Life — December 20, 1883 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

HE came, and the roses that lay on her breast Were ruddy and rich and sweet at the core, As they rose and fell in a tangled nest Of the lace on the Paris gown she wore. And the gleam of its satin curled white on the floor ‘Through the Court Quadrille, and a fragrance blew From a fan that a broidered legend bore— “L'Amour fait beaucoup—mais l Argent fait tout.” And lightly a tremulous pink caressed The clear, pale curve of her check as‘o’er ‘The rhythmic throb of the music zest | Crept the tones of an earnest voice and swore A love that was life to her life—and more— While the fan still fluttered its gay frou-frou And flaunted its warning of gold-wrought lore— “L'Amour fait beaucoup—mais l Argent fait tout.” Ah! then was Miladi called to her test ! And she who had broken hearts by the score, Drooped lower the dusk of her lashes, lest Her eyes should betray the passion that tore Through her turbulent thoughts—yet, as before, She laughed, till love was despair, as she flew Her fan, with its cynical creed of yore— “L'Amour fatt beaucoup—mais Argent fatt tout.” Envol. What, though Miladi may sometimes deplore Her mauvais quart dheure with a pretty moue? Is she not the Duchess of Saint-Dinore ? “L'Amour fait beaucoup—maisl’ Argent fait tout.” comicbooks.com