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- Джозеф Конрад
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Through
the
garden
gate
emerged
Basilio
,
grown
fat
and
sleek
,
with
an
elderly
hairless
face
,
wrinkles
at
the
corners
of
his
eyes
,
and
his
jet-black
,
coarse
hair
plastered
down
smoothly
.
Stooping
carefully
behind
an
ornamental
clump
of
bushes
,
he
put
down
with
precaution
a
small
child
he
had
been
carrying
on
his
shoulder
--
his
own
and
Leonarda
's
last
born
.
The
pouting
,
spoiled
Camerista
and
the
head
mozo
of
the
Casa
Gould
had
been
married
for
some
years
now
.
He
remained
squatting
on
his
heels
for
a
time
,
gazing
fondly
at
his
offspring
,
which
returned
his
stare
with
imperturbable
gravity
;
then
,
solemn
and
respectable
,
walked
down
the
path
.
"
What
is
it
,
Basilio
?
"
asked
Mrs.
Gould
.
"
A
telephone
came
through
from
the
office
of
the
mine
.
The
master
remains
to
sleep
at
the
mountain
to-night
.
"
Dr.
Monygham
had
got
up
and
stood
looking
away
.
A
profound
silence
reigned
for
a
time
under
the
shade
of
the
biggest
trees
in
the
lovely
gardens
of
the
Casa
Gould
.
"
Very
well
,
Basilio
,
"
said
Mrs.
Gould
.
She
watched
him
walk
away
along
the
path
,
step
aside
behind
the
flowering
bush
,
and
reappear
with
the
child
seated
on
his
shoulder
.
He
passed
through
the
gateway
between
the
garden
and
the
patio
with
measured
steps
,
careful
of
his
light
burden
.
The
doctor
,
with
his
back
to
Mrs.
Gould
,
contemplated
a
flower-bed
away
in
the
sunshine
.
People
believed
him
scornful
and
soured
.
The
truth
of
his
nature
consisted
in
his
capacity
for
passion
and
in
the
sensitiveness
of
his
temperament
.
What
he
lacked
was
the
polished
callousness
of
men
of
the
world
,
the
callousness
from
which
springs
an
easy
tolerance
for
oneself
and
others
;
the
tolerance
wide
as
poles
asunder
from
true
sympathy
and
human
compassion
.
This
want
of
callousness
accounted
for
his
sardonic
turn
of
mind
and
his
biting
speeches
.
In
profound
silence
,
and
glaring
viciously
at
the
brilliant
flower-bed
,
Dr.
Monygham
poured
mental
imprecations
on
Charles
Gould
's
head
.
Behind
him
the
immobility
of
Mrs.
Gould
added
to
the
grace
of
her
seated
figure
the
charm
of
art
,
of
an
attitude
caught
and
interpreted
for
ever
.
Turning
abruptly
,
the
doctor
took
his
leave
.
Mrs.
Gould
leaned
back
in
the
shade
of
the
big
trees
planted
in
a
circle
.
She
leaned
back
with
her
eyes
closed
and
her
white
hands
lying
idle
on
the
arms
of
her
seat
.
The
half-light
under
the
thick
mass
of
leaves
brought
out
the
youthful
prettiness
of
her
face
;
made
the
clear
,
light
fabrics
and
white
lace
of
her
dress
appear
luminous
.
Small
and
dainty
,
as
if
radiating
a
light
of
her
own
in
the
deep
shade
of
the
interlaced
boughs
,
she
resembled
a
good
fairy
,
weary
with
a
long
career
of
well-doing
,
touched
by
the
withering
suspicion
of
the
uselessness
of
her
labours
,
the
powerlessness
of
her
magic
.
