Little Poems in Prose

terchanged, the idle, fatigued because they have done nothing, waddle about pretending an indolent enjoyment of the music. Here is nothing but riches and happiness, nothing which does not breathe and inspire careless- ness and the pleasure which life takes in allow- ing itself to live. Nay, nothing, unless it be the aspect of this mob which leans down there upon the outer barrier, catching, without pay- ment, at the will of the wind, a shred of music, and gazing upon the sparkling throng within. It is always interesting, this reflection of the rich man’s joy in the depth of the poor man’s eye; but this day, among this populace clad in blouses and calico, I saw a being whose nobil- ity made a startling contrast with all the sur- rounding triviality. It was a tall and majestic woman, so noble in her whole bearing that I do not remember to have ever seen her equal in the galleries of the aristocratic beauties of the past. A perfume of haughty virtue emanated from her whole per- son; her face, sad and thin, was perfectly in keeping with the full mourning in which she was dressed; she too, like the Plebs with which she had mingled, and which she did not see, she too gazed upon that glittering society with a thoughtful eye, and nodding gently her head, listened to the music.