Moths by Ouida — page 106: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

12 MOTHS. - The strong summer sun found its way only dimly there, and the sweet smells of the flowers and ,of the sea were overborne by the scent of the pastilles burning in the bodies of blue china monsters Zouroff, who at times was very negligent of his guests, was pacing up and down the long dim chamber impatiently, and every now and then he glanced at the door. He did not look once at the pretty groups, like eighteenth-century pictures tinged with the languor of odalisques, that were sipping tea out of tiny cups in an alcove lined with celadon and crackling. The tinkle of the tea-cups and the ripple of the talk ceased as the door ati the farther end opened, and Vere entered, led by her mother. She was white, and cold, and still; she did not raise her eye- lids. Zouroff approached with eager steps, and bowed before her with the dignity that he could very well assume when he chose. ‘‘ Mademoiselle,” he said, softly, ‘‘is it true that you consent to make the most unworthy of men the most happy?” He saw a slight shudder pass over her as if some cold wind had smitten her. She did not lift her eyes. ‘‘Since you wish, monsieur——” she answered, very low, and then paused. | ‘‘The adoration of a life shall repay you,” he murmured, in the conventional phrase, and kissed her hand. In his own thoughts he said, ‘‘ Your mother has made you do this, and you hate me. Never mind.” Then he drew her hand on his arm, and led her to the Princess Nelaguine. ‘‘My sister, embrace your sister. I shall have two angels Sine inlay ‘instead of one, to watch and pray for my erring soul!’’ Princess Nelaguine did not smile, She kissed the cold cheek of the girl with a glisten of tears in her eyes. ‘‘ What a sacrifice! what a martyrdom!” she thought. ‘‘ Ah, the poor child!—but perhaps he will ranger—let us hope.” All the while Vere might have been made of marble, she was so calm and so irresponsive, and she never once lifted her eyes. ‘Will’ you not look at me once?” he entreated. She raised her lids and gave him one fleeting, hunted glance. Cruel though he was and hardened, Sergius Zouroff felt that look go to his soul. ‘‘Bah! how she loathes me!” he said in his teeth. But the compassion in him diel out almost as it was born, and the base appetites in him were only whetted and made keener by this knowledge. ‘hei Stoat glided toward them and lifted her lips to Vere’s cheek. ““My sweet child! so charmed, so delighted!” she whispered. “Did I not say how it would be when your first shyness had time to fold its tents, as the poem says, and steal away?” “You are always a prophetess of good—and my mother’s friend,” said Vere. They were almost the first words she had (E(@) ~_ comicbooks.