It was the picture of a woman lying on a sofa, with one arm beneath her head and the other along her body; 画面是一个女人躺在长沙发上，一只胳臂枕在头底下，另一只顺着身躯平摆着，

one knee was raised, and the other leg was stretched out. The pose was classic. 屈着一条腿，另一条伸直。这是一个古典的姿势。

Stroeve's head swam. It was Blanche. 施特略夫的脑袋嗡的一下胀了起来。画面的女人是勃朗什。

Grief and jealousy and rage seized him, and he cried out hoarsely; he was inarticulate; 悲痛、忌妒和愤怒一下子把他抓住；他一句完整的话也说不出，只是嘶哑地喊叫了一声。

he clenched his fists and raised them threateningly at an invisible enemy. 他握紧了拳头对着看不见的敌人摇晃着。

He screamed at the top of his voice. 他开始扯直了喉咙尖叫起来。

He was beside himself. He could not bear it. That was too much. 他实在忍受不了；这简直太过分了。他快要发疯了。

He looked round wildly for some instrument; he wanted to hack the picture to pieces; it should not exist another minute. 他向四周看了看，想寻找一件器具，把这幅画砍个粉碎，一分钟也不允许它在这个世界上存在。

He could see nothing that would serve his purpose; he rummaged about his painting things; somehow he could not find a thing; he was frantic. 但是身边并没有任何合手的武器，他在绘画用品里翻寻了一遍，不知为什么还是什么也没有找到。他简直发狂了。

At last he came upon what he sought, a large scraper, and he pounced on it with a cry of triumph. 最后他终于找到了他需要的东西——一把刮油彩用的大刮刀。他一把把刮刀抄起来，发出一声胜利的喊叫，

He seized it as though it were a dagger, and ran to the picture. 像擎着一把匕首似地向那幅图画奔去。

As Stroeve told me this he became as excited as when the incident occurred, and he took hold of a dinner-knife on the table between us, and brandished it. 施特略夫给我讲这个故事的时候同事情发生的当时一样激动，他把放在我俩中间桌子上的一把餐刀拿起来，拼命挥舞着。

He lifted his arm as though to strike, and then, opening his hand, let it fall with a clatter to the ground. 他抬起一只胳臂，仿佛要扎下来的样子。接着，突然把手一松，刀子哐啷一声掉在地上。

He looked at me with a tremulous smile. He did not speak. 他望着我，声音颤抖地笑了笑，没有再说话。

"Fire away," I said. “快说啊！”我催他道。

"I don't know what happened to me. “我说不清楚自己是怎么回事，

I was just going to make a great hole in the picture, I had my arm all ready for the blow, when suddenly I seemed to see it." 正当我要在画上戳个大洞的时候，当我已经抬起胳臂正准备往下扎的时候，突然间我好象看见它了。”

"See what?" “看见什么了？”

"The picture. It was a work of art. I couldn't touch it. I was afraid." “那幅画。一件珍贵的艺术品。我不能碰它。我害怕了。”

Stroeve was silent again, and he stared at me with his mouth open and his round blue eyes starting out of his head. 施特略夫又停顿下来，直勾勾地盯着我，张着嘴，一对又蓝又圆的眼珠似乎都要凸出来了。

"It was a great, a wonderful picture. I was seized with awe. “那真是一幅伟大的、奇妙的绘画。我一下子被它震骇住了。

I had nearly committed a dreadful crime. 我几乎犯了一桩可怕的罪行。

I moved a little to see it better, and my foot knocked against the scraper. I shuddered." 我移动了一下身体，想看得更清楚一些，我的脚踢在刮刀上。我打了个冷战。”