狄更斯长篇小说 狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第30章Part 1

狄更斯双语小说:《董贝父子》第30章Part 1  

Although the enchanted house was no more
and the working world had broken into it
and was hammering and crashing and tramping up and down stairs all day long keeping Diogenes in an incessant paroxysm of barking
from sunrise to sunset - evidently convinced that his enemy had got the better of him at last
and was then sacking the premises in triumphant defiance - there was
at first
no other great change in the method of Florence's life. At night
when the workpeople went away
the house was dreary and deserted again; and Florence
listening to their voices echoing through the hall and staircase as they departed
pictured to herself the cheerful homes to which the were returning
and the children who were waiting for them
and was glad to think that they were merry and well pleased to go.
She weled back the evening silence as an old friend
but it came now with an altered face
and looked more kindly on her. Fresh hope was in it. The beautiful lady who had soothed and carressed her
in the very room in which her heart had been so wrung
was a spirit of promise to her. Soft shadows of the bright life dawning
when her father's affection should be gradually won
and all
or much should be restored
of what she had lost on the dark day when a mother's love had faded with a mother's last breath on her cheek
moved about her in the ilight and were wele pany. Peeping at the rosy children her neighbours
it was a new and precious sensation to think that they might soon speak together and know each other; when she would not fear
as of old
to show herself before them
lest they should be grieved to see her in her black dress sitting there alone!
In her thoughts of her new mother
and in the love and trust overflowing her pure heart towards her
Florence loved her own dead mother more and more. She had no fear of setting up a rival in her breast. The new flower sprang from the deep-planted and long-cherished root
she knew. Every gentle word that had fallen from the lips of the beautiful lady
sounded to Florence like an echo of the voice long hushed and silent. How could she love that memory less for living tenderness
when it was her memory of all parental tenderness and love!
Florence was
one day
sitting reading in her room
and thinking of the lady and her promised visit soon - for her book turned on a kindred subject - when
raising her eyes
she saw her standing in the doorway.
'Mama!' cried Florence
joyfully meeting her. 'Come again!'
'Not Mama yet
' returned the lady
with a serious smile
as she encircled Florence's neck with her arm.
'But very soon to be
' cried Florence.