"As long as the only spectator of my
poor tragedy is a young man at the window of his hotel, I must still
claim the liberty to drop the curtain."
While this passed, as Zenobia's hand was extended, I had applied the
very slightest touch of my fingers to her own. In spite of an
external freedom, her manner made me sensible that we stood upon no
real terms of confidence. The thought came sadly across me, how
great was the contrast betwixt this interview and our first meeting.
Then, in the warm light of the country fireside, Zenobia had greeted
me cheerily and hopefully, with a full sisterly grasp of the hand,
conveying as much kindness in it as other women could have evinced by
the pressure of both arms around my neck, or by yielding a cheek to
the brotherly salute. The difference was as complete as between her
appearance at that time--so simply attired, and with only the one
superb flower in her hair--and now, when her beauty was set off by
all that dress and ornament could do for it. And they did much. Not,
indeed, that they created or added anything to what Nature had
lavishly done for Zenobia. But, those costly robes which she had on,
those flaming jewels on her neck, served as lamps to display the
personal advantages which required nothing less than such an
illumination to be fully seen. Even her characteristic flower,
though it seemed to be still there, had undergone a cold and bright
transfiguration; it was a flower exquisitely imitated in jeweller's
work, and imparting the last touch that transformed Zenobia into a
work of art.
Pages:
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201