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Updated: May 21, 2025
These two things, the advent of a new dancer at the Opera, and the fame of Paul Zouche, were the chief topics of 'Society' outside its own tawdry personal concern; but under all the light froth and spume of the pleasure-seeking, pleasure-loving whirl of fashion, a fierce tempest was rising, and the first whistlings of the wind of revolt were already beginning to pierce through the keyholes and crannies of the stately building allotted to the business of Government; so much so indeed that one terrible night, all unexpectedly, a huge mob, some twenty thousand strong, surrounded it, armed with every conceivable weapon from muskets to pickaxes, and shouted with horrid din for 'Bread and Justice! these being considered co-equal in the bewildered mind of the excited multitude.
"Your refusal of the King's offered bounty is a greater tragedy than any you have ever tried to write!" "Hear her!" cried Zouche, exultant; "She knows exactly how to put it! For look you, there are the true elements of tragedy in a worn coat and scant food, while the thoughts that help nations to live or die are burning in one's brain!
The hunchback was going the round of the table, filling tall glasses with light Bavarian beer. "Where is the little Pequita?" asked Zouche, addressing him "Have you sent her to bed already, Sholto?" Sholto looked timorously round till he met the bright reassuring glance of Lotys, and then he replied hesitatingly
Everyone does everything well, except poor Zouche!" Pequita ran up to him. "Good-night, dear Paul!" He stooped and kissed her gently. "Good-night, little one! If ever you show your twinkling feet at the Opera, you will be the 'fashion' and will you remember Paul then?" "Always always!" said Pequita tenderly; "Father and Lotys and I will always love you!" Zouche gave a short laugh.
There is no real reason in your rages against fate and fortune. Leave the accursed drink, and you may still win the prize you covet Fame." "Not I!" said Zouche scornfully, "Fame in its original sense belonged also to the growing-time of the world when, proud of youth and the glow of life, the full-fledged man judged himself immortal.
His features were grey and drawn, his lips were bloodless, his eyes glittering, as with fever. Stricken to the heart as he was, he yet forced himself to find voice and utterance. "Speak again, Zouche! Speak those horrible, horrible words again! Make me feel them to be true! Lotys is dead!"
"There was an article this evening in one of Jost's off-shoot journals," went on Zouche, "which must have been paid for at a considerable cost.
Zouche, believe me, you are going to be the fashion! You will be able to do me a good turn before long!" Zouche took the gold piece, and as he took it, pressed the giver's hand. "You mean well!" he said tremulously; "You know as Sergius does, that I am poor, often starving often drunk but you know also that there is something here!" and he touched his forehead meaningly.
And Pequita closed her tiny teeth on her scarlet under-lip in suppressed anger; "But I have not danced before him yet! I will!" Zouche looked at her sleepily. He was not drunk though he had, of course, been drinking. "You have not danced before him? Then what have you been doing?"
Out of the merest mischief and monkeyish malice, the other day I sent my latest book of poems to the King " "Shame! shame!" interrupted a dozen voices. "Against the rules, Paul! You have broken the bond!" Paul Zouche laughed loudly. "How you yell, my baboons!" he cried; "How you screech about the rules of your lair! Wait till you hear!
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