第195章

第195章thetorzhokpedlarwomaninawhiningvoiceprofferedherwares，especiallysomegoatskinslippers.“ihavehundredsofroublesidon’tknowwhattodowith，andshe’sstandinginhertorncloaklookingtimidlyatme，”thoughtpierre.“andwhatdoesshewantthemoneyfor？asthoughthemoneycouldgiveheronehairsbreadthofhappiness，ofpeaceofsoul.isthereanythingintheworldthatcanmakeherandmelessenslavedtoevilandtodeath？death，whichendsall，andmustcometo-dayorto-morrow—whichbesideeternityisthesameasaninstant’stime.”andagainheturnedthescrewthatdidnotbiteinanything，andthescrewstillwentonturninginthesameplace.

hisservanthandedhimahalf-cutvolumeofanovelintheformoflettersbymadamesuza.hebeganreadingofthesufferingsandthevirtuouslesofacertain“améliedemansfeld.”“andwhatdidsheleagainstherseducerfor？”hethought，“whenshelovedhim.godcouldnothaveputinherheartanimpulsethatwasagainsthiswill.mywife—asshewasonce—didn’tle，andperhapsshewasright.nothinghasbeendiscovered，”pierresaidtohimselfagain，“nothinghasbeeninvented.wecanonlyknowthatweknownothing.andthat’sthehighestdegreeofhumanwisdom.”

everythingwithinhimselfandaroundhimstruckhimasconfused，meaningless，andloathsome.butinthisveryloathingofeverythingsurroundinghimpierrefoundasortoftantalisingsatisfaction.

“imakeboldtobegyourexcellencytomakeroomtheleastbitforthisgentlemanhere，”saidtheoverseer，comingintotheroomandusheringinafterhimanothertraveller，broughttoastandstillfromlackofhorses.thetravellerwasathickset，square-shouldered，yellow，wrinkledoldman，withgreyeyelashesoverhanginggleamingeyesofanindefinitegreycolour.

pierretookhisfeetoffthetable，stoodupandwenttoliedownonthebedthathadbeenmadereadyforhim，glancingnowandthenatthenewcomer，who，withoutlookingatpierre，withanairofsurlyfatiguewaswearilytakingoffhisouterwrapswiththeaidofhisservant.thetraveller，nowclothedinashabbynankin-coveredsheepskincoatwithfelthighbootsonhisthinbonylegs，satdownonthesofa，andleaningonitsbackhisclose-croppedhead，whichwasverylargeandbroadacrossthetemples，heglancedatbezuhov.thestern，shrewd，andpenetratingexpressioninthatglanceimpressedpierre.hefeltdisposedtospeaktothetraveller，butbythetimehehadreadyaquestionabouttheroadwithwhichtoaddresshim，thetravellerhadclosedhiseyes，andfoldedhiswrinkledoldhands，ononefingerofwhichtherewasalargeironringwithasealrepresentingtheheadofadam.hesatwithoutstirring，eitherrestingorsunk，asitseemedtopierre，inprofoundandcalmmeditation.thenewcomer’sservantwasalsoayellowoldman，coveredwithwrinkles.hehadneithermoustachenorbeard，notbecausehewasshaved，butobviouslyhadneverhadany.theoldservantwasactiveinunpackingatravelling-case，insettingthetea-tableandinbringinginaboilingsamovar.wheneverythingwasready，thetravelleropenedhiseyes，movedtothetable，andpouringoutaglassofteaforhimself，pouredoutanotherforthebeardlessoldmanandgaveithim.pierrebegantofeelanuneasinessandasenseofthenecessity，oftheinevitabilityofenteringintoconversationwiththetraveller.

theservantbroughtbackhisemptyglassturnedupsidedownwithanunfinishedpieceofnibbledsugarbesideit，andaskedifanythingwerewanted.

“nothing.givememybook，”saidthetraveller.theservantgavehimabook，whichseemedtopierretobeofadevotionalcharacter，andthetravellerbecameabsorbedinitsperusal.pierrelookedathim.allatoncethestrangerlaiddownthebook，andputtingamarkinit，shutitup.thenclosinghiseyesandleaninghisarmsonthebackofthesofa，hefellbackintohisformerattitude.pierrestaredathim，andhadnottimetolookawaywhentheoldmanopenedhiseyesandbenthisresoluteandsternglanceuponpierre.pierrefeltconfusedandtriedtoturnawayfromthatglance，butthegleamingoldeyesdrewhimirresistiblytothem.