'Come, then, Di! Dear Di! Make friends with your new mistress. Let us love each other, Di!'said Florence, fondling his shaggy head. And Di, the rough and gruff, as if his hairy hide were pervious to the tear that dropped upon it, and his dog's heart melted as it fell, put his nose up to her face, and swore fidelity.
Diogenes the man did not speak plainer to Alexander the Great than Diogenes the dog spoke to Florence.' He subscribed to the offer of his little mistress cheerfully, and devoted himself to her service. A banquet was immediately provided for him in a corner; and when he had eaten and drunk his fill, he went to the window where Florence was sitting, looking on, rose up on his hind legs, with his awkward fore paws on her shoulders, licked her face and hands, nestled his great head against her heart, and wagged his tail till he was tired. Finally, Diogenes coiled himself up at her feet and went to sleep.
Although Miss Nipper was nervous in regard of dogs, and felt it necessary to come into the room with her skirts carefully collected about her, as if she were crossing a brook on stepping-stones; also to utter little screams and stand up on chairs when Diogenes stretched himself, she was in her own manner affected by the kindness of Mr Toots, and could not see Florence so alive to the attachment and society of this rude friend of little Paul's, without some mental comments thereupon that brought the water to her eyes. Mr Dombey, as a part of her reflections, may have been, in the association of ideas, connected with the dog; but, at any rate, after observing Diogenes and his mistress all the evening, and after exerting herself with much good-will to provide Diogenes a bed in an ante-chamber outside his mistress's door, she said hurriedly to Florence, before leaving her for the night:
'Your Pa's a going off, Miss Floy, tomorrow morning.'
'To-morrow morning, Susan?'
'Yes, Miss; that's the orders. Early.'
'Do you know,' asked Florence, without looking at her, 'where Papa is going, Susan?'
'Not exactly, Miss. He's going to meet that precious Major first, and I must say if I was acquainted with any Major myself (which Heavens forbid), it shouldn't be a blue one!'
'Hush, Susan!' urged Florence gently.
'Well, Miss Floy,' returned Miss Nipper, who was full of burning indignation, and minded her stops even less than usual. 'I can't help it, blue he is, and while I was a Christian, although humble, I would have natural-coloured friends, or none.'
It appeared from what she added and had gleaned downstairs, that Mrs Chick had proposed the Major for Mr Dombey's companion, and that Mr Dombey, after some hesitation, had invited him.
'Talk of him being a change, indeed!' observed Miss Nipper to herself with boundless contempt. 'If he's a change, give me a constancy.
'Good-night, Susan,' said Florence.
'Good-night, my darling dear Miss Floy.'
Her tone of commiseration smote the chord so often roughly touched, but never listened to while she or anyone looked on. Florence left alone, laid her head upon her hand, and pressing the other over her swelling heart, held free communication with her sorrows.
It was a wet night; and the melancholy rain fell pattering and dropping with a weary sound. A sluggish wind was blowing, and went moaning round the house, as if it were in pain or grief. A shrill noise quivered through the trees. While she sat weeping, it grew late, and dreary midnight tolled out from the steeples.
Florence was little more than a child in years - not yet fourteen- and the loneliness and gloom of such an hour in the great house where Death had lately made its own tremendous devastation, might have set an older fancy brooding on vague terrors. But her innocent imagination was too full of one theme to admit them. Nothing wandered in her thoughts but love - a wandering love, indeed, and castaway - but turning always to her father. There was nothing in the dropping of the rain, the moaning of the wind, the shuddering of the trees, the striking of the solemn clocks, that shook this one thought, or diminished its interest' Her recollections of the dear dead boy - and they were never absent - were itself, the same thing. And oh, to be shut out: to be so lost: never to have looked into her father's face or touched him, since that hour!
She could not go to bed, poor child, and never had gone yet, since then, without making her nightly pilgrimage to his door. It would have been a strange sad sight, to see her' now, stealing lightly down the stairs through the thick gloom, and stopping at it with a beating heart, and blinded eyes, and hair that fell down loosely and unthought of; and touching it outside with her wet cheek. But the night covered it, and no one knew.
The moment that she touched the door on this night, Florence found that it was open. For the first time it stood open, though by but a hair's-breadth: and there was a light within. The first impulse of the timid child - and she yielded to it - was to retire swiftly. Her next, to go back, and to enter; and this second impulse held her in irresolution on the staircase.
In its standing open, even by so much as that chink, there seemed to be hope. There was encouragement in seeing a ray of light from within, stealing through the dark stern doorway, and falling in a thread upon the marble floor. She turned back, hardly knowing what she did, but urged on by the love within her, and the trial they had undergone together, but not shared: and with her hands a little raised and trembling, glided in.
Her father sat at his old table in the middle room. He had been arranging some papers, and destroying others, and the latter lay in fragile ruins before him. The rain dripped heavily upon the glass panes in the outer room, where he had so often watched poor Paul, a baby; and the low complainings of the wind were heard without.
But not by him. He sat with his eyes fixed on the table, so immersed in thought, that a far heavier tread than the light foot of his child could make, might have failed to rouse him. His face was turned towards her. By the waning lamp, and at that haggard hour, it looked worn and dejected; and in the utter loneliness surrounding him, there was an appeal to Florence that struck home.
'Papa! Papa! speak to me, dear Papa!'
He started at her voice, and leaped up from his seat. She was close before him' with extended arms, but he fell back.
'What is the matter?' he said, sternly. 'Why do you come here? What has frightened you?'
If anything had frightened her, it was the face he turned upon her. The glowing love within the breast of his young daughter froze before it, and she stood and looked at him as if stricken into stone.
There was not one touch of tenderness or pity in it. There was not one gleam of interest, parental recognition, or relenting in it. There was a change in it, but not of that kind. The old indifference and cold constraint had given place to something: what, she never thought and did not dare to think, and yet she felt it in its force, and knew it well without a name: that as it looked upon her, seemed to cast a shadow on her head.
Did he see before him the successful rival of his son, in health and life? Did he look upon his own successful rival in that son's affection? Did a mad jealousy and withered pride, poison sweet remembrances that should have endeared and made her precious to him? Could it be possible that it was gall to him to look upon her in her beauty and her promise: thinking of his infant boy!
Florence had no such thoughts. But love is quick to know when it is spurned and hopeless: and hope died out of hers, as she stood looking in her father's face.
'I ask you, Florence, are you frightened? Is there anything the matter, that you come here?'
'I came, Papa - '
'Against my wishes. Why?'
She saw he knew why: it was written broadly on his face: and dropped her head upon her hands with one prolonged low cry.
Let him remember it in that room, years to come. It has faded from the air, before he breaks the silence. It may pass as quickly from his brain, as he believes, but it is there. Let him remember it in that room, years to come!
He took her by the arm. His hand was cold, and loose, and scarcely closed upon her.
'You are tired, I daresay,' he said, taking up the light, and leading her towards the door, 'and want rest. We all want rest. Go, Florence. You have been dreaming.'
The dream she had had, was over then, God help her! and she felt that it could never more come back
'I will remain here to light you up the stairs. The whole house is yours above there,' said her father, slowly. 'You are its mistress now. Good-night!'
Still covering her face, she sobbed, and answered 'Good-night, dear Papa,' and silently ascended. Once she looked back as if she would have returned to him, but for fear. It was a mommentary thought, too hopeless to encourage; and her father stood there with the light - hard, unresponsive, motionless - until the fluttering dress of his fair child was lost in the darkness.
Let him remember it in that room, years to come. The rain that falls upon the roof: the wind that mourns outside the door: may have foreknowledge in their melancholy sound. Let him remember it in that room, years to come!
The last time he had watched her, from the same place, winding up those stairs, she had had her brother in her arms. It did not move his heart towards her now, it steeled it: but he went into his room, and locked his door, and sat down in his chair, and cried for his lost boy.
Diogenes was broad awake upon his post, and waiting for his little mistress.
'Oh, Di! Oh, dear Di! Love me for his sake!'
Diogenes already loved her for her own, and didn't care how much he showed it. So he made himself vastly ridiculous by performing a variety of uncouth bounces in the ante-chamber, and concluded, when poor Florence was at last asleep, and dreaming of the rosy children opposite, by scratching open her bedroom door: rolling up his bed into a pillow: lying down on the boards, at the full length of his tether, with his head towards her: and looking lazily at her, upside down, out of the tops of his eyes, until from winking and winking he fell asleep himself, and dreamed, with gruff barks, of his enemy.
董贝先生的公馆中一片寂静。仆人们蹑手蹑脚地、窸窸窣窣地上楼、下楼，不让脚步发出响声。他们聚在一起没完没了地聊天，长时间地坐着用餐，尽情吃喝，仿照那种冷酷无情、不信鬼神的习俗来享受乐趣。威肯姆大嫂眼泪汪汪，叙述着忧伤的往事；她跟他们说，她在皮普钦太太那里就经常说，将来会发生这样的结果；餐桌上的浓啤酒她比平时喝得更多；她很忧愁，但爱和人交谈。厨娘的心情也相似。她答应晚餐做些油炸的食品，并作出同等的努力来克制自己的感伤和忍住洋葱的气味。托林森开始觉得这是命中注定；他希望有人能告诉他，居住在坐落于街道拐角的房屋里能有什么好处。他们全都觉得，这似乎是好久以前发生的事情了，虽然那孩子还依旧安安静静、漂漂亮亮地躺在他的小床上。
天黑以后来了几个人，他们穿着毡鞋，默不作声，以前就曾经到这里来过。随着他们来的是一张安息的床，这是一张多么奇怪的给孩子睡眠的床啊！失去孩子的父亲一直没有露面，甚至连侍候他的仆人也一直见不到他；因为不论是谁进入他的黑暗的房间，他总是坐在最里面的一个角落里，除了来回踱步外，其他时间似乎就从来不曾移动过身体。可是家里的人们早上都在交头接耳，窃窃私语说，他们听到他深夜走上楼去，待在那里——待在房间里——，直到太阳升起为止。
在城里公司的办公室里，由于关上百叶窗，毛玻璃的窗子更为暗淡；当办公桌上的灯光被悄悄透进的亮光冲淡一半，而白天的亮光又被灯光冲淡一半时，房间里笼罩着一种不寻常的幽暗。没有办理多少业务。职员们不愿工作；他们约好下午出去吃排骨，并到河上游逛。信差珀奇磨磨蹭蹭地执行他的差事；他被朋友们邀请到酒吧，在那里高谈阔论，感叹人事的变化无常。晚上他比往常提早回到鲍尔斯池塘家里，请珀奇太太吃小牛肉片和喝苏格兰浓啤酒。经理卡克先生没有宴请别人，也没有别人宴请他，而是独自待在自己的办公室里，整天露着牙齿；似乎在卡克先生的道路上有个什么东西消失了——有个什么障碍被搬除了，他前面的道路已经被扫清了。
住在董贝先生家对面的脸色红润的孩子们这时从他们育儿室的窗口向下面的街道探望，因为在董贝先生家的门口有四匹黑马，马头上装饰着翎毛，翎毛在黑马所拉的马车上方摇晃着；这些情景以及披着披巾，拿着棍棒的人们，吸引了一群人围观。玩杂耍的人本准备旋转盘子，这时又在他华丽的衣服外面套上一件宽松的外衣；他的拖着腿走路的妻子，手上抱着一个重娃娃，身子向一边倾斜，正游手好闲地看着送殡的人们出来。但是当她很轻易地抱着的孩子被挤到前面时，她就把他更紧地压在她肮脏的乳房上。对面高高的窗子里脸色红润的孩子当中最小的一个，兴高采烈，不要别人来制止她，这时她望着保姆的脸，用胖乎乎的手指指着问道：“那是什么？”
这时，董贝先生在周围一小群穿着丧服的仆人和哭哭啼啼的妇女们中间，穿过前厅，走向另一辆等待着他的四轮马车。这些旁观的人们心想，他并没有被悲伤和痛苦压倒。他的步伐还是跟平日一样矫健，他的态度还是跟平日一样生硬呆板。他没有把脸掩藏在手绢里，而是直望着前方。他的脸虽然稍稍有些消瘦、森严、苍白，但表情仍和往常一样。他在马车里坐定了位子，另外三位先生也跟着进了马车。于是隆重的送殡队伍沿着街道向前徐徐移动。玩杂耍的人正在一根棍子上旋转着盆子，同样的人群正在赞赏这技艺时，翎毛还在远处摇晃着。但是玩杂耍的人的妻子拿着盒子讨钱，不像平日那样机灵麻利，因为孩子的葬礼使她联想到她的被破烂的围巾覆盖着的婴儿也许将来不能长大成人，不能在头上绕上一根天蓝色的束发带，穿着橙红色的衬裤，在泥里翻跟斗。
翎毛沿着街道，忧郁地、曲曲折折地向前行进，已经可以听到教堂的钟声。这个漂亮的孩子就在这个教堂里得到了他不久唯一能遗留在人世的东西——一个名字。他们把他死去的一切安放在这里，靠近他母亲的遗骸。这很好。他们的骨灰在那里，弗洛伦斯不论哪一天散步——唉，多么孤独多么孤独的散步啊！——随时都可以经过那里。
仪式完毕，教士们都离开之后，董贝先生环顾四周，低声问道，要求到这里来听取他有关墓碑的指示的人在不在？
一个人走上来，说：“在。”
董贝先生通知他，他希望把墓碑安放在什么地方；又用手在墙上画出它的形状和大小；还指出，它应该紧挨着他母亲的墓碑，然后他用铅笔写出碑文，递给他，说：“我希望立刻把它刻好。
“立刻就会刻好，先生。”
“您看，除了姓名和年龄就没有什么别的要刻的了。”
那人鞠了个躬，看了看那张纸，好像踌躇不定似的。董贝先生没有留意到他在迟疑，所以就转身向门廊走去。
“请您原谅，先生，”一只手轻轻地碰了碰他的丧服，“可是因为您希望立刻就把它刻好，我回去也可以着手进行——”
“唔？”
“能不能劳驾您再看一遍？我觉得有一个差错。”
“什么地方？”
那位雕刻墓碑的匠人把纸递还给他，用随身携带的一支尺子指出下面的一些词：“心爱的和唯一的孩子。”
“先生，我想应当是‘儿子’吧？”
“您说得对。当然是。改过来吧。”
这位父亲以更快的步伐走向马车。当紧跟在他后面的另外三个人在马车里坐下时，他的脸第一次被掩盖着——被他的外衣捂着。那天他们再也没有见到它。他首先下了马车，立刻走到他自己的房间里去。其他参加葬礼的人（他们只不过是奇克先生和两位医生）上楼到客厅里，由奇克夫人和托克斯小姐接待他们。至于楼下关闭着的房间里的那个人，他的脸上是什么表情，他在想些什么，他的心情怎么样，有什么冲突或痛苦，谁也不知道。
地下室厨房里的人们只知道：“今天像星期天。”他们心里总觉得，外面街道上那些穿着日常服装，为日常工作奔忙的人们，在他们的行为中如果没有什么邪恶的东西的话，那么总还是有一些不对头的地方。窗帘已经卷上，百叶窗已经拉开，这是件不同于前几天的新鲜事情。他们像过节一般尽情地喝着一瓶瓶的酒，以此消愁解忧。他们都很喜欢劝善戒恶。托林森叹了一口气，举杯祝酒道，“让我们都来改过自新吧！”厨娘也叹了一口气，说：“上帝知道，要改过自新的地方多着哪！”晚上，奇克夫人和托克斯小姐又做起针线活来。在同一个晚上，托林森先生跟女仆一块出去兜风，她直到现在还没有试戴过服丧的软帽。他们在阴暗的街道拐角，彼此十分亲热；托林森希望有朝一日到牛津市场去当一名殷实的蔬菜水果商人，过另一种不同的、无可指责的生活。
这天夜里，在董贝先生的公馆中，人们跟以前好多夜相比，睡得比较酣畅，休息得比较充分。朝阳照旧唤醒了屋子里原来所有的人们，把他们重新推入他们往常的生活轨道。对面屋子里脸色红润的孩子们滚着铁环跑过去。教堂里举行了一个隆重的婚礼。玩杂耍的人的妻子在城市的另一个街区里，拿着讨钱的盒子，活跃地跑来跑去。石匠在他前面的大理石板上刻出•保•罗两个字的时候，唱着歌曲，吹着口哨。
在一个人口众多、忙忙碌碌的世界上，一个虚弱的小人儿的失去，在哪一个心上造成这样宽阔这样深沉的空虚，只有广袤无边的永恒才能把它填补上呢？弗洛伦斯在她真挚纯朴的悲痛中也许会回答道，“啊，我的弟弟，啊，我曾经热爱过、现在仍然热爱着的弟弟！我受到冷落的童年中的唯一的朋友和同伴！难道还有不那么高尚的思想能把您的已经露出曙光的早逝的坟墓照亮，或者能使这在泪落如雨时产生的阵阵悲痛减轻一些吗？”
“我亲爱的孩子，”奇克夫人说道，她认为她有义不容辞的责任抓住机会来开导她，“当你到了我这样的年纪——”
“也就是说到了精力充沛的壮年，”托克斯小姐说。
“那时候你就会知道，”奇克夫人说，一边轻轻地捏了一下托克斯小姐的手，对她友好的讲话表示感谢，“悲痛是无益的，我们的本分是听天由命。”
“我将努力这样去做，亲爱的姑妈，我是这样努力的。”弗洛伦斯抽泣着说。
“我很高兴听到你这么说，”奇克夫人说，“因为我亲爱的，正如我们亲爱的托克斯小姐——对于她正确的见解和卓越的判断是不可能有异议的——”
“我亲爱的路易莎，说实在的，我立刻就要骄傲起来了。”
“正如我们亲爱的托克斯小姐将会告诉你，并且用她的经验来证实的那样，”奇克夫人继续说道，“在任何情况下都要求我们作出努力。要求我们这样做。如果有什么厌——我亲爱的，”她向托克斯小姐说，“我忘了这个词。厌——厌——”
“厌倦，”托克斯小姐提示说。
“不是，不是，不是，”奇克夫人说，“你怎么会想出这个词呢！天呀，它已经到了我的嘴边了。厌——”
“厌恶，”托克斯小姐心虚胆怯地提示说。
“我的上帝，卢克丽霞！”奇克夫人回答，“多么荒唐！厌世者——这就是我想要说的词。你怎么会那么想！厌恶！我是说，如果有什么厌世者当着我的面提出下面的问题：‘为什么我们要生下来？’我就回答他说，‘为了作出努力’”。
“真是说得很好，”托克斯小姐说，这别出心裁的见解使她留下了深刻的印像，“•很好。”
“不幸的是，”奇克夫人继续说道，“在我们眼前已经有了一个教训。我们完全有理由设想，我亲爱的孩子，如果在这个家庭中曾经及时作出过努力，那么许多令人痛苦、难以忍受的事情本来是可以避免的。没有什么能使我改变我的看法，”这位善良的家庭主妇以坚决的语气说道，“如果可怜的亲爱的范妮先前能作出努力的话，那么这可怜的孩子至少可以有强壮一些的体质。”
奇克夫人控制不住自己的感情约有半秒钟光景；但是为了给她的学说提供一个实际的范例，她突然中止啜泣，继续往下说道：
“因此，弗洛伦斯，请向我们表明，你的意志是相当坚强的，不要只顾自己，加深你可怜的爸爸的痛苦。”
“亲爱的姑妈！”弗洛伦斯迅速地跪在她面前，以便更仔细更诚挚地看着她的脸，说道，“再告诉我一些爸爸的情况吧。
请跟我谈谈他吧！他是不是伤心绝望了？”
托克斯小姐是一位心慈善感的人，在这哀求中有一些东西使她深受感动。是不是她在这哀求中看到这位被冷落的女孩子希望能够继续像她死去的弟弟那样，时常向父亲表露出亲切的关怀？还是她在这哀求中看到这女孩子心中怀着一种爱，它想缠绕在曾经爱过她弟弟的那颗心的周围，而不能忍受在这爱与哀伤的交集之中她父亲由于悲痛而拒绝向它表示同情？还是她只不过是在这女孩子身上看出有一种真挚、忠诚的精神，它虽然遭到拒绝和厌弃，却仍痛苦地满怀着长久得不到回报的柔情，在她失去弟弟以后的忧愁和孤独中，它又转向父亲发出了哀求，希望从他微弱的反应中寻求到安慰，同时也去安慰他？——不论托克斯小姐怎样理解弗洛伦斯的哀求，反正这哀求是使她深受感动的。她在片刻间忘记了奇克夫人的尊严，急忙抚摸弗洛伦斯的脸颊，身子转向一旁，没有等待那位贤明的主妇的指示，就听凭泪水从眼睛中涌流出来了。
