So rushed the thought in upon me, and if it was not of the divinest or
manliest inspiration, at least it took some uncharity out of me for the
moment. As in mechanical silence Fontenette obeyed the busy requests of
the entomologist, I presently looked more on those two than on the winged
multitude, and thought on, of the myriad true tales of love-weakness and
love-wrath for which they and their two pretty mates were just now so
unlucky as to stand; of the awful naturalness of such things; of the
butterfly beauty and wonder--nay, rather the divine possibilities of the
lives such things so naturally speed to wreck; and then of Tom Moore
almost too playfully singing:
Ah! did we take for Heaven above
But half such pains as we
Take, day and night, for woman's love,
What Angels we should be!
But while I moralized there came a change. Beneath the entomologist's dark
hand, as it searched and hurried throughout the room, the flutter of wings
had ceased as under a wind of death.
"You must have a hundred and fifty of them," I said as the last victim
ceased to flutter.
"Yes."
"Their sale is slow, of course, but every time you sell one, you ought to
get"--I was judging by some prices he had charged me--"you ought to get
two dollars.
Pages:
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105