Moths by Ouida — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

MOTHS. - res g **¥ think I will go in to breakfast,” she said, at last, and got up. It was one o’clock, and the sun was getting hot; the ane mone-bed began to heave and be dispersed; up and down the planks the throng was thick still; the last bathers, peignoir- enwrapped, were sauntering up from the edge of the sea. The counsellor folded his ‘‘ Figaro” and shut up his cigar-case; his was the useful but humble task to go home before her and see that the Moselle was iced, the prawns just netted, the straw- berries just culled, and the cutlets duly frothing in their silver dish. The Duc de Dinant sauntered by her with no weightier duty than to gaze gently down into her eyes, and buy a stephano- 05 ‘id . knot of roses for her bosom when they passed the flower- askets. ‘* What are they all looking at?” said Lady Dolly to her escort, suddenly. Bodies of the picturesque parti-colored crowd were all streaming the same way, inland towards the sunny white houses, whose closed green shutters were all so attractively sug- gestive of the shade and rest to be found within. But the heads of the crowd were turning back seaward, and their eyes and eye- glasses all gazed in the same direction. Was it at the Prince? Was it’ at the President? Was it the Channel fleet had hove in sight? or some swimmer drowning, or some porpoises? or what? No, it was a new arrival. A new ar- rival was no excitement at Trouville if it were somebody that everybody knew. Emperors were common-place; ministers were nonentities; marshals were monotonous; princes were more numerous than the porpoises; and great dramatists, great singers, great actors, great orators, were all there as the very sands of the sea. But an arrival of somebody that nobody knew had a certain interest, if only as food for laughter. It seemed so queer that there should be such people, or that, existing, they should venture there. ‘Who is it?” said Trouville, in one breath, and the womery laughed, and the men stared,.and both sexes turned ronnd by common consent. Something lovelier than anything there, was coming through them, as a sunbeam comes through dust. Yet it wore nothing but brown holland! Brown holland at Trouville © may be worn indeed, but it is brown holland transfigured, subli- mated, canonized, born, like Lady Dolly’s baptiste, mto an apotheosis of ecru lace, and floss silk embroideries, and old point cravats, and buttons of repousse work or ancient smalto; brown holland raised to the empyrean, and no more discoverable to the ordinary naked eye than the original flesh, fish, or fowl lying at the root of a good cook’s mayonnaise is discernible to the unedu- cated palate. But this was brown holland naked and not ashamed, unadorned and barbaric, without any attempt at disguise of itself, and look: ing wet and wrinkled from sea-water, and very brown indeed beside the, fresh and ethereal costumes of the ladies gathered there, that looked like bubbles just blown into a thousand hues to float upon the breeze. ‘* Brown holland! good gracious!” said Lady Dolly, putting up» ler eye-glass, She could not very well see the wearer of it, there comicbooks.com > 4 ye OR aa’