English,The Da Vinci Code, Chapter 23

Sophie arrived breathless outside the large wooden doors of the Salle des Etats—the room that
housed the Mona Lisa.Before entering, she gazed reluctantly farther down the hall, twenty yards or
so, to the spot where her grandfather's body still lay under the spotlight.
The remorse that gripped her was powerful and sudden, a deep sadness laced with guilt. The man
had reached out to her so many times over the past ten years, and yet Sophie had remained
immovable—leaving his letters and packages unopened in a bottom drawer and denying his efforts
to see her. He lied to me! Kept appalling secrets! What was I supposed to do?And so she had
blocked him out. Completely.
Now her grandfather was dead, and he was talking to her from the grave.

 索菲气喘吁吁地来到国家展厅的那扇大木门外---这就是收藏《蒙娜丽莎》的地方。她忍不住向大厅方向望去，在大约二十码远的地方，祖父的尸体静静地躺在聚光灯下。 她忽然感到深深的悔恨---那是一种伴随着负罪感的悲伤。在过去的十年中，祖父无数次主动与她联系，但索菲一直无动于衷--她将信件和包裹都原封不动地放在衣橱最下面的抽屉里，并拒绝与祖父见面。他对我说谎！他有不可告人的秘密！他想让我做什么？索菲抱着这样的想法将他拒之于千里之外。 现在，祖父死了，他死后还在对索菲说话。
The Mona Lisa.
She reached for the huge wooden doors, and pushed. The entryway yawned open. Sophie stood on
the threshold a moment, scanning the large rectangular chamber beyond. It too was bathed in a soft
red light. The Salle des Etats was one of this museum's rare culs-de-sac—a dead end and the only
room off the middle of the Grand Gallery. This door, the chamber's sole point of entry, faced a
dominating fifteen-foot Botticelli on the far wall. Beneath it, centered on the parquet floor, an
immense octagonal viewing divan served as a welcome respite for thousands of visitors to rest their
legs while they admired the Louvre's most valuable asset.

《蒙娜丽莎》。 索菲伸手推开了那扇巨大的木门，入口展现在她的眼前。她在门口站了片刻，扫视了一下眼前这个长方形的展厅。整个展厅沐浴在柔和的红色灯光下。国家展厅只有一个出入口，这样的结构在博物馆中很少见，而且它也是唯一在艺术大画廊中单独辟出的展厅。木门是进入这个展厅的唯一入口，它对着远处墙上那幅高达十五米的波提切利的名画。在那下面，拼花地板上放着一个巨大的八边形沙发，供成千上万的游客在欣赏卢浮宫的镇馆之宝前小憩片刻。
Even before Sophie entered, though, she knew she was missing something. A black light.She
gazed down the hall at her grandfather under the lights in the distance, surrounded by electronic
gear. If he had written anything in here, he almost certainly would have written it with the
watermark stylus.
Taking a deep breath, Sophie hurried down to the well-lit crime scene. Unable to look at her
grandfather, she focused solely on the PTS tools. Finding a small ultraviolet penlight, she slipped it
in the pocket of her sweater and hurried back up the hallway toward the open doors of the Salle des
Etats.

索菲还没有进入展厅，就想起她忘了带一样东西。黑光灯。她朝远处祖父的尸体望去，那尸体周围放置着电器装置。如果祖父在展厅里写了些什么，那么他一定是用水笔写的。 索菲深吸了一口气，急匆匆地走到被灯光照得通亮的谋杀现场。她不忍将目光投向祖父，强迫自己将注意力集中在寻找PTS 工具上。她找到了一支小巧的紫外线笔，将它放入毛衣的口袋中，又匆忙沿着画廊向国家展厅那敞开的大门走去。
Sophie turned the corner and stepped over the threshold. Her entrance, however, was met by an
unexpected sound of muffled footsteps racing toward her from inside the chamber. There's
someone in here!A ghostly figure emerged suddenly from out of the reddish haze. Sophie jumped
back.
"There you are!" Langdon's hoarse whisper cut the air as his silhouette slid to a stop in front of her.
Her relief was only momentary. "Robert, I told you to get out of here! If Fache—"
"Where were you?"
"I had to get the black light," she whispered, holding it up. "If my grandfather left me a message—"
"Sophie, listen." Langdon caught his breath as his blue eyes held her firmly. "The letters P.S.... do
they mean anything else to you? Anything at all?"
Afraid their voices might echo down the hall, Sophie pulled him into the Salle des Etats and closed
the enormous twin doors silently, sealing them inside. "I told you, the initials mean Princess
Sophie."
"I know, but did you ever see them anywhere else?Did your grandfather ever use P.S. in any other
way? As a monogram, or maybe on stationery or a personal item?"

]索菲刚转身跨过门槛，就意外地听见展厅中有低沉的脚步声，那脚步声正离她越来越近。里面有人！在如雾一般的红色灯光中忽然出现了一个鬼影。索菲吓得倒退几步。 "你来了！"兰登嘶哑的声音打破了恐怖的气氛，他那黑色的身影滑到索菲跟前，停了下来。 索菲松了口气，又担心起来："罗伯特，我让你离开这里！如果法希--" "你刚才到哪里去了？" "我必须去拿一个黑光灯。"索菲低声说着，掏出那支紫外线笔。"如果祖父给我留了信息--"" 索菲， 听我说。" 兰登屏住呼吸， 用蔚蓝色的眼睛凝视着索菲。" 你知道字母P.S.……的其他含义吗？一点儿也想不起来吗？" 索菲生怕他们的声音会在长廊中回响，便把兰登向展厅内部推去，然后轻轻地关上那敞开的巨大木门，并将门从里面栓好。"我告诉过你，这是索菲公主（PrincessSophie）的首字母缩写。""我知道，但你有没有在其他地方见到过它？你祖父是否曾经以其他的方式用过它？比如说作为写在文具或私人物品上的花押字？
The question startled her. How would Robert know that?Sophie had indeed seen the initials P.S.
once before, in a kind of monogram. It was the day before her ninth birthday. She was secretly
combing the house, searching for hidden birthday presents. Even then, she could not bear secrets
kept from her. What did Grand-père get for me this year?She dug through cupboards and drawers.
Did he get me the doll I wanted? Where would he hide it?
Finding nothing in the entire house, Sophie mustered the courage to sneak into her grandfather's
bedroom. The room was off-limits to her, but her grandfather was downstairs asleep on the couch.
I'll just take a fast peek!
Tiptoeing across the creaky wood floor to his closet, Sophie peered on the shelves behind his
clothing. Nothing. Next she looked under the bed. Still nothing. Moving to his bureau, she opened
the drawers and one by one began pawing carefully through them. There must be something for me
here!As she reached the bottom drawer, she still had not found any hint of a doll. Dejected, she
opened the final drawer and pulled aside some black clothes she had never seen him wear. She was
about to close the drawer when her eyes caught a glint of gold in the back of the drawer. It looked
like a pocket watch chain, but she knew he didn't wear one. Her heart raced as she realized what it
must be.
A necklace!
Sophie carefully pulled the chain from the drawer. To her surprise, on the end was a brilliant gold
key. Heavy and shimmering. Spellbound, she held it up. It looked like no key she had ever seen.
Most keys were flat with jagged teeth, but this one had a triangular column with little pockmarks
all over it. Its large golden head was in the shape of a cross, but not a normal cross. This was an
even-armed one, like a plus sign. Embossed in the middle of the cross was a strange symbol—two
letters intertwined with some kind of flowery design.
"P.S.," she whispered, scowling as she read the letters. Whatever could this be?
"Sophie?" her grandfather spoke from the doorway.
Startled, she spun, dropping the key on the floor with a loud clang. She stared down at the key,
afraid to look up at her grandfather's face. "I... was looking for my birthday present," she said,
hanging her head, knowing she had betrayed his trust.
For what seemed like an eternity, her grandfather stood silently in the doorway. Finally, he let out a
long troubled breath. "Pick up the key, Sophie."
Sophie retrieved the key.
Her grandfather walked in. "Sophie, you need to respect other people's privacy." Gently, he knelt
down and took the key from her. "This key is very special. If you had lost it..."
Her grandfather's quiet voice made Sophie feel even worse. "I'm sorry, Grand-père.I really am."
She paused. "I thought it was a necklace for my birthday."
He gazed at her for several seconds. "I'll say this once more, Sophie, because it's important. You
need to learn to respect other people's privacy."
"Yes, Grand-père."
"We'll talk about this some other time. Right now, the garden needs to be weeded."
Sophie hurried outside to do her chores.
The next morning, Sophie received no birthday present from her grandfather. She hadn't expected
one, not after what she had done. But he didn't even wish her happy birthday all day. Sadly, she
trudged up to bed that night. As she climbed in, though, she found a note card lying on her pillow.
On the card was written a simple riddle. Even before she solved the riddle, she was smiling. I know
what this is!Her grandfather had done this for her last Christmas morning.
A treasure hunt!
Eagerly, she pored over the riddle until she solved it. The solution pointed her to another part of the
house, where she found another card and another riddle. She solved this one too, racing on to the
next card. Running wildly, she darted back and forth across the house, from clue to clue, until at
last she found a clue that directed her back to her own bedroom. Sophie dashed up the stairs,
rushed into her room, and stopped in her tracks. There in the middle of the room sat a shining red
bicycle with a ribbon tied to the handlebars. Sophie shrieked with delight.
"I know you asked for a doll," her grandfather said, smiling in the corner. "I thought you might like
this even better."
The next day, her grandfather taught her to ride, running beside her down the walkway. When
Sophie steered out over the thick lawn and lost her balance, they both went tumbling onto the
grass, rolling and laughing.
"Grand-père,"Sophie said, hugging him. "I'm really sorry about the key."
"I know, sweetie. You're forgiven. I can't possibly stay mad at you. Grandfathers and
granddaughters always forgive each other."
Sophie knew she shouldn't ask, but she couldn't help it. "What does it open? I never saw a key like
that. It was very pretty."
Her grandfather was silent a long moment, and Sophie could see he was uncertain how to answer.
Grand-père never lies."It opens a box," he finally said. "Where I keep many secrets."
Sophie pouted. "I hate secrets!"
"I know, but these are important secrets. And someday, you'll learn to appreciate them as much as I
do."
"I saw letters on the key, and a flower."
"Yes, that's my favorite flower. It's called a fleur-de-lis. We have them in the garden. The white
ones. In English we call that kind of flower a lily."
"I know those! They're myfavorite too!"
"Then I'll make a deal with you." Her grandfather's eyebrows raised the way they always did when
he was about to give her a challenge. "If you can keep my key a secret, and nevertalk about it ever
again, to me or anybody, then someday I will give it to you."
Sophie couldn't believe her ears. "You will?"
"I promise. When the time comes, the key will be yours. It has your name on it."
Sophie scowled. "No it doesn't. It said P.S. My name isn't P.S.!"
Her grandfather lowered his voice and looked around as if to make sure no one was listening.
"Okay, Sophie, if you mustknow, P.S. is a code. It's your secret initials."
Her eyes went wide. "I have secret initials?"
"Of course. Granddaughters alwayshave secret initials that only their grandfathers know."
"P.S.?"
He tickled her. "Princesse Sophie."
She giggled. "I'm not a princess!"
He winked. "You are to me."
From that day on, they never again spoke of the key. And she became his Princess Sophie.
Inside the Salle des Etats, Sophie stood in silence and endured the sharp pang of loss.
"The initials," Langdon whispered, eyeing her strangely. "Have you seen them?"
Sophie sensed her grandfather's voice whispering in the corridors of the museum. Never speak of
this key, Sophie. To me or to anyone.She knew she had failed him in forgiveness, and she
wondered if she could break his trust again. P.S. Find Robert Langdon.Her grandfather wanted
Langdon to help. Sophie nodded. "Yes, I saw the initials P.S. once. When I was very young."
"Where?"
Sophie hesitated. "On something very important to him."
Langdon locked eyes with her. "Sophie, this is crucial. Can you tell me if the initials appeared with
a symbol? A fleur-de-lis?"
Sophie felt herself staggering backward in amazement. "But... how could you possibly know that!"
Langdon exhaled and lowered his voice. "I'm fairly certain your grandfather was a member of a
secret society. A very old covert brotherhood."
Sophie felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She was certain of it too. For ten years she had tried to
forget the incident that had confirmed that horrifying fact for her. She had witnessed something
unthinkable. Unforgivable.
"The fleur-de-lis," Langdon said, "combined with the initials P.S., that is the brotherhood's official
device. Their coat of arms. Their logo."
"How do you know this?" Sophie was praying Langdon was not going to tell her that he himself
was a member.
"I've written about this group," he said, his voice tremulous with excitement. "Researching the
symbols of secret societies is a specialty of mine. They call themselves the Prieuré de Sion—the
Priory of Sion. They're based here in France and attract powerful members from all over Europe. In
fact, they are one of the oldest surviving secret societies on earth."
Sophie had never heard of them.
Langdon was talking in rapid bursts now. "The Priory's membership has included some of history's
most cultured individuals: men like Botticelli, Sir Isaac Newton, Victor Hugo." He paused, his
voice brimming now with academic zeal. "And, Leonardo da Vinci."
Sophie stared. "Da Vinci was in a secret society?"
"Da Vinci presided over the Priory between 1510 and 1519 as the brotherhood's Grand Master,
which might help explain your grandfather's passion for Leonardo's work. The two men share a
historical fraternal bond. And it all fits perfectly with their fascination for goddess iconology,
paganism, feminine deities, and contempt for the Church. The Priory has a well-documented
history of reverence for the sacred feminine."
"You're telling me this group is a pagan goddess worship cult?"
"More like thepagan goddess worship cult. But more important, they are known as the guardians
of an ancient secret. One that made them immeasurably powerful."
Despite the total conviction in Langdon's eyes, Sophie's gut reaction was one of stark disbelief. A
secret pagan cult? Once headed by Leonardo da Vinci?It all sounded utterly absurd. And yet, even
as she dismissed it, she felt her mind reeling back ten years—to the night she had mistakenly
surprised her grandfather and witnessed what she still could not accept. Could that explain—?
"The identities of living Priory members are kept extremely secret," Langdon said, "but the P.S.
and fleur-de-lis that you saw as a child are proof. It could onlyhave been related to the Priory."
Sophie realized now that Langdon knew far more about her grandfather than she had previously
imagined. This American obviously had volumes to share with her, but this was not the place. "I
can't afford to let them catch you, Robert. There's a lot we need to discuss. You need to go!"
Langdon heard only the faint murmur of her voice. He wasn't going anywhere. He was lost in
another place now. A place where ancient secrets rose to the surface. A place where forgotten
histories emerged from the shadows.
Slowly, as if moving underwater, Langdon turned his head and gazed through the reddish haze
toward the Mona Lisa.
The fleur-de-lis... the flower of Lisa... the Mona Lisa.
It was all intertwined, a silent symphony echoing the deepest secrets of the Priory of Sion and
Leonardo da Vinci.
A few miles away, on the riverbank beyond Les Invalides, the bewildered driver of a twin-bed
Trailor truck stood at gunpoint and watched as the captain of the Judicial Police let out a guttural
roar of rage and heaved a bar of soap out into the turgid waters of the Seine.

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