Moths by Ouida — page 229: what you’re looking at

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

x MOTHS. | 225 “It is very difficult to be of much use,” Vere said, once more, aS shie walked ‘on; ‘‘they say one does more harm than good by charity, and what else is there?” | | “You own peasantry? In those Russian villages there must be so much ignorance, so much superstition, so little compre- hension of the value of freedom or morality——” “My husband does not like to interfere with the peasantry; and, besides, Iam so rarely in that country. The little I can do, i do in Paris. Ah!’ She interrupted herself with a sudden remembrance, and a smile beamed over her face, as she turned it to Correze. “I know Pere Martin and his daughter: how they love you! They told me everything. What simple good crea- tures they are!”’ Correze smiled, too. | “They are like the public; they over-estimate me sadly, and their enthusiasm dowers me with excellencies that I never pos- sessed. How came you to find that father and daughter out, princess? I thought they lived like dormice.’’ She told him the little tale; and it drew them together, and made them more at ease one with another by its community of .interest, as they moved slowly down the woodland road through the leafy dusky shadows. For in the heart of each there was q dread that made them nervous. She thought always, “If only he will spare me my husband’s name.” And he thought, “If only she would never speak to me of her husband!’ Memories were between them ‘that held them together, as the thought of little dead children will sometimes hold those who have loved ‘and parted forever. He longed to know what force, or what temptation, had brought her to this base and joyless marriage; but his lips were shut. He had saved her from the insult of Noisette, but he thought she did not know it; he went yearly to hlear the lark Sing on the head of the cliff where he had gathered her rose, but he thought she knew nothing of that either. Yet the sense of these things was between them; and he dared not look at her as he went on down the mountain-road. 1 She was thinking always of his bidding to her, when she had been a child, to keep unspotted from the world. She longed to tell him that she had not stooped to the guilt of base vanities when she had given herself to Sergius Zouroff; but her lips were shut. “T must not blame my mother, nor my husband,” she thought. Her cheeks burned as she felt, since he had saved her from the outrage of the Kermesse, that he must know the daily insults of her life. She was troubled, confused, oppressed; yet the charm of his presence held her like an incantation. She went slowly through the grand old wood, as Spenser’s heroines through enchanted forests. “You said that you like Madame de Sonnaz?’”’ he asked again, abruptly. “a. | “She is very agreeable,” she said, hesitatingly; ‘and she is very good-natured to me; she reminds me of many things that I Al < (Eo) - comicboc 7 a - : \ , P . J 4 ' ‘ *. ' f * i 4 ’ : ; , nye \ Mk Fis Wa Clee ean y . c+ ve 44 { | ‘ Vaal we ee Pe a 8