Carrington, and you men do wisely when you despise them."
"I will not enter into the question of my friend's merits," said
Victor; "but I know that Madame Durski has won the love of a man who is
worthy of any woman's affection--a man who is rich, and can elevate her
from her present--doubtful--position."
The Frenchman uttered these last words with a great appearance of
restraint and hesitation.
"Say, miserable position," exclaimed Miss Brewer; "for Paulina Durski's
position is the most degraded that a woman--whose life has been
comparatively sinless--ever occupied."
"And every day its degradation will become more profound," said Victor.
"Unless Madame Durski follows my advice, she cannot long remain in
England. In her native city she has little to hope for. In Paris, her
name has acquired an evil odour. What, then, lies before her?"
"Ruin!" exclaimed Miss Brewer, abruptly; "starvation it may be. I know
that our race is nearly run, Mr. Carrington. You need not trouble
yourself to remind me of our misery."
"If I do remind you of it, I only do so in the hope that I may be able
to serve you," answered Victor. "I have tasted all the bitterness of
poverty, Miss Brewer. Forgive me, if I ask whether you, too, have been
acquainted with its sting?"
"Have I felt its sting?" cried the poor faded creature. "Who has felt
the tooth of the serpent, Poverty, more cruelly than I? It has pierced
my very heart.
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