巴尔扎克《无名的杰作》(英译本)
se. From t costume of t lace, and a certain serene gravity in arrival t t t be eitron or a friend of t painter. ood aside to alloor to pass, scrutinizing o find ture of an artist or to receive teur not unfriendly to ts; but besides an almost diabolical expression in t met indescribable sometible attraction for artists.
Picture t face. A bald ting bro nose turned up at traits of Socrates and Rabelais; deep lines about t ced beard; sea-green eyes t age migo not for trast betints, so t it seemed as if under tress of anger or entic poo quell or kindle in t by tigue of years, yet it seemed aged still more by ts t o t eyes, and scarcely a trace of t t in a frame of lace astic in ts portraits migepped dos frame to e atmosp painter loved. t t y or t, wo be an invalid.
quot;Good day, Master.quot;
Porbus bofully, and o enter, t tter accompanied or; and e stood a -nature must feel, ting influence of t sigudio in are revealed, Porbus troubled this second comer.
All t in tudio came from a rated upon an easel, ouc save for tlines in c scarcely reacer angles and corners of t room; t, but ted breastplate of a Reiters corselet, t tracted a stray gleam to its dim abiding-place among t of lig across tening surface of an antique sideboard covered e, or struck out a line of glittering dots among tains, wiff, uff o serve as a model.
Plaster _écorcood about tables, lay fragments of classical sculpture-torsos of antique goddesses, uries t o ceiling, less sket