dBooks desire

The mustache and
imperial were carefully waxed as always, day and night.
On the little feet were high-heeled slippers. On the
head was a rose-silk Neapolitan nightcap with gay tassel.
The nightcap hid the bald spot from which the lofty
toupee had been removed. A grotesque little figure,
but not grotesque to her. Through the mask of the
vain, boastful little face she saw the general watching
her, as she had seen him that afternoon when she came
in--the mysterious and terrible personality that had
made the vast fortune, that had ridden ruthlessly over
friend and foe, over man and woman and child--to the
goal of its desires.
``It's late, my dear?'' said the little man. ``Come
to bed.''
She rose to obey--she in the general's purchases of
filmy nightgown under a pale-pink silk dressing-gown.
He smiled with that curious noiseless mumbling and
smacking of the thin lips. She sat down again.
``Don't keep me waiting. It's chilly,'' he said,
advancing toward her.
``I shall sleep in here to-night--on the couch,'' said
she.


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