talking to the Duke of Sidonia, whom he had just met. People can often find out their minds from each other's public opinions, while Mr. de Charles and Mr. de Sidonia can quickly sense each other's eccentricities from their own habits. For both of them, when it comes to communicative occasions, the common hobby is to be eloquent, and even not allow each other to interrupt. As a famous sonnet said, they quickly judged that the problem was incurable, and decided, of course, not to stop talking, but to sing their own tunes, regardless of what they would say to each other. In this way, a chaotic sound is formed, as in the play of Moliere, several people are telling different things at the same time, a lot of noise. The baron's voice was so loud that he was sure he would have the upper hand over De Cidonia's weak voice, but the latter was not discouraged. Once Mr. De Charles stopped breathing, the interval was filled with the whispers of the Spanish noble man, who was always going his own way. I would have liked to ask Mr. de Charles to introduce me to Prince Gelmont, but I was afraid (for many reasons) that he would be angry with me. What I had done was so ungrateful to him that I once again failed his hospitality. Secondly, I had never said anything to him since he took me home that night with affection. However, I had no foresight and used the scene between Hubien and him that I had just witnessed this afternoon as a pretext. I had no doubt about it at that time. Indeed, not long ago, my parents scolded me for being lazy and for not writing a few words to Mr. De Charles to express their gratitude. Instead, I was furious and blamed them for forcing me to accept decent claims. But it was only because I was so angry that I wanted to say the least they could hear that I told such a lie. In fact, I have no doubt that baron's courtesy hides any carnal or even emotional attempt. I took it as a sheer absurdity and told my parents all about it. Sometimes, however, the future resides with us, and we don't know that what we thought was a lie is right in line with the coming reality.

I am not grateful to Mr. de Charles, for which he will no doubt be lenient. What annoyed him was that I had appeared at Mrs. Gelmont's house tonight, as I had recently appeared at his cousin's house, and that my presence seemed to solemnly declare in silence, "Only through me can I join these salons." This is a serious mistake, perhaps an irreparable one. I don't think much about it. Mr. De Charles knows that his thunderous voice, designed to deal with people who do not listen to him or who hate him to the bone, has begun to turn into a recreational cartoon in the eyes of many people and is no longer able to expel anyone from anywhere. However, perhaps he still thought that although his energy had been weakened, he still had his power. In the eyes of young people like me, who had little experience in the world, there was still a strong wind. Therefore, it is not appropriate for me to choose him to help me at this grand gathering, because my presence alone seems to constitute a satire and denial of his pretentious posture.

At that time, I was caught up by a rather vulgar man, Professor E. He was surprised to see me in the Galmont Palace. When I saw him there, it was not surprising that the prince's wife's Palace should have seen such a person as him, which was unprecedented. He had recently cured the prince of infectious pneumonia. In fact, the prince had already used drugs. Out of gratitude for him, Mrs. de Gelmont broke the rule and invited him to the meeting. Because he absolutely did not know anyone in the salon and could not wander around in the living room like an emissary of the God of death, he recognized me for the first time in his life and felt that there were countless things to talk to me, which enabled him to keep calm. It was for this reason that he came to me. There is another reason. He paid special attention to not misdiagnosing at any time. However, he wrote too many letters, which made it difficult for him to know whether his condition was developing in the direction of his diagnosis after his first visit to a patient. You may not forget that my grandmother had an old problem at the beginning, and that night I took her to his home for treatment. I happened to bump into him and asked him to sew a flag for herself. It was enough. As time went by, he could no longer remember that we had sent him obituaries." Your grandmother is no longer alive, is she? He said to me that with a grasp of 89 points, he did not care about the remaining doubts." Ah! Sure enough! I was totally discouraged by her diagnosis from the first minute I saw her. I remember it very well.

In this way, Professor E learned or learned again about my grandmother's death. I should probably praise him and the whole medical community. However, I did not express any satisfaction. Maybe I did not feel satisfied at all. Doctors'faults are common. They tend to be optimistic about life-taking therapies, but pessimistic about the ultimate efficacy, and thus make mistakes. Wine? Limited drinking will not do you any harm, it can be said to be a kind of fitness agent... Does it matter? Anyway, it's a common desire. I agree, but I can't go too far. Please listen to me. Everything goes against the grain. Excessive is a fault." What a temptation to the patient at this moment! This tempts patients to give up two life-saving remedies: drinking water and abstinence. However, if the patient has heart problems, proteinuria and other diseases, then his days are numbered. Once a serious obstacle occurs, although functional, it is often attributed to cancer by imagination alone. For incurable diseases, re-treatment will not help, there is no need to continue to treat patients. So, the patient struggled and prescribed a strict eating system for himself, gradually recovered, and finally survived. The doctor thought he had already entered Rachel's Abbey cemetery, but he met in the Opera Street. The other party took off his hat to pay tribute to him, but he regarded it as an irreverent taunt. His indignation was worse than that of the President of the Criminal Court. Two years ago, he sentenced a wandering tramp to death. The tramp seemed not to be afraid, but now he wandered under his nose. Doctors (not all, of course, we do not exclude extraordinary exceptions in our minds) naturally rejoice that their diagnosis has been confirmed, but in general they are annoyed and angry that their decisions have been declared null and void. It is for this reason that Professor E is satisfied to see that he has made no mistakes, but no matter how proud he is, he is also good at acting on the spot, showing a sad look, and telling me about the misfortunes we have suffered. He did not intend to perfunctory, because the conversation gave him the opportunity to remain calm and the reason to stay in the living room. He talked to me about the hot weather in recent days. Although he was well-educated and could express his thoughts in pure French, he said to me, "Don't you feel uncomfortable with such a high fever?" The reason for this is that since the time of Moliere, medicine has made some progress in its field of knowledge, but it has not improved in terms of terminology. My interlocutor then added: "At the moment, sweating must be avoided, especially in overheated living rooms on such a day. When you get home and want something to drink, you can hit the fever with a hot drink.

Because my grandmother died in a special way, I was interested in this issue. Recently, I read in a book by a university student that sweating is harmful to the kidney because it is normally excreted through the skin through other channels. I'm sorry for the heat. My grandmother died of illness in the hot weather. I'm almost going to accuse people of the ghostly weather. However, I did not talk to Dr. E about this, but he volunteered to say to me, "This hot day, will sweat a lot, the advantage is that the kidney can reduce the burden at the same time." It seems that medicine is not an accurate science.

Professor E was so obsessed with me that the only requirement was not to leave me, but I just found Marquis Faugubert, who took a step backwards and bowed two times to Princess Gelmont, left and right. Mr. De Nobwa has only recently introduced me to him, and now I would like to introduce me to the male host through him. Because of the limited length of this book, I am not allowed to explain in detail what kind of accident happened in his youth. Mr. De Fogube and Mr. De Charles had a close relationship. In the words of the Nasodom people, he and Mr. De Charles were "intimate acquaintances". In the upper classes, there were very few such acquaintances as Mr. De Fogube.（ Maybe he's the only one. But if our minister next to King Diodor had some of the same defects as the baron, it would be a mere shame, in contrast, to be eclipsed. He tends to be fond of people for a time, full of hatred for a time, and his form of expression is only emotional, and extremely mild, but also clumsy. The Baron is just taking advantage of his emotional vacancies, which will arouse the desire of temptation, hope, and panic - also the result of imagination - not fear of being despised, at least burden. The heart reveals its intentions. Because of his purity of heart, he insisted on "Platonic spiritual love" (he was ambitious and sacrificed all his pleasures since he entered the age of the conference examination), especially because of his mental retardation. Mr. De Fogube's changeability at that time seemed ridiculous and exposed. Mr. De Charles's compliments were uncontrolled, eloquent and full of eloquent talent, while sarcastic and sarcastic, with wonderful means and extremely harsh tone, which made him memorable and unforgettable all his life; however, Mr. De Fugube, on the contrary, said that when he expressed his good feelings, the weather was the end. The villains in society, like nobles in the upper classes, like lords in the bureaucracy, are in short mediocre; if they are scolded (like barons, they are often completely innocent), they are vicious, endless and have no sense of humour, and have nothing to do with what the Ambassador himself said six months ago. It may not be long before he repeats the old saying that there is no lack of conventions in change, which adds a kind of celestial poetry to Mr. De Fogube's different stages of life. Without this poetry, how could he be superior to others and compete with celestial bodies?

He greeted me with a good night without the slightest appeal of Mr. de Charles's invitation to peace. In addition, Mr. De Fogube, with his unconstrained, free-spirited attitude, had a laughing face, on the one hand, in order to appear happy in his life - but in his heart, he was constantly suffering from the threat of dismissal and retirement because he had not been promoted. On the other hand, in order to show youthful, masculine and charming, but in the mirror, he saw how much he wanted to keep his charming face had been engraved with wrinkles, and even had no courage to take a look at it. It's not that he really wants to conquer others. If he thinks about it, he'll be frightened, because gossip, scandal and blackmail are terrible. Originally, he was almost like a child, but since the day he thought of the Kaidao race and hoped for a great future, he turned to absolute abstinence. This change, like a caged animal, always looked around, showing horror, greed and stupidity. He was so foolish that he didn't even think about it. The second-rate boys in his youth were no longer mischievous. If a newsboy shouted "Buy the newspaper" at him, he would tremble uncontrollably, thinking that he was recognized and showed his horse's feet.

(1) The seat of the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

De Fogube sacrificed all his enjoyment for the ungrateful Kaidao race, but because of his lack of enjoyment, he --- and because of that, he may wish to be liked --- sometimes suddenly felt impulsive inside. God knows how many letters he sent to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs one after another, how many intrigues and tricks he played in private, and how much credit he used his wife (because Mrs. De Fogube was of noble birth, fat and strong, and a man's face, especially her husband's mediocrity and incompetence, and people thought she was the one who had outstanding talent. Exercising real ministerial functions and powers, I don't understand. I pulled a young man who had no merits into the ranks of the members of the mission. Indeed, months or years later, even though this insignificant attendant had no bad intentions, if he showed a little indifference to his superior, he thought he was being despised or betrayed. He was no longer as caring for him as he used to be. Instead, he was hysterically punished. The boss was so upset that he was summoned back. So the Chief Secretary for Administration received such a letter every day: "What are you waiting for?" Can't you get this crafty guy out of here? For his good, teach him a lesson. What he needs is to live a poor life." For this reason, the post of commissioner stationed next to King Diodor was not pleasant. In other respects, however, Mr. De Fogube is still one of the best diplomats stationed abroad by the French Zhengg Palace because he has the common sense of the upper class. Later, he was replaced by an omniscient Jacobin of the so-called upper class, and soon war broke out between France and the kingdom.

Mr. De Fogube and Mr. De Charles have one thing in common: they don't like to greet people first. They would rather "return the courtesy" because they always worry that after the last breakup, maybe the other party heard gossip about them, otherwise, they may have already offered their hands to the other party. To me, Mr. De Fogube needn't bother about this problem. I take the initiative to greet him, even if it's only because of age differences. He saluted me, amazed and delighted, and his eyes continued to turn, as if they were lined with fasting tender alfalfa. I thought to myself that it would be more polite to ask him to introduce me to Mrs. De Fogube before asking him to take me to the prince. As for the meeting with the prince, I would like to mention it later. As soon as I wanted to meet his wife, he seemed to be delighted with himself and his wife, and without hesitation, he took me to the Marquis. When he came to her, he pointed at me with gestures and eyes as much as he could to show his respect, but he did not say a word. A few seconds later, he left alone, leaving me alone and staying with his wife alone. She stretched out her hand to me in a hurry, but did not know who to face to express this kind gesture. It suddenly dawned on me that Mr. De Fogube forgot what I was called, or even didn't recognize me at all, just out of courtesy, and did not want to point it out to me. As a result, the introduction was turned into a full pantomime. So there was no further progress in my actions; how could a woman who didn't even know my name introduce me to the man? Besides, I had to talk to Mrs. De Fogube for a while. This upsets me for two reasons. First, I don't intend to stay at the party for a long time, because I've made up my mind with Albertina (I booked her a box to see Fidel) and asked her to come to see me a little before midnight. Of course, I have no attachment to her, I let her come tonight, just conform to a pure flesh desire, although in this year's dog days, the liberated flesh desire is more willing to visit the taste organs, especially like looking for cool. Besides the girl's kiss, it is more eager to drink an orange drink, swim, or quietly watch the moon, which relieves thirst for the sky. The moon looks like only peeled fruit and dripping fresh juice, but I want to stay with Albertina - she reminds me of the coolness of the waves - to get rid of so many charming faces (because of the prince). Madame's party is not only for ladies, but also for girls. It will inevitably bring me a sense of regret. Secondly, the majestic Mrs. De Fogube had the faces of the Bourbons and was depressed and unattractive.

In the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, there is no malice. It is said that the family wears skirts for their husbands and shorts for their wives. Yes, the truth in this statement * is beyond people's imagination. Mrs. De Fogube is a man. Was she born like this, or did she become like what I saw the day after tomorrow? It doesn't matter, because whether it's born or changed, it's one of the most touching miracles created by nature, especially the change after birth. Such a miracle has caused people and flowers to be inseparable from each other. If the first hypothesis --- that Mrs. De Fogube was born to be such a clumsy man --- holds true, then it is nature * that is playing tricks, both compassionate and vicious, to disguise a young girl as a dummy boy. Teenagers who don't like women but want to change their ways are glad to find a fiancee, a strong Porter in the vegetable market. If, on the contrary, this woman is not a man by nature, it is her own pleasure for the husband, or even unconsciously through mimicry, gradually developed, as some flowers under the mimicry, to cloak themselves with insects similar to their intended attraction. She hated that she could not be loved and that she was not a man, so she gradually became a man. Apart from what we care about, who hasn't found out how many of the most normal couples eventually become sexually similar, sometimes even interchangeable? Once upon a time, there was a German Prime Minister, Prince Bilov, who married an Italian woman. Over time, it was found in the prince that the Germanic husband gradually developed what a typical Italian shrewdness, while the prince's wife slowly caught up in the rudeness of the Germans. Without mentioning the special examples of the laws we have described, everyone knows that there is such a distinguished French diplomat who is one of the most prestigious great men in the East and whose family name alone indicates his place of origin. As he grew older and older, an Oriental man stood out among him. No one doubted that the Oriental man, who saw him, would regret the lack of a Turkish hat on his head.

Let's get back to the point and talk about the unfamiliar custom of the minister. Only then can we mention his hereditary and clumsy image. Whether nurtured or created, Mrs. de Fogube has become a typical male incarnation. Her immortal image is Mrs. Prince Baratina. She always wears horse clothes. She not only draws manliness from her husband, but also from men who never love women. The enclosed letters reveal the activities of the noble lords in the court of Louis XIV. Another reason for the masculinity of women like Mrs. De Fogube is that they are humiliated by the abandonment of their husbands, and all their feminine characteristics are gradually losing their luster. They eventually developed the strengths and weaknesses that their husbands did not possess. As husbands become increasingly frivolous, feminine and uninteresting, they become masculine like unattractive statues, and this masculinity should be expressed by husbands.

The mark of humiliation, boredom and indignation blemished Mrs. De Fogube's upright face. Unfortunately, I felt that she was looking at me with interest and curiosity, just like a young man who delighted Mr. Faugubert. Now that her aging husband loved his youth even more, she wished to be a handsome teenager. She stared at me as if the outsiders were looking at the catalogue of the new clothing stores, concentrating on the beautiful picture of the right size of the pullover dress. (In fact, every page was painted with the same person, but because of the change of clothing and posture, it caused the illusion that it seemed like many. Different people. The attraction of flowers and bees was so great that Mrs. De Fogube came closer to me. She grabbed my arm and asked me to accompany her for an orange drink. But I quickly got away and pretended that I was leaving soon, but I hadn't seen the man yet.

The man is talking to some visitors at the garden gate. I'm not too far from there. But this distance scares me, and it's more terrible than going through fire and water.

There are many women standing in the garden, and I think they can be introduced by them. They pretend to be amazed, but in fact they are at a loss. Holding such a grand gathering usually takes the form of the first one, and can not become a reality until the next day, because the next day it arouses the attention of the uninvited. Many literati have a kind of foolish vanity, but a writer worthy of his name is extremely vain. If he reads an article of a critic who has always admired him highly, he finds that his name is missing in the article and that all the articles mentioned are mediocre writers. Although the article may be full of amazing writing, he will not have the leisure to read it again. Go on, because the works need him to create.

However, a lady in the upper class was bored and idle. Once she read in the newspaper Figaro, "Yesterday, Prince and Mrs. Gelmont had a big party..." Then he would cry out, "What's wrong? Three days ago, I talked to Mary Shebel for an hour, and she didn't even mention a word to me!" So she racked her brains to find out what was wrong with the Garments. It must be admitted that Mrs. Prince's grand occasion is different, not only to the surprise of the uninvited, but also sometimes to the surprise of the invited guests. Because her evenings were often unexpected and unexpected, she invited guests who had been left out by Mrs. de Gelmont for years. Almost all the upper classes are so shallow, and everyone treats the same kind only by discussing the right and wrong, inviting the intimate warmth, not inviting the resentment. For these people, although they are all friends of the Prince's wife, if they are not invited, it is often because the Prince's wife is afraid of causing "Palamedes" dissatisfaction, because he has already expelled them from the church. Accordingly, I can safely conclude that she did not mention me to Mr. de Charles, otherwise I would not have been present. Mr. De Charles was standing beside the German Ambassador, leaning against the railing of the main staircase leading to the palace in front of the garden gate. Although the Baron was surrounded by three or four women who worshipped him, they almost stopped him, but the guests had to come forward to say hello to him. He answered them one by one and called them by their surnames. Only a succession of greetings were heard: "Good evening, Mr. De Assair, good evening, Mrs. De Lado Dipin Wilcross, good evening, Mrs. De Lado Dipin Gouverner, good evening, Philippe, good evening, my dear Mrs. Ambassador..." The constant shrill greetings were interrupted by Mr. De Charles's orders and inquiries in the performance of his official duties (he did not listen to the answer at all). At this time, his voice became gentle and hypocritical, showing both indifference and a little kindness: "Notice that the little girl is not cold, the garden is always a little humid." Good evening, Mrs. de Bronte. Good evening, Mrs. de Mecklenburg. Has the girl come yet? Did she wear that charming rose dress? Good evening, Saint Sheeran." Of course, his gesture was arrogant. Mr. De Charles knew that he was a member of the Gelmont family and that he was important and superior to others in this grand event. However, it does not only contain pride. For people with aesthetic taste, if the event is not held in the residence of the upper class, but in the oil paintings of Cappaccio or Venezuela, then the word "grand event" itself will arouse a sense of luxury and curiosity. What's more, De Charles, the German prince, may have imagined that the festival was being held in Tang Hauser's poems. He stood at the entrance of Walburg as if he were Marguerite. He lowered his dignity to greet every visitor. The visitors entered the castle or garden, and they were welcomed by the well-known performers. The long and short sentences of march.

(1) Cappaccio (about 1460-1525F1526), the greatest narrative painter of the early Venetian Renaissance in Italy.

(2) Venezuela (1528-1588), the main painter and famous color master of the 16th century Venetian painting school.

(3) Tang Haoze (about 1200-about 1270), German Lyric poet.

But I have to make up my mind. I clearly recognized the women under the tree. I had some contact with them, but they seemed to have changed their appearance, because they were at the prince's palace, not at their cousin's house, and I also saw that they were sitting in the shade of a chestnut tree instead of facing the Saxon dinner plate. The elegance of the environment does nothing. Even if the environment in the "Oliana" palace is a hundred times worse, my mind will still be in chaos. If the lights suddenly go out in our living room and we have to replace them with oil lamps, everything will change in our eyes. I was caught in a dilemma of indecision and dilemma by Mrs. de Suffrey." Good evening, "she said as she came to me." Have you not seen the Duchess of Gelmont for a long time? When she speaks such words, she tries to put out a tone of voice to show that she is not like other people. She is just idle and bored. She has no words to talk to. She knows nothing about what to talk about, but she wants to mention the acquaintance they both know. But she often wonders who the other person is. She talks to you repeatedly and endlessly. What's different is that her eyes stretch out a thin wire, clearly saying, "Don't think I didn't recognize you. You young fellow, I met at the Duchess of Galmont. I still remember. However, this sentence seems foolish but painstaking. The protective net it opens over my head is very insecure. I just want to use it, it disappears and disappears. Mrs. de Suffrey often behaves extraordinarily when she wants to appeal for someone in front of a powerful person. In the eyes of the appealer, she seems to be lifting him up, but in the eyes of the dignitaries, she does not seem to be lifting the appealer up, so that this double-meaninged gesture can make the latter thankful for her and not for herself. Debt to the former. Seeing this lady's affection for me, I dared to ask her to introduce me to Mr. de Gelmont. She took advantage of the man's eyes not turning to our children and grabbed my shoulders like a mother. Although the prince turned his head and could not see her at all, she smiled at him and pushed me towards him. The action said it was protecting me, but it was incomplete. Before I could move forward, she left me alone. That's how cowardly people in the upper classes are.

A lady called my family name directly and greeted me with a more cowardly look. As I spoke to her, I tried to recall her name; I clearly remembered having dinner with her, and she had not forgotten some of what she had said to me. However, although I focused on the memory of the deep remnants, but how can I not remember her name. However, this name exists in my mind. My mind played a game with it, trying to determine its scope first, recalling its first letter, and finally making a whole mess. However, in vain, I almost felt its existence and weight, but whenever I imagined its form, seated in the dark pool of my memory with the melancholy prisoner, I immediately denied myself: "That's not right." There is no doubt that my mind can create the most difficult names to remember. However, there is no need to create, but to reproduce. Without the control of authenticity, any thinking activity would be effortless. And here I have to be bound by it. Suddenly, the whole family name appeared: "Mrs. De Abachong." I shouldn't say it appeared, because I don't think it came to me automatically. There are still a lot of vague memories about this lady, though I relentlessly turn to them (such as stimulating my own memory, saying to myself: "Oh, this lady is Mrs. de Suffrey's good friend, she admires Victor Hugo so much, so naive, so sincere and frightened"). I also don't think that the memory that jumps between my name and hers is what drives it to emerge. When people search for withered intestines, recall someone's name, and play hide-and-seek games in their memory, they do not need to use a series of approximate estimates layer by layer. At first, everything was vague, but suddenly, the exact name appeared, which was not related to the self-Guessing name Fengmanyu. But it doesn't happen to us by itself. No, I still think that as our lives go by day by day, the time we spent gradually keeps us away from the area where our names can be clearly distinguished. By stimulating our will and attention, and enhancing the sensitivity of our spiritual perspective, I suddenly penetrated the dark layer, and my eyes suddenly became bright. In a word, even though there is a transition boundary between forgetting and memory, this transition is subconscious. Because before we find the exact name, we gradually guess that the name is actually wrong, so that we step by step empty. What's more, the guessed names are not the names at all. They are often just a few simple consonants, which are incompatible with the names obtained by searching for dead intestines. However, how mysterious is the movement of thought from nihility to reality. Perhaps, in any case, these wrong consonants may be crutches for exploring the way, clumsily groping ahead to help us capture the exact names. Readers may say, "All this has nothing to do with telling us how this lady lacks kindness; since you have made a long speech, Mr. Author, allow me to waste another minute on you, and I want to tell you that you are as young as you are (or as young as the hero in your writing, if the hero is not so young). In your own words, it's annoying that you are so forgetful that you can't even remember the surname of a very familiar lady. Mr. Reader, this is really annoying. Even worse than you imagine, when you feel that such a time has come, names, vocabulary will disappear from the clear thinking area, the most familiar people will eventually not be able to shout names. It's really annoying. At a young age, it takes so much effort to recall the names of acquaintances. On the other hand, it would be good if only some names which are quite well-known and naturally forgotten could not be remembered for a moment and would not bother to recall them. What's the advantage? Please talk about it. Well, sir, it is only the disease itself that can teach people to discover, understand and analyze its mechanism. Otherwise, it will never be possible to open its mystery. Imagine a person falling into bed like a zombie, sleeping in a daze until he wakes up the next day and wakes up. Would he still think about making a major exploration of sleep, even a little thought? Maybe he's not sure whether he's sleeping or not. Slightly insomnia, not useless, it can taste the taste of sleep, in the vast night emit a little light. The enduring memory is not a powerful exciter for the study of memory phenomena. Did Mrs. Kede Abachong introduce you to the Prince? No, please be quiet. Let me go on.

Mrs. De Abachong was more timid than Mrs. De Suffrey, but her timidity was justifiable. She knows she has a low social prestige. The affair she had with Duke Gelmont had greatly diminished her low prestige, and by the time the Duke kicked her off, she had lost her reputation. I asked her to introduce me to the prince, which aroused her displeasure and caused her to be silent for a moment. It was childish to think that such silence could pretend that she had not heard what I said. I'm afraid she didn't notice that she frowned with anger. Perhaps on the contrary, she had noticed that she had ignored absurd requests, and accordingly gave me a cautious lesson without being overly rude. I mean, it was a silent lesson, not less convincing than a generous statement.

Besides, Mrs. De Abachong did have a fire in her house: many eyes fell on a Renaissance-style balcony, the corner of the balcony, and there was no popular Memorial statue, but the beautiful Duchess De Hush-Ledick was discovered. Her graceful grace was not inferior to that of the statue, but she was not. She replaced Mrs. De Abachong long ago and became Bazan de Gelmont's sweetheart. Through the white * tulle skirt against the cold of night, we can see that she is more beautiful than the goddess of victory.

I can only turn to Mr. de Charles, who has entered a room on the ground floor leading to the garden. At this time, he pretended to concentrate on playing a simulated game of Whistler, so that he could avoid giving the impression of invisibility to others. I took the opportunity to enjoy his swallow tail, which is simple and beautiful, with a little decoration on it. Perhaps only the tailor could read the goods. There is a great picture of Whistler's Black and White Harmony. The style, in fact, is more harmony between black and white than red, because Mr. de Charles wore a black, white and red enamel cross of the Maltese Order of Religious Knights on a wide placket. At this time, the baron's card game was interrupted by Mrs. De Lagarto, who led her nephew, Viscount Gufo Vassier. The young man had a beautiful face and a presumptuous look. My good brother, "said Mrs. de Lagarto," allow me to introduce my nephew Adalbe to you. Adalbe, you know, this is the famous Uncle Paramedes you often hear about. Good evening, Mrs. de Galaton." Mr. de Charles answered. Then he added another sentence, "Good evening, sir." He did not look at the young man. His attitude was rude and his voice was stiff and impolite. The people present could not help but stare at him. Perhaps Mr. De Charles knew that Mrs. De Galadon had doubts about his habits and could not help feeling happy. So he simply shut up her mouth first, so as not to be intimate with her nephew, which would cause her to add fuel and vinegar. At the same time, he also made a gesture to publicly show him to young people. Not interested; perhaps he did not think that Adalbe would reward his aunt's introduction respectfully; or that he was eager to enter the palace with such a pleasant friend in the future, and might as well dismount first, just as monarchs often cooperate with military action before taking diplomatic action.

(1) Whistler (1834-1903), a famous American painter, has unique style and harmonious lines and colors.

Let de Charles accept my request and agree to the introduction, which is not as difficult as I imagined. On the one hand, in the past two decades, Don Quixote has fought fiercely with many windmills (often relatives he considers to be disrespectful to him) and blocked driving many times, excluding "unwelcome people" from the gates of one or another of the Gelmont families, so that the people of the Gelmont family began to fear meeting them. Favorite friends fall out and cannot associate with some new people who seem curious to them until they die. This is just to cater to the unreasonable hatred of an inner brother or cousin who may wish everyone would abandon his wife, brother or children for him. Others of the De Shalu ethnic group should be more shrewd and find that people are not concerned about his harsh rejection of others. They imagine the future and really fear that he will eventually be abandoned. They begin to make some sacrifices and, as the saying goes, begin to "drop the price". On the other hand, if he had the ability to make any disgusting fellow live a single life for months or even years - who would invite him, he would never tolerate it, or even would dare to go barefoot like a porter and fight against the queen, regardless of the identity of the other party against him - then On the contrary, because he is always furious, so it is impossible to scatter the powder of abuse. Stupid, bastard! Teach him a lesson and sweep him into a foul ditch. Well, even if this guy sweeps into a foul ditch, it will be harmful to urban hygiene. He often swears so loudly that he sometimes reads letters that he thinks are disrespectful to him or remembers a piece of gossip passed on to him when he is alone at home. However. Once he gets angry with the second bastard, his anger with the first vanishes, and as long as the person respectfully shows him that the previous crisis is too late for hatred and hatred, it will soon be forgotten. Therefore, despite his resentment towards me, I begged him to lead me to see the prince, which might have been successful, but I missed the point. In order to avoid him thinking that I had ventured into the house and begged him to say a word and let me stay as a guest, I said more carefully: "You know, I am very familiar with them. Mrs. Prince is very kind to me." Well, since you know them well, do you need me to introduce them to you? He answered me coldly, turned around immediately and continued to play Whistler with the Vatican Ambassador, the German Ambassador and a person I had never known. Recalling Time Like Water

At this time, from the depths of the garden where Prince Egiion used to keep rare animals, through the open doors, came to me a deep breathing sound, as if he wished to breathe in the spring of the garden. As the voice approached, I followed it, but there was another low "Good night" in my ear from Mr. De Braude. It was not like grinding a knife, nor like the screaming of wild boars that spoiled the crops, but like the sympathy of a savior when he rescued an emergency. This man is not as powerful as Mrs. de Suffrey, but not as natural as she is * unwilling to serve. He has a much more casual relationship with the prince than Mrs. de Abachong. Perhaps he has fantasies about my position in the de Gelmont family. Perhaps he knows my position better than I do. But in the first few seconds, I could hardly attract his attention. I could only see his nose nerve-breast-head twitching, his nostrils widening, his left and right glances. The eyes behind the single glasses were round and curious, as if there were 500 wonders in front of him. However, after hearing my request, he readily accepted it and led me to the prince. He introduced me to the prince in a beautiful, solemn and vulgar manner, as if offering him a dish of fancy cakes while offering him a slight recommendation. As soon as Duke Gelmont is happy and friendly, easy-going and full of friendship, it seems to me that the prince is as rigid, formal and arrogant as he is. He reluctantly smiled at me and gave me a solemn cry, "Sir." I often hear the Duke laugh at his cousin's arrogance. But when the Prince first spoke to me, the stern and serious tone of voice contrasted strongly with Bazan's kind words, and I immediately understood that it was the Duke who was "brothers and brothers" with you who really looked down upon nobody. Of the two cousins, the real humble one was the Prince. From his prudent manners, I saw a more noble feeling. I did not mean to treat him equally, because it was inconceivable to him, but at least due respect for his subordinates. It was like in all hierarchical circles, such as in the courts, medical schools, the attorney-general or the dean, who knew that he was in an important position. On the surface, they all show a traditional arrogance, but in their hearts, they are more sincere than those new figures who pretend to be intimate. If they get along well with them, they will feel that they are more kind and friendly." Do you intend to continue your father's career? He asked me, cool but interested. I guess he asked me this just out of courtesy, so I gave him a brief answer and then left him to receive the new visitors.

I caught a glimpse of Swan and wanted to talk to him. But just then, I found that Prince Gelmont did not stand in place to receive the greetings of her husband. When I met, he was dragged to the depths of the garden like a pumping pump. Some people said that he would be driven out of the door.

It was not until the third day that I learned from the newspaper that a Czech orchestra had played a whole night two days ago, and that the fighting in Bangladesh continued to flare up. Now, I was concentrating a little more on the famous fountain of Bel Robert.

Fountain is located on one side of the forest clearing, surrounded by trees, trees are beautiful, many trees are as old as fountains. Looking from afar, the long and slender stream of fountain is still, as if it had been solidified. Only when the breeze blows, can we see the elegant and swaying gauze drifting down and becoming lighter. The eighteenth century gave it a perfect slender figure, but once the style of fountain is fixed, it seems to have cut off its life. From this point of view, what people feel is not water, rather art. At the top of the fountain, there is always a mist, which keeps the style of the year, just like the everlasting mist over the Palace of Versailles. A closer look revealed that the fountain was like the stone building of an ancient palace, strictly following the original design. At the same time, the constantly updated fountain sprayed out, and the architect wanted to hear his instructions. However, the result of the action seemed to be contrary to his wishes. Tens of millions of water pillars sprayed one after another. Only in the distance can people be identical. Feelings of upward eruption of a column of water. In fact, this jet of water is often truncated by the chaotic falling water, but standing in the distance, I feel that the water column is never bent, dense and continuous. But a little closer to the observation, this never-ending surface of the water column formed a strand, which can be guaranteed by the gushing water everywhere. Where there is a possibility of blocking the waist, there will be water to take over. The first water column is broken, and the next water column immediately sprays upward. As soon as the second water column rises to a higher level, it can no longer be able to move upward. The third water column rises successively. Nearby, feeble droplets of water fell from the water column, and on the way they met their sisters who were spewing up. They were sometimes smashed into a whirlpool of air disturbed by the never-ending water spray, and then drifted in the air, eventually falling into the pool. The water droplets that hesitate and move in the opposite direction are in sharp contrast to the strong and powerful water column. The soft water mist is blurred around the water column. At the top of the water droplets is an oval cloud. The cloud is composed of tens of millions of water droplets, but the surface is like a layer of brown gold which never fades. To go up into the sky and merge with the clouds. Unfortunately, a gust of wind is enough to slant it back to the ground. Sometimes, even an unruly small column of water rushes into the outside. If the audience does not respect it and keeps a proper distance, but is bold and fascinating, it will be splashed wet all over.

Such incidents usually occur when the wind blows, and in one case they are quite unpleasant. Mrs. De Abachong was told that the Duke of Gelmont, who had not yet arrived in fact, was in the Rose Marble Gallery and that to go to the gallery, she had to pass through two rows of hollow columns that stood beside the fountain railings. Mrs. De Abachong believed it, but just as she was about to enter one of the corridors, a strong hot wind bent the water column and drenched the beautiful lady to the brim. The water flowed into her dress from the exposed low collar, as if she had been thrown into the pool. At that moment, a rhythmic moan was heard from a place not far away from her, and the great army could hear it, but pulled it into segments, seemingly not to the whole army, but to a small army in turn; it was Duke Vladimir who saw Mrs. De Abachong being showered and was laughing heartily. Afterwards, he often said that it was the happiest thing and he had not seen enough of it in his life. Several good-hearted people reminded the Moscow man that she would be happy to hear the soothing words, but although she was over 40 years old, she did not ask anyone for help. She wiped the running water on her body with a shawl and left alone, ignoring the fact that the falling water wetted the guardrail of the fountain like a prank. The grandfather was kind-hearted and felt that he should be reassured. As soon as the first laughter of the whole army subsided, there was a louder cry than the first one. Great, old lady!" He applauded and shouted like he was in the theatre. Mrs. De Abachong did not care that others sacrificed her youth to praise her flexibility. Someone was talking to her, but the sound of water from the fountain diluted her. However, the thunder of the Grand Duke overwhelmed the sound of water: "I thought His Royal Highness had said something to you," No! It's with Mrs. de Suffrey." She answered.

I crossed the garden and climbed the stairs. In the absence of the prince, I did not know where Swan had gone. There were more and more visitors around De Charles on the stairs, just as Louis XIV had more visitors in his royal palace when he was not in Versailles. I was shouted by the Baron when I went upstairs, and behind me, two more ladies and a young man came to greet him.

"It's lovely to see you here!" He said as he extended his hand to me. Good evening, Mrs. de Latremei, good evening, my dear Eminey." Undoubtedly, he remembered that he had just spoken to me as the owner of the Galmont mansion, and then he thought again, trying to show some satisfaction with what he had been unhappy with, but he was born with a grandfather's presumptuous demeanor, which made him feel like a hysterical patient. "It's cute," he continued, "but it's funny." After all, he laughed loudly, as if expressing his joy on the one hand, and on the other hand, it was difficult for human language to convey his joy. At this time, some people saw through this fellow, know that he is difficult to deal with, and very presumptuous, "exit" hurts people, originally curious and close to him, but the result is almost lost dignity, can not help but raise their legs to go. Oh, don't be angry, "he said to me, patting me on the shoulder." You know, I like you very much. Good evening, Andios, good evening, Louis Rene. Have you ever seen a fountain? That tone of voice is not so much inquiry as confirmation." It's beautiful, isn't it? It's wonderful. It could have been better. Of course, if some of the things were removed, it would be unparalleled in France. But now, it's among the best. Braudet will surely tell you that you shouldn't hang up the light. It's just to make people forget that he was the one who had the bad idea. On the whole, however, he made him a little ugly. It's much harder to transform a masterpiece than to create one. Besides, we have a little in mind. Braudet is not as capable as Bell Robert.

I joined the guests, who were entering the palace one by one. You and my lovely sister-in-law, Oliana, haven't seen each other for a long time? Mrs. Prince asked me that she had just left the seat at the entrance and I went back to the living room with her.

"She's coming tonight. I saw her this afternoon." The hostess continued, "She promised me to come. Besides, I think you and I will go to the embassy to have a dinner with the Queen of Italy on Thursday. All the princes and relatives who can show up will go to the banquet. The scene must be terrifying. No kinsman can frighten Mrs. Galmont, who has gathered so many in her salon. When she calls "my little Coburg," it's like calling "my little dog". Therefore, Mrs. Gelmont said, "The scene must be terrifying." It was pure folly. In the upper classes, folly still prevailed over vanity. She knows less about her genealogy than an ordinary history teacher. As for the people she met, she tried to be as clear as possible about the nicknames given to them. The Princess asked me if I was going to a dinner next week, often called "Bohm apple" by Marquise de La Pomlier, and listened to my negative reply, but I couldn't speak for a moment. Later, no doubt, she couldn't help showing off her wide knowledge. Instead, she exposed her mediocrity. She added another sentence: "That'Bohm apple', but a very pleasant woman!"

While Mrs. Prince was chatting with me, the Duke and Mrs. Gelmont came in. But I couldn't pull myself forward to meet them because Mrs. Turkish Ambassador grabbed me on the way. She pointed to my hostess, who had just left me, held my arm tightly, and repeatedly exclaimed, "Ah! Mrs. Prince, what a beautiful woman! Stand without peer in one's generation! I think, if I were a man, "she added with a touch of Oriental vulgarity and lewdness," I would dedicate my life to this great lady. I answered that she was really charming, but I knew her brother-in-law, the Duchess better." But it doesn't matter." Mrs. Ambassador said to me, "Oliana is a high-class woman who inherits the temperament of Meimei and Babel, and Mary Hillbe is a character."

I was born to hate people saying that, and to teach me what to think of my acquaintances. Moreover, there is no reason why the Turkish Ambassador's views on the value of the Duchess of Gelmont are more credible than mine. On the other hand, I am so angry with Mrs. Ambassador because a common relationship, even a bad habit of a good friend, is a real poison to us. Fortunately, we all "took artificial antibiotics". There is no need to move out any scientific comparative instruments and talk about antigen allergies. Let's put it another way, in our friendly or purely social relationships, there is always a temporary cure of hostility, but if it doesn't work well, it will recur. Usually, as long as people are "natural", they seldom suffer from these poisons. As long as Mrs. Turkish Ambassador uses "Babel" and "Meimei" to refer to people she is not familiar with, she will immediately invalidate the "artificial poison resistance". But in peacetime, all of these things make me feel that she can barely tolerate them. She made me angry, in fact, this should not be more, because she spoke to me like that, not to make people think she was a good friend of Meimei, but because she was too busy to learn that it was a local habit to call a noble man by nickname. She, however, took only a few months of lessons and did not learn them step by step.

But when I think about it, there's another reason why I don't want to be next to the Ambassador's wife. Not long ago, in the Hall of Oriana, the same diplomat said to me personally, with a serious and thoughtful look, that Prince Gelmont's wife really disgusted her. I don't think it's better to go into the cause of her sudden change of attitude: it's just that she was invited to this evening's gala. The Ambassador's wife was full of praise and praise for Prince Gelmont's great beauty, which was purely from the heart. That's what she always thinks. Nevertheless, she had never been invited to visit the Prince's wife's house before, so she believed that in principle, she should show deliberate restraint against such uninvited coldness. Now that she's invited and may become a rule from now on, she's certainly free to express her preferences. Three-quarters of the reasons for explaining opinions about others need not be found in terms of emotional frustration and political setbacks. There is no comment on taste: accepting or rejecting an invitation can be a definite conclusion. Moreover, according to the Duchess of Gelmont, who is visiting Sharon with me, the Turkish Ambassador's wife "did a good job". She is especially useful. The real stars of the upper class are tired of appearing. People eager to see one side often have to go across the ocean to another hemisphere, where the stars are almost alone and unaccompanied. However, women who have just entered the upper class like Mrs. Ambassador of Turkey will lose no time to show off everywhere. They can be used in such social occasions as parties and social gatherings. Even if they are at the mercy of a dying person, they do not want to lose the opportunity to appear. They are full of fun and never miss a party. They are reliable supporting roles for anyone. The dumb dudes, who do not know the details of these false stars and regard them as social queens, should teach them a lesson to explain why Mrs. Standish, who is not known to them, is at least comparable to Durville and a lady.

In ordinary days, Duchess Gelmont's eyes are always blank and melancholy. Only when she has to say good-bye to a friend does she shine a bright light of wit, as if a friend is only a wit, a charm, an impeccable delicacy, and after tasting it, on the face of a connoisseur. Immediately, he was alert and delighted. However, at the grand party, there were too many people who needed Dao An. She felt that every time she greeted, the light of wit would be extinguished, which was too annoying. So, like a literary connoisseur, every time he goes to the theatre to see the new works of a great dramatist, in order to express his affirmation that he will not spend a night in vain, when he gives his clothes and hats to the usheress, he adjusts the part of his lips, polishes his eyes, and always prepares to give a smart smile and a sly admiring glance. That's the way it is. When she arrives, she will shine for the whole party. She took off her dress jacket, a magnificent red coat in Tiebolo's style, revealing a ruby necklace, like a shackle around her neck. Then Oliana, an upper-class woman, took a quick and careful look at her dress from head to foot with a seamstress's eye, and then examined it again. Make sure your eyes shine like other jewels on your body. Several "Rao Hou" followers, such as De Jowell, rushed forward and tried to block the Duke from entering the palace: "Don't you know that poor Mama is dying? Just gave him the medicine. I know, I know." Mr. de Gelmont said as he pushed away the hateful fellow and walked in. The Holy Spirit of the Last Resurrection is of great use. When he thought of the dance after the prince's party, he decided secretly that he would never miss it. He added this with a smile of delight.

"We don't want people to know we're back." The Duchess said to me. She had never expected that the prince's wife had told me that she had just met her sister-in-law, and that her sister-in-law had promised her that she would come, thus declaring her words null and void. The Duke stared at his wife for five minutes and said, "I've told Oliana all your doubts." Now that she understood that all doubts were not valid, and that no steps needed to be taken to eliminate them, she talked about how ridiculous these doubts were and made fun of me for a while." Always suspect that you have not been invited! But every time! Besides, there's me. Do you think I can't afford to invite you to my sister-in-law's house?" I must mention that she did often do more difficult things for me later; however, I only interpreted her remarks as being too cautious. I began to realize the real value of the noble voice or silent language, the sweet-spoken affection to the inferior people a placebo, but not completely eliminate their inferiority, because once they eliminate their inferiority, there may be no reason to express intimacy. But you and I are equal, or stronger." The people of the Gelmont family seem to pronounce this way by what they have done, and they say so well that it is hard to imagine that their purpose is to be loved and praised, not to be believed. If we can see through this kind of affectionate falseness, it is what they call accomplishment; if we believe it to be true, it is bad upbringing. Not long ago, I learned a lesson in this respect, which eventually led me to learn precisely to the extreme some forms of kindness expressed by aristocrats, as well as their scope and boundaries of application. It was an afternoon party for the Queen of England held by the Duchess of Montmorancy; when they went to the restaurant, they took the initiative to line up a long line, with the Queen at the head of the line, with Duke Gelmont in their arms. I arrived just in time. Although the Duke was at least forty meters away from me, he greeted me with his empty hand as if he were telling me not to be afraid, to be closer and not to be eaten as a sandwich with Cheshire cheese. But I have become sophisticated in court language, and I have not even moved forward. I bowed deeply forty meters away from him, but without a smile, as if I were saluting a familiar person, and then continue to walk in the opposite direction. The Garments appreciated my way of agreeing, even if I had the ability to write a masterpiece, it would not necessarily be such an honor. Not only did she not escape the Duke's eyes - although he had to salute more than 500 people that day - but she did not escape the Duchess's eyes. When she met my mother, she told her everything about it, but she did not mention that I was wrong in that way. She should go up to her. She said to my mother that her husband admired me so much. Nothing is more appropriate than that. People keep looking for all kinds of advantages for this bow, but nobody mentions the obvious most precious one: prudent and proper manners; people praise me endlessly, and I understand that these praises are not so much a reward for the past as a guide for the future, just like an education. The subtle words of the school principal's mouth: "Don't forget, my dear children, these prizes are for you, but more for your parents, so that they can send you back to school in the next school year." That's what Mrs. de Marsant is like. When someone from the outside community enters her circle, she always boasts about prudent people in front of them and says, "When you need to find them, you can find them. When you don't need to find them, you can rest assured." It's like indirectly admonishing a muddy person. Bathing a stinky household servant is good for one's health but not bad for one's health.

Tiebolo (1696-1770), Italian painter, the best large decorative painter in the eighteenth century.

Just before Mrs. de Gelmont left the hall, as I chatted with her, I heard a voice that I could never discern without making any mistakes. This is the whisper of Mr. De Fogube and Mr. De Charles on special occasions. A clinician doesn't have to lift his shirt or auscultate his breath at all. Just listen to his voice, it's enough to make a diagnosis. Later, I often wondered how many times I heard someone's voice or laughter in a salon. Although he tried to imitate his professional language or the manners of the people in his circle, pretended to be solemn and elegant, or pretended to be vulgar and casual, he was well-trained, like a tuner. The sensitive ears of the timpani can tell from the false voice that "this is a Charles-like character"! At that moment, all the staff of an embassy came to pay their respects to Mr. De Charles. Although I found that the aforementioned morbidity was only the same day (when I found Mr. De Charles and Hubien), there was no need to ask questions or auscultate to make a diagnosis. But Mr. De Fogube, who spoke to Mr. De Charles, seemed uncertain. However, after the seemingly unintelligible stage of his youth, he should have known what he was dealing with. Homosexuals tend to think that they are the only people in the world who enjoy themselves in this way, but later they mistakenly think that --- again, it is an extreme --- only normal people are exceptional. But Mr. De Fogube, an ambitious and timid man, indulged in the pleasure that might have been enjoyable to him for a short time. His diplomatic career had an impact on his life and made him behave. In addition, he had to live a Christian innocent life since he was 20 years old. No one knows that any sense, once not used, will lose its function and vitality, and gradually atrophy, just as a civilized man can no longer exert the caveman's physical strength and keen hearing, he lost the special insight of Mr. de Charles, which rarely fails. At a formal banquet, whether in Paris or abroad, the Plenipotentiary dared not even recognize those well-dressed and uniformed figures who were in fact of his own kind. Mr. De Charles likes to give names to others, but once someone praises his hobby, he gets angry. He points out several names, which makes Mr. De Fogube amazed and amazed. This is not because after a long period of time, he tried to take advantage of God's good opportunities by thinking about what was wrong. It is these two-pronged instructions that have gradually changed the face of the * Mission or a department of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. It is as mysterious as the Temple of Jerusalem or the Royal Palace of Sousa. It is as if in the tragedy of Racine, Atali was pointed out that Joias and David are of the same race and told Abner the love of "being queen". Steyr had blood relatives of the Jewish race. Seeing the young members of the embassy coming forward to shake hands with Mr. De Charles, Mr. De Fogube seemed to be filled with emotion, just as Alice in the play "Esther":

My God? So many innocent heroes,

Butterflies dancing in groups in front of my eyes!

What a lovely shame * painted on their faces!

(1) Racine's three acts of tragedy.

Then he longed to know a little more about the situation, and smiled at Mr. De Charles with a sly glance, both inquiring and full of desire. Oh, look at you, of course." Mr. De Charlus had a scholarly and knowledgeable air, as if he were speaking to an ignorant fool. Mr. Cord Fugibe never left the young secretaries with two eyes, which made Mr. de Charles very angry. The embassy envoy in France was an old hand. Of course, these secretaries were not picked by him at random. Mr. De Fogube kept silent, and I only looked at his eyes. But I was used to providing the language of classical dramas and even silent things to speak when I was young. So I directed De Fogube's eyes to speak. This is the verse that Estelle explained to Alice that Maddothy insisted on arranging only girls around the Queen who shared his religious beliefs out of devotion to herself:

But his love for our nation,

Let the girls of Xiyong gather in the palace.

The tender flowers are swayed by the wind of fate.

Like me, I was transplanted overhead for a day.

In a secular place,

He (His Excellency the Ambassador) trained them with meticulous discipline.

At last Mr. De Fogube stopped looking at himself and began to speak. Beautiful friends

"Who knows," he said sadly, "is there such a thing in my country?" Probably." Mr. de Charles answered, "It began with King Diodosie, though I knew nothing about him." Ah, absolutely impossible!"

"Then he shouldn't have looked like that. He always pretends. I hate that look the most. I dare not go shopping with him. Besides, you should know very well who he is. He looks like a white-haired wolf. You totally misread him. But he's really attractive. On the day of signing the treaty with France, the king kissed me. I've never been so excited. That's the right time to talk to him about your desires. Ah! Lord, how terrible! If he had any doubts, it would have been great! But I'm not afraid of that." I am not too far away. These words are so clear that I can't help chanting them silently in my heart.

To this day the king does not know who I am.

This secret has always been locked in my mouth.