Moths by Ouida — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

VYOTHS. SY But she never thought of her jewels: she was thinking of the moth and the star; she was thinking of the summer morning on the white cliff of the sea. For she knew that Correze was in | Paris. it was not any sort of love that moved her, beyond such ling- ering charmed fancy as remained from those few hours’ fascina- tion. Buta great reluctance to see him, a great fear of seeing him, was in her. What could he think of her marriage? And she could never tell him why she had married thus. He would think her sold like the rest, and he must be left to think so. The express train rushed on through the cold, calm nisht. With every moment she drew nearer to him—the man who had bid- | den her keep herself ‘‘ unspotted from the world.” ‘* And what is my life,” she thought, ‘‘except one long pollu- tion?” She leaned her white cheek and her fair head against the win- dow, and gazed out at the dark, flying masses of the clouds; her eyes were fullof pain, wide opened, lustrous; and, waking sud- denly and seeing her thus opposite him, her husband called to her roughly and irritably with an oath, ‘‘Can you not sleep?’ It seemed to her as if she never slept now. Whatserved her as sleep seemed but a troubled, feverish, dull trance, disturbed by hateful dreams. | It was seven o’clock on the following evening when they ar- rived in Paris. Their carriage was waiting, and she and Mad- ame Nelaguine drove homeward together, leaving Zouroff to fol low them. There was a faint: light of an aurora borealis in the | sky, and the lamps of the streets were sparkling in millions; the weather was very cceld. Their coachman took his way past the opera-house. There were immense crowds and long lines of equipages. n large letters, in the strong gaslight, it was easy to read upon the placards: . } Faust \ : : : - CORREZE. The opera was about to commence, ‘Vere shrank back into the depths of the carriage. Her coms panion leaned forward and looked out into the night. ‘* Paris is so fickle; but there is one sovereign she never tires of: it is Correze,” said Madame Nelaguine, with a little laugh, and wondered to see the colorless cheek of her young sister-in: law flush suddenly and then grow white again. _“** Have you ever heard Correze sing?’ she asked, quick+y. Vere hesitated. ‘¢ Never in the opera. No.” ‘* Ah! to be sure, he left Russia suddenly last winter—left as you entered it,” said Madame Nelaguine, musing, and with a quick side-glance. Vere was silent. The carriage rolled on, and passed into the court-yard of the Hotel Zouroff, between the gilded iron gates, at the instant when the applause of Paris welcomed upon the stage of its opera its public favorite. — | ; — Comicbc oks