This vulture had taken also little things dear to her daily life,
such as the ring Carvillho Gonzales had given her long ago in Cadiz, also
another ring, a gift of Jean Jacques, and things less valuable to her,
such as money, for which she knew surely she would have no long use.
As she lay waiting for the day when she must go from the garish scene,
she unconsciously took stock of life in her own way. There intruded on
her sight the stages of the theatres where she had played and danced, and
she heard again the music of the paloma and those other Spanish airs
which had made the world dance under her girl's feet long ago. At first
she kept seeing the faces of thousands looking up at her from the stalls,
down at her from the gallery, over at her from the boxes; and the hot
breath of that excitement smote her face with a drunken odour that sent
her mad. Then, alas! somehow, as disease took hold of her, there were the
colder lights, the colder breath from the few who applauded so little.
And always the man who had left her in her day of direst need; who had
had the last warm fires of her life, the last brief outrush of her soul,
eager as it was for a joy which would prove she had not lost all when she
fled from the Manor Cartier--a joy which would make her forget!
What she really did feel in this last adventure of passion only made her
remember the more when she was alone now, her life at the Manor Cartier.
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