"Avram Davidson - The Montavarde Camera" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Avram)

So, at any rate, here it was November, and a nice sea-coal fire in the grate, with Mr. Collins sitting by it
in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper (there had formerly been two, but Mrs. Collins had stopped
one of them in the interests of domestic economy). There were a number of interesting bits in the paper
that evening, and occasionally Mr. Collins would read one of them aloud. Mrs. Collins was unraveling
some wool with an eye toward reknitting it.

тАЬDear me!тАЭ said Mr. Collins.

тАЬWhat is that, Lucius?тАЭ

тАЬтАШUnusual Pronouncement By the Bishop of Lyons.тАЭтАЩ He looked over at his wife. тАЬShall I read it to you?тАЭ

тАЬDo.тАЭ
His Grace the Bishop of Lyons had found it necessary to warn all the faithful against a most horrible
series of crimes that had recently been perpetrated in the City and See of Lyons. It was a sign of the
infamy and decadence of the age that not once but six times in the course of the past year, consecrated
wafers had been stolen from churches and rectories in the City and See of Lyons. The purpose of these
thefts could only indicate one thing, and it behooved all of the faithful, and so forth. There was little doubt
(wrote the Paris correspondent of Mr. CollinsтАЩs newspaper) that the bishop referred to the curious
ceremony generally called the Black Mass, which, it would appear, was still being performed in parts of
France; and not merely, as might be assumed, among the more uneducated elements of the population.

тАЬDear me!тАЭ said Mr. Collins.

тАЬAh, those French!тАЭ said Mrs. Collins. тАЬWasnтАЩt it LyonsтАФwasnтАЩt that the place that this unpleasant
person came from? The camera man?тАЭ

тАЬMontavarde?тАЭ Mr. Collins looked up in surprise. тАЬPerhaps. I donтАЩt know. What makes you think so?тАЭ

тАЬDidnтАЩt poor Wycliffe say so on that last night he was here?тАЭ

тАЬDid he? I donтАЩt remember.тАЭ

тАЬHe must have. Else how could I know?тАЭ

This was a question which required no answer, but it aroused other questions in Mrs. CollinsтАЩs mind.
That night he had the dream again, and he recalled it very clearly on awakening. There was a woman, a
foreign womanтАж though how he knew she was foreign, he could not say. It was not her voice, for she
never spoke, only gestured: horrid, wanton gestures, too! Nor was it in her clothes, for she wore none.
And she had something in her hand, about the size of a florin, curiously marked, and she offered it to him.
When he went to take it, she snatched it back, laughing, and thrust it into her red, red mouth. And all the
while the voiceтАФ inflectionless, echoingтАФrepeated over and again, тАЬThe light is in the lifeтАж the light
is in the life.тАЭ It seemed, somehow, a familiar voice.

The next day found him at his bookdealerтАЩs, the establishment of little Mr. Pettigew, the well-known
antiquary, known among younger and envious members of the trade as тАЬthe well-known antiquity.тАЭ
There, under pretense of browsing, Mr. Collins read as much as he could on demonolatry in general, and
the Black Mass in particular. It was most interesting, but, as the books all dated from the previous
century, there was no mention of either Duval or Montavarde. Mr. Collins tipped his hat to the
bookdealer (it was the same bowler) and left the shop.