Moths by Ouida — page 283: what you’re looking at

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

MOTHS. 279 Lady Dolly went on between the cactus and the palms and the myrtles, looking dreamily up into the scarlet glow of her sun- shade, and thinking that when you let artists and people of that sort into your world they were quite certain to froisser you sooner or later. **‘ And I am sure heisin love with her still,” she thought, as she joined some pleasant people and went up to the great building to hear the music—only for that; the music at Monte Carlo is always so' good. | ‘‘As if I would ever have given my child to a singer!” she thought, in the disgust of mingled virtue and pride. At the entrance of the hall she met her son-in-law, who was coming out, having won largely. ‘*T forgot my purse, Sergius: lend me the sinews of war,” said Lady Dolly, with a laugh. He handed her some rouwleaua, ‘*Some one would plunder me before I got through the gar- dens,” he said to himself as he sauntered on: ‘‘it may as well oe Dolly as another.” Lady Dolly went on and staked her gold. At the same table with her were Aimee Princee of the Hippodrome, and Casse-une- Croute; but Lady Dolly was not hurt by that either in pride or in virtue. The real Commune is Monte Carlo. Meanwhile, Correze did not approach Vere. ‘If you ever need a servant or an avenger, call me,” he had said to her, but he had known that she never would call him. From afar off he had kept watch on her life, but that was all. She knew that he was near her, and the knowledge changed the current of her days from a joyless routine to a sweet yet bit- ter unrest. When the sun rose, she thought, ‘*‘ Shall I see him?” When it set, she thought, ‘* Will he come to-morrow?” The ex- pectation gave a flush of color and hope to her life, which, with allits outward magnificence, was chill and pale as the life of a auper because its youth was crushed under the burden of a oveless splendor. For the first time this warm winter of the Southern sea-board, with its languid air, its dancing sunbeams, its doors of roses and violets and orange-buds, seemed lovely to her. She did not reason; she did not reflect; she only vaguely felt that the earth had grown beautiful. | Once, while the air was svill dark with the shadows of night, but the sky had the red of the dawn, she, lying wide awake upon her bed, heard the voice upon the sea beneath the windows sing- ing Stella virginie, madre pescatore! of the Italian fisherman, and knew that the voice was his. At that hour Sergius Zouroff was drinking brandy in the rooms © of Casse-une-Croute, while the quadroon was shooting the glass drops off her chandelier. One day she went to see the village priest about some poor of the place, and sought him at the church of the parish. It wasa little whitewashed barn, no more, but it had thickets of roses about it, and a belt of striped aloes, and two tall palms rose straight above it, and beyond its narrow door there shone the sea. comicbooks -cO <t% a