目 录 上一节 下一节 
“哦。”老太太说道，“孩子，画家总是把女士们画得比她们原来的样子更漂亮，要不，就找不到主顾啦。发明照相机的人没准知道那一套根本行不通，这买卖太诚实了，这买卖。”老太太对自己的机智大为欣赏，开心地笑了起来。 'Is--is that a likeness, ma'am?' said Oliver. “那--是不是一张画像，太太？”奥立弗说。 'Yes,' said the old lady, looking up for a moment from the broth; 'that's a portrait.' “是的，”说话间，老太太的眼睛离开了肉汤，她抬起头来。“是一张画像。” 'Whose, ma'am?' asked Oliver. “太太，是谁的？”奥立弗问道。 'Why, really, my dear, I don't know,' answered the old lady in a good-humoured manner. 'It's not a likeness of anybody that you or I know, I expect. It seems to strike your fancy, dear.' “噢，说实话，孩子，我也不知道，”贝德温太太笑吟吟地答道，“我琢磨，不管是你还是我，都不认识那上边的人。你倒像是挺喜欢那张画，亲爱的。” 
“画得真好看。”奥立弗应道。 'Why, sure you're not afraid of it?' said the old lady: observing in great surprise, the look of awe with which the child regarded the painting. “哟，敢情你没叫它吓着吧？”老太太发现奥立弗带着一脸敬畏的神情凝视着那张画，不禁大为惊异。 'Oh no, no,' returned Oliver quickly; 'but the eyes look so sorrowful; and where I sit, they seem fixed upon me. It makes my heart beat,' added Oliver in a low voice, 'as if it was alive, and wanted to speak to me, but couldn't.' “喔，没有，没有。”奥立弗赶紧回过头来。“只是那双眼睛看上去像是要哭，随便我坐在哪儿，都好像在望着我一样，弄得我的心都快蹦出来了。”奥立弗小声地补充道，“像是真的，还想跟我说话呢，只是说不出来。” 'Lord save us!' exclaimed the old lady, starting; 'don't talk in that way, child. You're weak and nervous after your illness. Let me wheel your chair round to the other side; and then you won't see it. There!' said the old lady, suiting the action to the word; 'you don't see it now, at all events.' “上帝保佑。”老太太嚷嚷着，站了起来。“孩子，你可别那么说。你病刚好，身体虚弱，难保没点疑神疑鬼的。来，我把你的椅子调个个儿，你就看不见了，行啦。”老太太嘴里说着，果真这么做了。“现在看不见了，再怎么也看不见了。” Oliver DID see it in his mind's eye as distinctly as if he had not altered his position; but he thought it better not to worry the kind old lady; so he smiled gently when she looked at him; and Mrs. Bedwin, satisfied that he felt more comfortable, salted and broke bits of toasted bread into the broth, with all the bustle befitting so solemn a preparation. Oliver got through it with extraordinary expedition. He had scarcely swallowed the last spoonful, when there came a soft rap at the door. 'Come in,' said the old lady; and in walked Mr. Brownlow. 然而，奥立弗透过自己的心扉，把那张肖像看得如此真切，仿佛他坐的方向全然不曾改变似的。不过，他想还是别再让这位好心的老太太操心才好，所以当老太太打量他的时候，他温顺地笑了笑。贝德温太太看见他比刚才大有起色，这才心满意足。她往汤里放了些盐，把几片烤面包掰碎加了进去，准备工作如此重要，自然要忙乎一阵。奥立弗以超乎寻常的速度喝完了汤。他刚吞下最后一匙肉汤，门上便响起轻轻的敲门声。“请进。”贝德温太太说道，进来的是布朗罗先生。 
喏，老绅士步履轻快地走了进来，这是可想而知的，但不多一会儿，他便把眼镜支到额头上，双手反插在晨衣后摆里，久久地，仔仔细细地端详起奥立弗来，脸上出现种种奇怪的抽动。大病初愈的奥立弗显得非常樵瘁，一副弱不禁风的样子。出于对恩人的尊敬，他强打精神想站起来，结果还是没能站稳，又跌坐在椅子上。事实上，如果一定要实话实说，布朗罗先生胸襟十分宽阔，比起一般心地慈善、气质淳厚的绅士来，他一个当得上六个。他的心通过某种水压作用将两汪热泪送进了他的眼眶，说起这种程序，由于我们在哲学方面不能算是博大精深，是无法作出解释的。 'Poor boy, poor boy!' said Mr. Brownlow, clearing his throat. 'I'm rather hoarse this morning, Mrs. Bedwin. I'm afraid I have caught cold.' “可怜的孩子，可怜的孩子。”布朗罗先生说着清了清喉咙。“贝德温太太，今天早晨我声音有点沙哑，恐怕是伤风了。” 'I hope not, sir,' said Mrs. Bedwin. 'Everything you have had, has been well aired, sir.' “但愿不是，先生，”贝德温太太说道，“你所有的衣服都是晾干了的，先生。” 'I don't know, Bedwin. I don't know,' said Mr. Brownlow; 'I rather think I had a damp napkin at dinner-time yesterday; but never mind that. How do you feel, my dear?' “不知道，贝德温，不知道怎么搞的，”布朗罗先生说道，“我倒宁可认为是因为昨天吃晚饭用了一张潮湿的餐巾，不过没关系。你感觉怎么样，我的孩子？” 'Very happy, sir,' replied Oliver. 'And very grateful indeed, sir, for your goodness to me.' “很快活，先生，”奥立弗回答，“您对我太好了，先生，真不知道怎么感谢您。” 
“真是乖孩子，”布朗罗先生胸有成竹地说，“贝德温，你替他加了补品没有？哪怕是流质的，喏？” 'He has just had a basin of beautiful strong broth, sir,' replied Mrs. Bedwin: drawing herself up slightly, and laying strong emphasis on the last word: to intimate that between slops, and broth will compounded, there existed no affinity or connection whatsoever. “他刚喝了一碗味道鲜美的浓汤。”贝德温太太略微欠起身来，特意在最后一个词上加重了语气，意思是一般的流质与精心烹制的肉汤根本不可同日而语。 'Ugh!' said Mr. Brownlow, with a slight shudder; 'a couple of glasses of port wine would have done him a great deal more good. Wouldn't they, Tom White, eh?' “啊。”布朗罗先生的身体微微抖了一下。“喝两杯红葡萄酒对他要有益得多。是不是，汤姆·怀特，晤？” 'My name is Oliver, sir,' replied the little invalid: with a look of great astonishment. “我叫奥立弗，先生。”小病人显出一副大为诧异的样子回答。 'Oliver,' said Mr. Brownlow; 'Oliver what? Oliver White, eh?' “奥立弗，”布朗罗先生推敲着。“奥立弗什么？是叫奥立弗·怀特，嗯？” 
“不，先生，是退斯特，奥立弗·退斯特。” 'Queer name!' said the old gentleman. 'What made you tell the magistrate your name was White?' “这名字真怪。”老绅士说道，“那你怎么告诉推事你叫怀特呢？” 'I never told him so, sir,' returned Oliver in amazement. “我从来没有这样说，先生。”奥立弗感到莫名其妙。 This sounded so like a falsehood, that the old gentleman looked somewhat sternly in Oliver's face. It was impossible to doubt him; there was truth in every one of its thin and sharpened lineaments. 这话听上去很像是在胡编，老绅士望着奥立弗的面孔，多少带了点愠色。对他是不可能产生怀疑的，他那副瘦削清癯的相貌特征处处都显示出诚实。 'Some mistake,' said Mr. Brownlow. But, although his motive for looking steadily at Oliver no longer existed, the old idea of the resemblance between his features and some familiar face came upon him so strongly, that he could not withdraw his gaze. “这肯定搞错了。”布朗罗先生说道。然而，尽管促使他不住地端详奥立弗的动机已不复存在，那个旧有的念头却又一次袭来，奥立弗的长相与某一张熟识的面孔太相似了，这意识来势迅猛，他那专注的眼光一时竟收不回来。 
“先生，求您别生我的气，好吗？”奥立弗恳求地抬起了双眼。 'No, no,' replied the old gentleman. 'Why! what's this? Bedwin, look there!' “不，不，”老绅士答道，“嗨。那是谁的画像？贝德温，你瞧那儿。” As he spoke, he pointed hastily to the picture over Oliver's head, and then to the boy's face. There was its living copy. The eyes, the head, the mouth; every feature was the same. The expression was, for the instant, so precisely alike, that the minutest line seemed copied with startling accuracy! 他一边说，一边忙不迭地指指奥立弗头顶上的肖像画，又指了指孩子的脸。奥立弗的长相活脱脱就是那幅肖像的翻版。那双眼睛、头型、嘴，每一个特征都一模一样。那一瞬间的神态又是那样逼真，连最细微的线条也仿佛是以一种惊人的准确笔法临摹下来的。 Oliver knew not the cause of this sudden exclamation; for, not being strong enough to bear the start it gave him, he fainted away. A weakness on his part, which affords the narrative an opportunity of relieving the reader from suspense, in behalf of the two young pupils of the Merry Old Gentleman; and of recording-- 奥立弗不明白这番突如其来的惊呼是怎么回事。因为承受不住这一阵惊诧，他昏了过去。他这一晕过去，替笔者提供了一个机会，可以回过头去表一表那位快活老绅士的两个小门徒，以解读者悬念，且说--
| 
