自译 契诃夫短篇小说 谎言(7)

面对痛哭流涕的万紫英，叶大夫无能为力地叹了声气，缓缓在客厅里来回走着。这期间一声声哭号、一句句徒劳的质问不绝于耳。乐队已奏完了三首曲子。天黑了。女佣在邻屋点上了灯，叶大夫一直紧握着帽子，显然有话要说。万紫英去看了阳阳好几次，一陪就是半个钟头，眼里的泪水就没断过。时间拖沓地往前磨蹭着，这一个夜晚仿佛绵绵无尽。
At midnight, when the band had played the cotillion and ceased altogether, the doctor got ready to go.
午夜时分，连乐队都散场了，叶大夫起身准备告辞。
“I will come again to-morrow,” he said, pressing the mother’s cold hand. “You go to bed.”
“早点休息吧。”他握了握万紫英冰凉的手，说道，“我明天再来。”
After putting on his greatcoat in the passage and picking up his walking-stick, he stopped, thought a minute, and went back into the drawing-room.
在走廊穿好外套，拿上拐杖，叶自珍停下来想了一会儿，又回到了客厅。
“I’ll come to-morrow, Olga,” he repeated in a quivering voice. “Do you hear?”
“英子，我明天再来。”他声音颤抖着重复道，“英子你听见了吗？”
She did not answer, and it seemed as though grief had robbed her of all power of speech. In his greatcoat and with his stick still in his hand, the doctor sat down beside her, and began in a soft, tender half-whisper, which was utterly out of keeping with his heavy, dignified figure:
万紫英一言不发，悲伤已然耗尽了她说话的力气。叶大夫坐到她身边，一反他高大威严的形象，柔声细语地说道：
“Olga! For the sake of your sorrow which I share.... Now, when falsehood is criminal, I beseech you to tell me the truth. You have always declared that the boy is my son. Is that the truth?”