His darkly
flushed, perspiring countenance loomed upon this pandemonium, like the
image of a crime that knows no remorse (see _L'Auberge rouge_). The
picture was complete. A picture of a foul life in the midst of luxury,
a hideous mixture of the pomp and squalor of humanity; an awakening
after the frenzy of Debauch has crushed and squeezed all the fruits of
life in her strong hands, till nothing but unsightly refuse is left to
her, and lies in which she believes no longer. You might have thought
of Death gloating over a family stricken with the plague.
The sweet scents and dazzling lights, the mirth and the excitement
were all no more; disgust with its nauseous sensations and searching
philosophy was there instead. The sun shone in like truth, the pure
outer air was like virtue; in contrast with the heated atmosphere,
heavy with the fumes of the previous night of revelry.
Accustomed as they were to their life, many of the girls thought of
other days and other wakings; pure and innocent days when they looked
out and saw the roses and honeysuckle about the casement, and the
fresh countryside without enraptured by the glad music of the skylark;
while earth lay in mists, lighted by the dawn, and in all the
glittering radiance of dew.
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