Arthur walked in with a heavy heart. What a depressing house www.biquge.info the pen, the fun, and the court, and the torrent of life seems to go around it, always leaving it on the high water mark. Nothing has changed—the man has not changed, the portrait of the family has not changed, neither the bulky furniture nor the ugly cutlery, neither the vulgar and luxurious furnishings, nor the lifeless aspects of everything. Even the flowers in the copper vase look like iron flowers smeared with oil paint, and on a warm spring breeze, they never know the youthful vitality of the flowers. Julia is dressed as a diner and is waiting for her guests in the living room.

For her, the living room is the center of life, and she sits in it like a fashion pattern, with a wooden smile on her face, a pale yellow hair curl on her head, and a puppy on her lap.

"Hello, Arthur. She said stiffly, then held out her finger for him to shake, and then turned to stroke the puppy's soft fur, which was more affectionate. "I wish you all the best and satisfactory results in college. ”

Arthur muttered a few spur of the moment, and then fell into a kind of uneasy silence. James walked in with great grace, followed by an unsmiling, aged shipping broker. They didn't break the cold scene after they came. When Gippons announced the start of the meal, Arthur stood up, relieved.

"I'm not eating, Julia. If you don't mind, I'll go back to my room. ”

"You have fasted too much, my child. "If you go on like this, you're going to get sick." ”

"Oh, no! Good night. ”

Arthur met a maid in the hallway and asked her to knock on the door at six o'clock in the morning to wake him up.

"Is the young master going to church?"

"Yes. Good night, Theresa. ”

He walked into his room. It was the place where my mother lived, and during her long illness, the shrine opposite the window was converted into a prayer room, and a large cross with a black base occupied the middle of the altar, in front of which a small chandelier in the ancient Roman style hung from the altar. It was here that she died. Her portrait hangs on the wall next to her bed, and on the table is a porcelain bowl she once used, containing her beloved violet flowers. It had been exactly a year since she died, and the Italian servants had not forgotten her.

He pulled out a package from his handbag, which contained a framed portrait. This is a crayon portrait of Montagneri, sent from Rome only a few days ago. He was unpacking this priceless treasure when Julia's servant came in with a tray of dinner. The cook who was waiting for Gladys before the new hostess arrived, made some snacks that she thought her little master might be willing to eat without breaking the rules. Arthur didn't eat anything, just took a piece of bread. The boy was Gippens' nephew, who had just come from England. He smiled meaningfully as he took the tray. He had joined the Protestant camp among the servants.

Arthur walked into the alcove and knelt down before the cross. He tried to be still, with the right attitude of prayer and meditation. But he found it difficult to do so. As Thomas put it, he fasted too strictly. It's like he's drunk hard liquor. A slight burst of excitement ran down his back, and the cross in front of him rolled in the clouds. It is just that after a long period of continuous prayer, I memorize the scriptures mechanically, withdraw my thoughts that are galloping freely, and concentrate on the mystery of the atonement. At last sheer physical fatigue suppressed the frenzy of his nerves, freed him from all anxious thoughts, and he lay down and fell asleep peacefully and peacefully.

He was asleep when there was a sharp knock on the door. "Ah, Theresa!" he thought, turning lazily over as he turned. There was another knock on the door, and he was startled and awoke.

"Master!" someone shouted in Italian. "For God's sake, get up quickly!"

Arthur jumped out of bed.

"What's the matter? Who is it?"

"It's me, Gian Batista. Get up, hurry, for the sake of Our Lady!"

Arthur hurriedly got dressed, then opened the door. As he gazed with bewildered eyes at the pale, panicked face of the coachman, heavy footsteps and the metallic sound of clanging bells were heard from across the hallway. He suddenly understood what was going on.

"You're here to get me?" he said calmly.

"I'm here to get you! Oh, young master, hurry up! What do you have to hide? Look, I can take—"

"I have nothing to hide. Does my brother know?"

The first person in uniform appeared at the other end of the aisle.

"The lord has been woken up, and all the people in the house have woken up. Oh my God! Woe from heaven -- woe from heaven! It was on Holy Friday! O wise gods, do it!"

Gian Battista couldn't help but cry. Arthur took a few steps forward and waited for the gendarmes. They walked over, followed by a group of shivering servants, dressed in casually grabbed clothes. As the gendarmes surrounded Arthur, the owner and wife of the house appeared behind this strange procession. The owner was wearing pajamas and slippers, and the wife was wearing a long dressing gown with curling paper in her hair.

"There must be another flood, and these people in pairs are heading towards the ark!

No, there's another pair of weird beasts!"

When Arthur saw these people of all shapes, this passage flashed through his heart. He couldn't help laughing, for he felt that it was inappropriate—that more important things should now be considered. "Goodbye, Virgin Mary, Queen of Heaven!" he whispered, and turned his gaze away, lest the curling paper on Julia's head cause him to act rashly again.

"Excuse me," said Mr. Burton, as he approached the gendarmerie officer, "what does it mean to break into a private house in such a grand manner? ”

"I thought," replied the officer bluntly, "that you would take this as a sufficient explanation, and the British ambassador would certainly think so." He pulled out an arrest warrant with Arthur Burton's name on it and a student majoring in philosophy. He handed it to James and said coldly, "If you want further explanation, you'd better go to the police chief yourself." ”