Oh, to sense once more the
enchantments of its fragrance, once more revel in the sublimated
intoxication of mighty forces weaving at the loom of life! By the
cadences of what infernal art had he been vouchsafed a glimpse of the
profiles of the gods? Henceforth Ferval became a lover of shadows.
XIX
NADA
The tenderness of the growing night disquieted the dying woman.
"Aline!" she called. But it was only the name that reverberated within
the walls of her brain, harrowed by fever. A soft air rustled the drawn
curtains of lawn; and on the dressing table the two little lamps
fluttered in syncopated sympathy. One picture the room held. It was
after a painting by Goya, and depicted a sneering skeleton scrawling on
his dusty tomb, with a bony fore-finger, the sinister word,
_Nada_--nothing! The perturbation of the woman increased, though
physical power seemed denied her. "Aline, my child!" This time a
clucking sound issued from her throat.
The girl went to the bedside and gently fanned. Her aunt wagged her head
negatively. "No, no!" she stuttered.
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