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- Эдит Уортон
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- Пробный камень
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One
Sunday
,
tired
of
aimless
locomotion
,
he
took
a
cab
at
the
Park
gates
and
let
it
carry
him
out
to
the
Riverside
Drive
.
It
was
a
gray
afternoon
streaked
with
east
wind
.
Glennard
’
s
cab
advanced
slowly
,
and
as
he
leaned
back
,
gazing
with
absent
intentness
at
the
deserted
paths
that
wound
under
bare
boughs
between
grass
banks
of
premature
vividness
,
his
attention
was
arrested
by
two
figures
walking
ahead
of
him
.
This
couple
,
who
had
the
path
to
themselves
,
moved
at
an
uneven
pace
,
as
though
adapting
their
gait
to
a
conversation
marked
by
meditative
intervals
.
Now
and
then
they
paused
,
and
in
one
of
these
pauses
the
lady
,
turning
toward
her
companion
,
showed
Glennard
the
outline
of
his
wife
’
s
profile
.
The
man
was
Flamel
.
The
blood
rushed
to
Glennard
’
s
forehead
.
He
sat
up
with
a
jerk
and
pushed
back
the
lid
in
the
roof
of
the
hansom
;
but
when
the
cabman
bent
down
he
dropped
into
his
seat
without
speaking
.
Then
,
becoming
conscious
of
the
prolonged
interrogation
of
the
lifted
lid
,
he
called
out
—
“
Turn
—
drive
back
—
anywhere
—
I
’
m
in
a
hurry
—
”
As
the
cab
swung
round
he
caught
a
last
glimpse
of
the
two
figures
.
They
had
not
moved
;
Alexa
,
with
bent
head
,
stood
listening
.
“
My
God
,
my
God
—
”
he
groaned
.
It
was
hideous
—
it
was
abominable
—
he
could
not
understand
it
.
The
woman
was
nothing
to
him
—
less
than
nothing
—
yet
the
blood
hummed
in
his
ears
and
hung
a
cloud
before
him
.
He
knew
it
was
only
the
stirring
of
the
primal
instinct
,
that
it
had
no
more
to
do
with
his
reasoning
self
than
any
reflex
impulse
of
the
body
;
but
that
merely
lowered
anguish
to
disgust
.
Yes
,
it
was
disgust
he
felt
—
almost
a
physical
nausea
.
The
poisonous
fumes
of
life
were
in
his
lungs
.
He
was
sick
,
unutterably
sick
.
.
.
.
He
drove
home
and
went
to
his
room
.
They
were
giving
a
little
dinner
that
night
,
and
when
he
came
down
the
guests
were
arriving
.
He
looked
at
his
wife
:
her
beauty
was
extraordinary
,
but
it
seemed
to
him
the
beauty
of
a
smooth
sea
along
an
unlit
coast
.
She
frightened
him
.
He
sat
late
that
night
in
his
study
.
He
heard
the
parlor
-
maid
lock
the
front
door
;
then
his
wife
went
upstairs
and
the
lights
were
put
out
.
His
brain
was
like
some
great
empty
hall
with
an
echo
in
it
;
one
thought
reverberated
endlessly
.
.
.
.
At
length
he
drew
his
chair
to
the
table
and
began
to
write
.
He
addressed
an
envelope
and
then
slowly
re
-
read
what
he
had
written
.
“
My
dear
Flamel
,
”
