After all, the blood of a base, brutal hound, take
it in what fashion you will, is a poor compensation for one life cut
short in agony, and another blasted utterly.
"Mohun knew the count's family. Some of them, maiden aunts I suppose,
were devotees of the first order: these came in person, or sent their
pet priests, to argue with him on his unchristian habits of sullen
solitude. The men of his old set came too, to laugh him out of the
horrors. Saint and sinner got the same answer--a shake of the head, a
curse, a threat if he were not left alone, growled out between deep
draughts of strong Moldavian wine. They went, and were wise; for his
pistols lay always beside him--in case his servants offended him, or if
he should take a sudden fancy to suicide--and the shaking finger could
have pulled a trigger still.
"After a little he left Vienna, shut himself up in his castle, and would
see no one.
"In England they would have tried at the '_de lunatico_' statute; but
his next of kin left him in peace, biding their time as patiently as
they could. They had not to wait long; in four years a good constitution
broke up, suddenly at last, and the count exchanged stupor for a sleep
with his fathers, without benefit of clergy.
Pages:
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106