The Sorrows of Satan: or, The Strange Experience of One Geoffrey Tempest, Millionaire: A RomanceCorelli, Marie
Philosophy
The Sorrows of Satan: or, The Strange Experience of One Geoffrey Tempest, Millionaire: A Romance
Corelli, Marie
Devil -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Great Britain -- Fiction; Millionaires -- Fiction; Religious fiction
The carriage stopped and we descended. At first sight of the black
horses and silver trappings, the porter of the hotel and two or three
other servants rushed out to attend upon us; but the prince passed into
the hall without noticing any of them and addressed himself to a
sober-looking individual in black, his own private valet, who came
forward to meet him with a profound salutation. I murmured something
about wishing to engage a room for myself in the hotel.
"Oh, my man will see to that for you"--he said lightly--"The house is
not full,--at anyrate all the best rooms are not taken; and of course
you want one of the best."
A staring waiter, who up to that moment, had been noting my shabby
clothes with that peculiar air of contempt commonly displayed by
insolent menials to those whom they imagine are poor, overheard these
words, and suddenly changing the derisive expression of his foxy face,
bowed obsequiously as I passed. A thrill of disgust ran through me,
mingled with a certain angry triumph,--the hypocritical reflex of this
low fellow's countenance, was, I knew, a true epitome of what I should
find similarly reflected in the manner and attitude of all 'polite'
society. For there the estimate of worth is no higher than a common
servant's estimate, and is taken solely from the money standard;--if you
are poor and dress shabbily you are thrust aside and ignored,--but if
you are rich, you may wear shabby clothes as much as you like, you are
still courted and flattered, and invited everywhere, though you may be
the greatest fool alive or the worst blackguard unhung. With vague
thoughts such as these flitting over my mind, I followed my host to his
rooms. He occupied nearly a whole wing of the hotel, having a large
drawing-room, dining-room and study _en suite_, fitted up in the most
luxurious manner, besides bedroom, bathroom, and dressing-room, with
other rooms adjoining, for his valet and two extra personal attendants.
The table was laid for supper, and glittered with the costliest glass,
silver and china, being furthermore adorned by baskets of the most
exquisite fruit and flowers, and in a few moments we were seated. The
prince's valet acted as head-waiter, and I noticed that now this man's
face, seen in the full light of the electric lamps, seemed very dark
and unpleasant, even sinister in expression,--but in the performance of
his duties he was unexceptionable, being quick, attentive, and
deferential, so much so that I inwardly reproached myself for taking an
instinctive dislike to him. His name was Amiel, and I found myself
involuntarily watching his movements, they were so noiseless,--his very
step suggesting the stealthy gliding of a cat or a tiger. He was
assisted in his work by the two other attendants who served as his
subordinates, and who were equally active and well-trained,--and
presently I found myself enjoying the choicest meal I had tasted for
many and many a long day, flavoured with such wine as connoisseurs might
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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