This was a fat, bearded Frenchman.  与他对棋的人是一个蓄着长胡须的肥胖的法国人。

　　The Frenchman considered the position, then broke suddenly into jovial expletives, and with an impatient gesture, gathering up the pieces, flung them into their box.  这个法国人察看了一下自己的棋势，突然笑呵呵地破口骂了几句，气恼地把棋子收在一起，扔到棋盒里去。

　　He cursed Strickland freely, then, calling for the waiter, paid for the drinks, and left.  他一点也不留情面地咒骂着思特里克兰德，接着就把侍者叫来，付了两人的酒账，离开了。

　　Stroeve drew his chair closer to the table. 施特略夫把椅子往桌边挪了挪。

　　Now I suppose we can talk, he said. “我想现在咱们可以谈话了，”他说。

　　Strickland's eyes rested on him, and there was in them a malicious expression.  思特里克兰德的目光落到他身上，那里面闪现着某种恶意的讥嘲。

　　I felt sure he was seeking for some gibe, could think of none, and so was forced to silence. 我敢说他正在寻找一句什么挖苦话，因为找不到合适的，所以只好不开口。

　　I've brought an old friend to see you, repeated Stroeve, beaming cheerfully. “我给你带来一位老朋友，他要见你，”施特略夫满脸堆笑地又把见面时的话重复了一遍。

　　Strickland looked at me thoughtfully for nearly a minute. I did not speak. 思特里克兰德沉思地把我端详了几乎有一分钟。我始终没说话。

　　I've never seen him in my life, he said. “我一生中也没见过这个人，”他说。

　　I do not know why he said this, for I felt certain I had caught a gleam of recognition in his eyes.  我不知道为什么他要这样说，因为从他眼神里我敢肯定他是认识我的。

　　I was not so easily abashed as I had been some years earlier. 我不像几年以前那样动不动就感到难为情了。

　　I saw your wife the other day, I said. "I felt sure you'd like to have the latest news of her." “我前几天见到你妻子了，”我说，“我想你一定愿意听听她最近的消息。”

　　He gave a short laugh. His eyes twinkled. 他干笑了一声，眼睛里闪着亮。

　　We had a jolly evening together, he said. "How long ago is it?" “咱们曾一起度过一个快活的晚上，”他说，“那是多久以前了？”

　　Five years. “五年了。”

　　He called for another absinthe.  他又要了一杯苦艾酒。

　　Stroeve, with voluble tongue, explained how he and I had met, and by what an accident we discovered that we both knew Strickland.  施特略夫滔滔不绝地解释，他和我如何会面，如何无意中发现都认识思特里克兰德的事。

　　I do not know if Strickland listened.  我不知道这些话思特里克兰德是否听进去了。

　　He glanced at me once or twice reflectively, but for the most part seemed occupied with his own thoughts;  因为除了有一两次他好像回忆起什么而看了我一眼以外，大部分时间他似乎都在沉思自己的事。

　　and certainly without Stroeve's babble the conversation would have been difficult.  如果不是施特略夫唠唠叨叨地说个没完没了，这场谈话肯定要冷场的。

　　In half an hour the Dutchman, looking at his watch, announced that he must go.  半个钟头以后这位荷兰人看了看表，声称他必须回去了。

　　He asked whether I would come too.  他问我要不要同他一起走。

　　I thought, alone, I might get something out of Strickland, and so answered that I would stay. 我想剩下我一个人也许还能从思特里克兰德嘴里打听到些什么，所以回答他说我还要坐一会儿。

　　When the fat man had left I said: 当这个胖子走了以后，我开口说：

　　Dirk Stroeve thinks you're a great artist. “戴尔克·施特略夫说你是个了不起的画家。”

　　What the hell do you suppose I care? “我才他妈的不在乎他怎么说呢！”

　　Will you let me see your pictures? “你可以不可以让我看看你的画？”

　　Why should I? “为什么我要给你看？”

　　I might feel inclined to buy one. “说不定我想买一两幅。”

　　I might not feel inclined to sell one. “说不定我还不想卖呢。”

　　Are you making a good living? I asked, smiling. “你过得不错吧？”我笑着说。

　　He chuckled. 他咯咯地笑了两声。

　　Do I look it? “我像过得不错的吗？”

　　You look half starved. “你像连肚皮也吃不饱的样子。”

　　I am half starved. “我就是连饭也吃不饱。”

　　Then come and let's have a bit of dinner. “那咱们去吃点什么吧。”

　　Why do you ask me? “你干嘛请我吃饭？”

　　Not out of charity, I answered coolly. "I don't really care a twopenny damn if you starve or not." “不是出于慈善心肠，”我冷冷地说，“你吃得饱吃不饱才不干我的事呢。”

　　His eyes lit up again. 他的眼睛又闪起亮来。

　　Come on, then, he said, getting up. "I'd like a decent meal." “那就走吧，”他说，站了起来，“我倒是想好好地吃它一顿。”