A young girl of nineteen ran impetuously into the shop, her dark curls hanging in disorder on her bare shoulders, her bare arms stretched out in front of her. Seeing Sanin, she rushed up to him at once, seized him by the hand, and pulled him after her, saying in a breathless voice, "Quick, quick, here, save him!" Not through disinclination to obey, but simply from excess of amazement, Sanin did not at once follow the girl. He stood, as it were, rooted to the spot; he had never in his life seen such a beautiful creature. She turned towards him, and with such despair in her voice, in her eyes, in the gesture of her clenched hand, which was lifted with a spasmodic movement to her pale cheek, she articulated, "Come, come!" that he at once darted after her to the open door.

一个约十九岁的女孩急匆匆地跑进店里，一头深色的卷发散乱地披在裸露的双肩上，光着的两只手臂向前伸出来。一看到萨宁，她立刻冲上去抓住他的手，一边拉着他，一边气喘吁吁地说：“快，快跟我来，救救他！”萨宁没有立刻就跟着女孩走，不是萨宁不肯去，只是太惊讶了。他站在那里，呆呆地立着——他生平从未见过这么漂亮的姑娘。她转过身看着他，从她的嗓音里，目光里，以及那只握得紧紧的、颤颤巍巍地举到了苍白的脸颊前的手的动作上，都流露出那么悲伤绝望的情绪，她清晰地说“快，快啊”，于是他赶紧跟着她奔向那开着的门里去了。

In the room, into which he ran behind the girl, on an old-fashioned horse-hair sofa, lay a boy of fourteen, white all over—white, with a yellowish tinge like wax or old marble—he was strikingly like the girl, obviously her brother. His eyes were closed, a patch of shadow fell from his thick black hair on a forehead like stone, and delicate, motionless eyebrows; between the blue lips could be seen clenched teeth. He seemed not to be breathing; one arm hung down to the floor, the other he had tossed above his head. The boy was dressed, and his clothes were closely buttoned; a tight cravat was twisted round his neck.

他跟着女孩跑进一间屋子里，看见旧式的马鬃沙发上，躺着一个约十四岁的男孩，和那女孩长得很像，显然是她的弟弟。这个男孩子脸色十分苍白——苍白中略带微黄，那颜色像蜡，还像古老的大理石。他闭着眼睛，浓密的黑发投下一片阴影，遮住了他石头般的前额和凝然不动的细眉上，发青的唇间露出咬得紧紧的牙齿。他似乎已经停止了呼吸，一只手臂耷拉在地板上，另一只手垫在脑后。男孩穿着外套，扣子紧扣，一条领带紧紧地缠在脖子上。

The girl rushed up to him with a wail of distress.

女孩痛哭着向萨宁扑去。

"He is dead, he is dead!" she cried; "he was sitting here just now, talking to me—and all of a sudden he fell down and became rigid... My God! Can nothing be done to help him? And mamma not here! Pantaleone, Pantaleone, the doctor!" She went on suddenly in Italian. "Have you been for the doctor?"

“他死了，他死了！”她哭喊道，“刚刚他还坐在这儿跟我讲话，突然就倒下不动了……天哪！难道就没办法救他了吗？妈妈也不在这儿！潘塔莱昂纳，潘塔莱昂纳，医生呢？”她突然用意大利语问道，“您还没去请医生吗？”

"Signora, I did not go, I sent Luise," said a hoarse voice at the door, and a little bandy-legged old man came hobbling into the room in a lavender frock coat with black buttons, a high white cravat, short nankeen trousers, and blue worsted stockings. His diminutive little face was positively lost in a mass of iron-grey hair. Standing up in all directions, and falling back in ragged tufts, it gave the old man's figure a resemblance to a crested hen—a resemblance the more striking, that under the dark-grey mass nothing could be distinguished but a beak nose and round yellow eyes.

“小姐，我没去，我让路易丝去请了。”门外响起沙哑的声音，只见一个罗圈腿的小老头一瘸一拐地走了进来。他上身穿了一件黑纽扣的淡紫色礼服，系着高高的白领结；下身穿了一条很短的紫花布裤和蓝色的毛纱长袜。他瘦小的脸盘被一堆铁灰色的头发遮住了。这头深灰色的头发朝着各个方向竖着，又一绺绺乱蓬蓬地倒垂下来，使这小老头活像一只凤头母鸡，尤其和母鸡惊人地相似的是，那一头乱蓬蓬的深灰色头发下面，露出了尖挺挺的鼻子和圆溜溜的黄眼睛。

"Luise will run fast, and I can't run," the old man went on in Italian, dragging his flat gouty feet, shod in high slippers with knots of ribbon. "I've brought some water."

“路易丝跑得快，我不能跑啊。”小老头一边用意大利语继续说着，一边逐个抬起他那患痛风的平脚——脚上穿着一双打着小花结的高帮鞋。“我把水拿来了。”

In his withered, knotted fingers, he clutched a long bottle neck.

他那干瘪的、骨节粗大的指头正握着细长的瓶颈。

"But meanwhile Emil will die!" cried the girl, and holding out her hand to Sanin, "O, sir, O mein Herr!" "Can't you do something for him?"

“但是埃米尔要死啦！”女孩哭喊着把手伸向萨宁，“啊，先生，先生！”“难道您也没有一点办法救他吗？”

"He ought to be bled—it's an apoplectic fit," observed the old man addressed as Pantaleone.

“应该给他放血，他这是中风。”叫潘塔莱昂纳的小老头说道。

Though Sanin had not the slightest notion of medicine, he knew one thing for certain, that boys of fourteen do not have apoplectic fits.

虽然萨宁对医学一窍不通，但是有一点他确实知道：一个十四岁的孩子是不会中风的。

"It's a swoon, not a fit," he said, turning to Pantaleone. "Have you got any brushes?"

“他这是昏厥，而不是中风。”萨宁说着，转向潘塔莱昂纳，“你们有刷子吗？”

The old man raised his little face. "Eh?"

小老头扬起他的小脸盘。“什么？”

"Brushes, brushes," repeated Sanin in German and in French. "Brushes," he added, making as though he would brush his clothes.

“刷子，刷子，”萨宁用德语和法语重复道，“刷子。”他补了一句，做出了刷自己衣服的样子。

The little old man understood him at last.

小老头终于明白了他的意思。

"Ah, brushes! Spazzette! to be sure we have!"

“啊，刷子！刷子！我们当然有了。”

"Bring them here; we will take off his coat and try rubbing him."

“都拿到这儿来，我们要脱了他的外衣给他摩擦。”

"Good... Benone! And ought we not to sprinkle water on his head?"

“好……不在头上淋点儿水吗？”

"No... later on; get the brushes now as quick as you can."

“不用……等会儿再说。现在您赶紧去拿刷子吧。”

Pantaleone put the bottle on the floor, ran out and returned at once with two brushes, one a hair-brush, and one a clothes-brush. A curly poodle followed him in, and vigorously wagging its tail, it looked up inquisitively at the old man, the girl, and even Sanin, as though it wanted to know what was the meaning of all this fuss.

潘塔莱昂纳把瓶子放在地上跑出去了，很快就拿回来两把刷子，一把刷头发的，一把刷衣服的。一只卷毛狮子狗跟着他进来了，神气活现地摇着尾巴，好奇地仰视着小老头和女孩，还有萨宁，好像想知道大家为什么都这么忙乱。

Sanin quickly took the boy's coat off, unbuttoned his collar, and pushed up his shirt-sleeves, and arming himself with a brush, he began brushing his chest and arms with all his might. Pantaleone as zealously brushed away with the other—the hair-brush—at his boots and trousers. The girl flung herself on her knees by the sofa, and, clutching her head in both hands, fastened her eyes, not an eyelash quivering, on her brother.

萨宁迅速脱下男孩的外衣，解开衣领的扣子，又挽起衬衣袖子，就拿着刷子用足力气给他摩擦胸部和两臂。潘塔莱昂纳用另一把刷头发的刷子，也用力地在他的靴子和裤子上摩擦起来。女孩在沙发旁边跪了下来，双手抱着她弟弟的头，目不转睛地盯着他的脸，眼皮也不眨一下。

Sanin rubbed on, and kept stealing glances at her. Mercy! what a beautiful creature she was!

萨宁一面摩擦着，一面偷偷地瞄着她。天哪！多么漂亮的一个姑娘啊！ BlxKGPv+AMnR4Wfv0NfScxmhUd8R5eW2vrzLMbzwKL0idKSnCevUfAZ8mnGI0/DD