Moths by Ouida — page 138: what you’re looking at

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

&» 184 dL Leste | On the stage there were standing alone Marguerite and Faust. | - The lights fell full upon the classic profile of Correze, and his eyelids were drooped, as he stood gazing on the maiden who knelt at his feet. The costume he wore showed his graceful form to its greatest advantage, and the melancholy of wistful - passion that was expressed on his face at that moment made his beauty of feature more impressive. His voice was silent at the raoment when she saw him thus once more, but his attitude was a poem, his face was the face tbat she had seen by sunlight where the sweet-brier sheltered the thrush. Not for her was he Faust, not for her was he the public idol of Paris. He was the Saint Raphael of the Norman sea-shore. She sat like one spell-bound, gazing at the stage. Then Correze raised his head, his lips parted, and uttered the Tu yuoi, ahime! Che t’ abbandoni. It thrilled through the house, that exquisite and mysterious music of the human voice, seeming to bring with it the echo of a heaven forever lost. Women, iadifferent to all else, would weep when they heard the voice of Correze. Vere’s heart stood still, then seemed to leap in her breast as_ with a throb of new, warm life. Unforgotten, unchanged, un- like any other ever heard on earth, this perfect voice fell on her ear again, and held her entranced with its harmony. The ear has its ecstasy, as have other senses, and this ecstasy for the mo- ment held in suspense all other emotion, all other memory. She sat quite motionless, leaning her cheek upon her hand. When he sang, she only then seemed herself to live; when his voice ceased, she seemed to lose hold upon existence, and the great world of light around her seemed empty and mute. Many eyes were turning on her, many tongues were whispering of her, but she was unconscious of them. Her husband, glancing at her, thouzhv that no other woman would have been so in- different to the stare of Paris as she was: he did not know that she was insensible of it; he only saw that she had grown verv pale again, and was annoyed, fearing that her entry tvould not be the brilliant success that he desired it to be. ‘‘ Perhaps she was too tired to come here,” he thought, wit some impatience. But Paris was looking at her in her white velvet, which was like the snows she had quitted, and was finding her lovely beyond compare, and worthy of the wild rumors of adoration that had come before her from the North. The opera, meanwhile, went on its course; the scenes changed, the third act ended, the curtain fell, the theater resounded with the polite applause of a cultured city. She seemed to awake as from a dream. The door had opened, _ and her husband was presenting some great persons to her. . ‘** You have eclipsed even Correze, princess,” said one of these, **In looking at you, Paris forgot for once to listen to its night- if . ’ *1 ’ " ' - we , , : A ’ ¥ A ‘ : ' : ry PP tee | : 7. : : - 7 ‘ “ 7 -. ‘ ‘ ] ’ ¢ ‘ ».)4 ‘ “ ; may) 41 ox het Fare MMA 7 D itd ¢ ‘ | F mt . a i ,% hi ee : 5 wat Gs a ‘ ' eS ry ren e™,. 4 teeter ae COP tat owt Atal, San) PR tke eee Melee a O08 ube” fede be De ie | Ya i . fy Ad | : uo Mi lly; sa HRM SE A ~-Ecomicbooks.co AF ED MONE Te he Milhy tylty iW So m .