caution from their speech and the fragrant vapour charm the secrets from their heart—knew that her beauty drew them down into its charm and chain, her creatures and her captives, and let the revelry flash on around her, brilliant as the aiglettes in the discarded dominoes; and, while they supped with her in the dawn of the Paris morning, weighed them each and all—at their worth.
Like the jewels that glistened above her fair forehead, they had no value in her eyes save this—what they were worth.
Yet, if ever there were on any face, there were in hers, a haughty power in the arch of the classic brows, a generous grace in the smile of the proud lips, a fearless dignity in the gaze of the long lustrous eyes: looking on her, he who should have had force to resist her beauty would have still said, "If this star have fallen from heaven, it is great still even in its fall."
The Lost Pleiad of fable may sink downwards through the darkness of an eternal night, and become one of the women of earth, earth-stained, earth debased; but the light of forgotten suns, the glory of forsaken worlds, will be upon her still. It might be so here.
