Moths by Ouida — page 268: what you’re looking at

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

oung, with her hair falling back over her shoulders, and behind ‘ee the white crucifix and the stars of the morning skies—and her child had died here at Svir. , For the moment his face softened, and he was moved tc a vague remorse and a vague pity; for a moment Noisette and , Casse-une-Croute, and even Jeanne de Sonnaz, looked to him vulgar and common beside his wife; for a moment les verres epais du cabaret brutal seemed tainted by the many lips that used them, and this pure golden cup seemed worthy of a god. But the moment passed, and the long habits and humors of a loose and selfish life resumed their sway within him, and he only saw a lovely woman whom he had bought as he bought the others, only with a higher price. ‘ He took the loose gold of her hair in his hands with a sudden caress and drew her into his arms, ! *¢ Pardieu!” he said, with a short laugh. ‘‘A very calm prop- osition for a separation! Thatis what you drive at, no doubt; @ separation in which you shall have all the honors as Princess Zouroff still! No, my lovely Vera, I am not disposed to gratify youso. You belong to me, and you must continue to belong to me, nilly-willy. You are too handsome to lose, and you should be grateful for your beauty: it made you mistress of Svir. Pshaw! how you shudder! You forget you must pay now and then for your diamonds.” There are many martyrdoms, as there are many prostitutions, that law legalizes and the churches approve. | She never again prayed in her oratory. Theivory Christ had failed to protect her. All the month long there was the pressure of social obligations upon her, the hothouse atmosphere of a court about her, for Imperial guests followed on those who had left a few days ace and there could be no hour of freedom for the mistress of Svir. Her mother was radiantly content; Count Rostrow was charm- ing; and a grand duke found her still a pretty woman; play was high most nights; and the Sicilian was forgotten. All that troubled her was that her daughter never looked at her if she could help it, never spoke to her except on the commonplace ‘courtesies and trifles of the hour. Not that she cared, only she sometimes feared other people might notice it. These days seemed to Vere the very longest in all her life, Her apathy had changed into bitterness, her indifference was growing into despair. She thought, with unutterable scorn, ‘‘If ox world would only allow it, he would have Casse-une-Croute ere! She was nothing more in her husband's eyes than Casse-une- Croute was. All the pride of her temper and all the purity of her nature rose against him. As she wore his jewels, as she sat at his table, as she received his guests, as she answered to his name, all her soul was in revolt against him, such revolt as to the women of her world seemed the natural instinct of a woman toward her husband, a thing to 9 indulged in without-scruple or stint, but “7 “comicbooks.com | nd $7? y ° aa pie oh A ony f {na ‘ ea, i 4 bara : / v0 iy ¥;! ~ : , ¢ ; bad i) oi, “hy - / : , oR ; iy ’ , d F wn 7 > WA iT Mi, > dig - Oe ey hey - i *® "Sh Pia AAY ia : ' a" *¥ oy , s fh ial & Be ad » AUT prs wk ay ih ra MK ij ; \ " : . ’ { ‘ ' ; Me ' a} is Ou f ‘ " : Vio yar eS A BO ee Lee Caper w fe eee he | } Tira sal, we eee PY) A PrP ieg wa ry 49 prt ”, et ae ee Ny \ Vd ee ri Ph pane wy wise V, on ee af 44a, £ 4 a a bes af gs ? eL a, ve iy “a ht 3