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- Мари Корелли
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Your
smile
,
your
eyes
,
your
touch
can
not
stir
me
to
a
throb
of
the
passion
you
craved
,
yet
wearied
of
!
What
have
you
to
say
to
me
?
--
I
have
heard
that
the
dead
can
speak
at
times
--
and
you
owe
me
reparation
--
reparation
for
the
wrong
you
did
me
--
the
lie
on
which
you
based
our
marriage
--
the
guilt
you
cherished
in
your
heart
!
Shall
I
read
your
petition
for
forgiveness
here
?
"
And
I
gathered
up
the
written
sheets
of
note-paper
in
one
hand
,
feeling
them
rather
than
seeing
them
,
for
my
eyes
were
fixed
on
the
pallid
corpse
in
its
rose-silk
'
negligée
'
and
jewels
,
that
gazed
at
itself
so
pertinaciously
in
the
shining
mirror
.
I
drew
a
chair
close
to
it
,
and
sat
down
,
observing
likewise
the
reflection
of
my
own
haggard
face
in
the
glass
beside
that
of
the
self-murdered
woman
.
Turning
presently
,
I
began
to
scrutinize
my
immovable
companion
more
closely
--
and
perceived
that
she
was
very
lightly
clothed
--
under
the
silk
peignoir
there
was
only
a
flowing
white
garment
of
soft
fine
material
lavishly
embroidered
,
through
which
the
statuesque
contour
of
her
rigid
limbs
could
be
distinctly
seen
.
Stooping
,
I
felt
her
heart
--
I
knew
it
was
pulseless
;
yet
I
half
imagined
I
should
feel
its
beat
.
As
I
withdrew
my
hand
,
something
scaly
and
glistening
caught
my
eye
,
and
looking
I
perceived
Lucio
's
marriage-gift
circling
her
waist
--
the
flexible
emerald
snake
with
its
diamond
crest
and
ruby
eyes
.
It
fascinated
me
--
--
coiled
round
that
dead
body
it
seemed
alive
and
sentient
--
if
it
had
lifted
its
glittering
head
and
hissed
at
me
I
should
scarcely
have
been
surprised
.
I
sat
back
for
a
moment
in
my
chair
,
almost
as
rigid
as
the
corpse
beside
me
--
I
stared
again
,
as
the
corpse
stared
always
,
into
the
mirror
which
pictured
us
both
,
we
'
twain
in
one
,
'
as
the
sentimentalists
aver
of
wedded
folk
,
though
in
truth
it
often
happens
that
there
are
no
two
creatures
in
the
world
more
widely
separated
than
husband
and
wife
.
I
heard
stealthy
movements
and
suppressed
whisperings
in
the
passage
outside
,
and
guessed
that
some
of
the
servants
were
there
watching
and
waiting
--
but
I
cared
nothing
for
that
.
I
was
absorbed
in
the
ghastly
night
interview
I
had
planned
for
myself
,
and
I
so
entered
into
the
spirit
of
the
thing
,
that
I
turned
on
all
the
electric
lamps
in
the
room
,
besides
lighting
two
tall
clusters
of
shaded
candles
on
either
side
of
the
toilet-table
.
When
all
the
surroundings
were
thus
rendered
as
brilliant
as
possible
,
so
that
the
corpse
looked
more
livid
and
ghastly
by
comparison
,
I
seated
myself
once
more
,
and
prepared
to
read
the
last
message
of
the
dead
.
"
Now
Sibyl
,
"
--
I
muttered
,
leaning
forward
a
little
,
and
noting
with
a
morbid
interest
that
the
jaws
of
the
corpse
had
relaxed
a
little
within
the
last
few
minutes
,
and
that
the
smile
on
the
face
was
therefore
more
hideous
--
"
Confess
your
sins
!
--
for
I
am
here
to
listen
Such
dumb
,
impressive
eloquence
as
yours
deserves
attention
!
"
A
gust
of
wind
fled
round
the
house
with
a
wailing
cry
--
the
windows
shook
,
and
the
candles
flickered
.
I
waited
till
every
sound
had
died
away
,
and
then
--
with
a
glance
at
my
dead
wife
,
under
the
sudden
impression
that
she
had
heard
what
I
said
,
and
knew
what
I
was
doing
,
I
began
to
read
.
Thus
ran
the
'
last
document
,
'
commencing
abruptly
and
without
prefix
;
--
"
I
have
made
up
my
mind
to
die
.
Not
out
of
passion
or
petulance
--
but
from
deliberate
choice
,
and
as
I
think
,
necessity
.
My
brain
is
tired
of
problems
--
my
body
is
tired
of
life
;
it
is
best
to
make
an
end
.
The
idea
of
death
--
which
means
annihilation
--
is
very
sweet
to
me
.
I
am
glad
to
feel
that
by
my
own
will
and
act
I
can
silence
this
uneasy
throbbing
of
my
heart
,
this
turmoil
and
heat
of
my
blood
--
this
tortured
aching
of
my
nerves
.
Young
as
I
am
,
I
have
no
delight
now
in
existence
--
I
see
nothing
but
my
love
's
luminous
eyes
,
his
god-like
features
,
his
enthralling
smile
--
and
these
are
lost
to
me
.
For
a
brief
while
he
has
been
my
world
,
life
and
time
--
he
has
gone
--
and
without
him
there
is
no
universe
.
How
could
I
endure
the
slow
,
wretched
passing
of
hours
,
days
,
weeks
,
months
and
years
alone
?
--
though
it
is
better
to
be
alone
than
in
the
dull
companionship
of
the
self-satisfied
,
complacent
and
arrogant
fool
who
is
my
husband
.
He
has
left
me
for
ever
,
so
he
says
in
a
letter
the
maid
brought
to
me
an
hour
ago
.
It
is
quite
what
I
expected
of
him
--
what
man
of
his
type
could
find
pardon
for
a
blow
to
his
own
amour
propre
!
If
he
had
studied
my
nature
,
entered
into
my
emotions
,
or
striven
in
the
least
to
guide
and
sustain
me
--
if
he
had
shown
me
any
sign
of
a
great
,
true
love
such
as
one
sometimes
dreams
of
and
seldom
finds
--
I
think
I
should
be
sorry
for
him
now
--
I
should
even
ask
his
forgiveness
for
having
married
him
.
But
he
has
treated
me
precisely
as
he
might
treat
a
paid
mistress
--
that
is
,
he
has
fed
me
,
clothed
me
,
and
provided
me
with
money
and
jewels
in
return
for
making
me
the
toy
of
his
passions
--
but
he
has
not
given
me
one
touch
of
sympathy
--
one
proof
of
self-denial
or
humane
forbearance
.
Therefore
,
I
owe
him
nothing
.
And
now
he
,
and
my
love
who
will
not
be
my
lover
,
have
gone
away
together
;
I
am
free
to
do
as
I
will
with
this
small
pulse
within
me
called
life
,
which
is
after
all
,
only
a
thread
,
easily
broken
.
There
is
no
one
to
say
me
nay
,
or
to
hold
my
hand
back
from
giving
myself
the
final
quietus
.
It
is
well
I
have
no
friends
;
it
is
good
for
me
that
I
have
probed
the
hypocrisy
and
social
sham
of
the
world
,
and
that
I
have
mastered
the
following
hard
truths
of
life
--
that
there
is
no
love
without
lust
--
no
friendship
without
self-interest
--
no
religion
without
avarice
--
and
no
so-called
virtue
without
its
accompanying
stronger
vice
.
Who
,
knowing
these
things
,
would
care
to
take
part
in
them
!
On
the
verge
of
the
grave
I
look
back
along
the
short
vista
of
my
years
,
and
I
see
myself
a
child
in
this
very
place
,
this
wooded
Willowsmere
;
I
can
note
how
that
life
began
to
which
I
am
about
to
put
an
end
.
Pampered
,
petted
and
spoilt
,
told
that
I
must
'
look
pretty
'
and
take
pleasure
in
my
clothes
,
I
was
even
at
the
age
of
ten
,
capable
of
a
certain
amount
of
coquetry
.
Old
roués
,
smelling
of
wine
and
tobacco
,
were
eager
to
take
me
on
their
knees
and
pinch
my
soft
flesh
;
--
they
would
press
my
innocent
lips
with
their
withered
ones
--
withered
and
contaminated
by
the
kisses
of
cocottes
and
'
soiled
doves
'
of
the
town
!
--
I
have
often
wondered
how
it
is
these
men
can
dare
to
touch
a
young
child
's
mouth
,
knowing
in
themselves
what
beasts
they
are
!
I
see
my
nurse
--
a
trained
liar
and
time-server
,
giving
herself
more
airs
than
a
queen
,
and
forbidding
me
to
speak
to
this
child
or
that
child
,
because
they
were
'
beneath
'
me
;
--
then
came
my
governess
,
full
of
a
prurient
prudery
,
as
bad
a
woman
in
morals
as
ever
lived
,
yet
'
highly
recommended
'
and
with
excellent
references
,
and
wearing
an
assumption
of
the
strictest
virtue
,
like
many
equally
hypocritical
clergymen
's
wives
I
have
known
.
I
soon
found
her
out
--
for
even
as
a
child
I
was
painfully
observant
--
and
the
stories
she
and
my
mother
's
French
maid
used
to
tell
,
in
lowered
voices
now
and
then
broken
by
coarse
laughter
,
were
sufficient
to
enlighten
me
as
to
her
true
character
.
Yet
,
beyond
having
a
supreme
contempt
for
the
woman
who
practised
religious
austerity
outwardly
,
and
was
at
heart
a
rake
,
I
gave
small
consideration
to
the
difficult
problem
such
a
nature
suggested
.
