Moths by Ouida — page 263: what you’re looking at

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

MOTHS. 259 riage? Where is Vere, I wonder? But she said we need not wait for her. Don’t you think we had better go home? I shouldn't like to meet wolves.” , * Wolves are not hungry in summer,” said Lord Bangor. *' It is only the prison’s maw that is never full.” “ Well, what are they to do if people won’t keep quiet?’ said Lady Dolly. ‘‘I’m sure those young men and women do not look like geniuses that would be able to set the world on fire. I suppose they are work-people, most of them. They will do very well, I dare say, in Tomsk. Count Rostrow, here, tells me the exiles are beautifully treated, and quite happy, and all that is . §aid about the quicksilver mines is all exaggeration—newspaper nonsense.” ‘‘ No doubt,” said Lord Bangor. ‘‘ To object to exile is a mere bad form of Chauvinism.” ‘Why couldn’t they keep quiet if they don’t like to go there?” she said again, and got into the carriage, and drove away out into the road. over the plain, between the great green sea of billowy grasses and the golden ocean of ripened grain, and, in time, bowled through the golden gates of Svir, and ate her dinner with a good. appetite, and ‘laughed till she cried at the drolleries of a new operetta of Meta’s, which the French actors gave in the little opera-house. ‘“‘Life is so full of contrasts in Russia; it is quite delightful; one can’t be dull,” she said to Lord Bangor, who sat beside her. ‘* Life is full of contrasts everywhere, my dear lady,” said he. ‘*Only, as a rule, we never look on the other side of the wall. It bores us even to remember that there is another side.” Vere that night was paler and stiller even than it was her wont to be. She went about among her guests with that grace a4d courtesy which never changed, but she was absent in mind; and once or twice, as the laughter of the audience rippled in echo to the gay melodies of Meta, a shiver as of cold went over her, ‘She must have heard something about Correze that has embarrassed her,” thought Madame de Sonnaz; but she was wrong ~~ -~ Vere had only seen the same sight that her mother had seen, in the little town of Molv. That night, when the house-party had broken up to <o to their apartments, and she had gained the comparative pe. ec of her own chamber, Vere, when her maids had passed a icc.e white gown over her and unloosened her hair, sent them away, and went into the little oratory that adjoined her dressing-room. She kneeled down, and leaned her arms on the rail of the little altar, =— _ ~~. and her head on her arms; but she could not pray. Life seemed — to her too terrible; and who cared? who cared? Riches had done their best to embellish the little sanctuary; the walls were inlaid with malachite and marbles; the crucifix was a wonderful work’in ivory and silver; the priedieuw was embroid- ered in silks and precious stones; there was a triptych of Lucas von Cranach, and Oriental candelabra in gold. It was a retreat that had been sacred to the dead Princess «Maria, her husband’s mother, a pious and mélancholv woman, cS co.