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(^arttell Untncratty Htbrary 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 1854-1919 
 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 
 PQ 2231.D32 1887 
 
 Lady with the camellias. / 
 
 3 1924 027 347 842 
 
The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027347842 
 
THE 
 
 LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS 
 
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 Alexandre Dumas' novel of " La Dame aux Camelias " is well known as the subject of 
 the opera " La Traviata," whilst the drama, bearing the same name as the novel, was a 
 great success on its first appearance in Paris, brought a fortune to its author, has 
 been translated or remodelled in nearly every European language, and is represented on 
 almost every stage of the civilised world. The novel "The Lady with the CameUias," 
 which has gone through many editions in French, appears now newly translated, in a 
 sumptuous dress, beautifully printed and gorgeously illustrated. The author, though 
 describing illicit love and its fatal consequences, does not pretend to be an apostle of 
 vice, but, to use his own words, "teUs an exceptional tale, which it would not have 
 been worth the trouble of writing if it had not been exceptional." 
 
 This Edition is limited to 550 numbered copies for England and America. 
 
 No. i^ 
 
r^JL 
 
 BY 
 
Zbe 
 
 Xab^ witb tbe Camelliae 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS FILS 
 
 A NEW TRANSLATION 
 
 WITH 
 
 A NEW PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 3fort» ipbotogravures anb jEtcbings b» Hlbert X^ncb 
 
 LONDON 
 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE MAISON QUANTIN, PARIS 
 
 MDCCCLXXXVII 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 AND 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Teanslatok's Peeface, facing Titlepage. 
 
 TiTLEPAGE, with an etcWng of Gaujean, after a drawing of A. Lynch. 
 
 Feontispiece, by A. Lynch, etched by Gaujean, and printed in colours. 
 
 New Peeface, by Alexandee Dumas fils 
 Mademoiselle Maeie Duplessis, by Jules Janin 
 
 PAGE 
 V 
 
 IX 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 Each chapter has for its heading a drawing by Lynch, made into a heho- 
 gravure by Dumont, and printed in various colours. 
 
 CHAPTEE 11. 
 
 HI- 
 
 „ IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 „ VL 
 
 . . . It was horrible to see ; 
 Ltnoh, etched by Masse 
 
 it is horrible to relate. 
 
 . — Drawn by 
 
 7 
 IS 
 23 
 33 
 41 
 
 46 
 
 a 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII 
 
 . . . She re-entered the carriage and drove away. 
 Lynch, etched by MASsii: ..... 
 
 . — Drawn by 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 . . . Marguerite and the Duke . . . were leaving the theatre. ... — 
 Drawn by Lynch, etched by Champollion ...... 
 
 CHAPTEE IX 
 
 . . . Marguerite attacked by a violent fit of coughing. . 
 by Lynch, etched by Champollion .... 
 
 -Drawn 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 XI. 
 „ XII. 
 „ XIII. 
 „ XIV. 
 „ XV. 
 „ XVI. 
 
 . . . We would wander about at night-time in the shady walks of the 
 Ohamps-Elysees. . . . — Drawn by Lynch, etched by Champollion . 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII 
 
 . . . You may go, and tell the Duhe what you have seen. . . . — Drawn 
 by Lynch, etched by Mass£ .... ... 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII 
 
 . . . Marguerite was . . . more affectionate than ever. . . . — Drawn 
 by Lynch, etched by Champoluon ....... 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX 
 
 XX 
 
 XXI. . 
 
 XXII 
 
 „ XXIII 
 
 . . . Marguerite, pale as death, put on her cloak and left the ball- 
 room. . . . — Drawn by Lynch, etched by Mass^) ..... 
 
 PAGE 
 
 49 
 
 52 
 59 
 
 63 
 67 
 
 76 
 
 77 
 89 
 
 lOI 
 
 109 
 119 
 129 
 137 
 
 141 
 
 147 
 
 152 
 
 155 
 
 159 
 
 163 
 171 
 179 
 187 
 195 
 
 204 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV 205 
 
 ... 7 drew the chair on which she was sitting close to the fire. . . . 
 
 -^Drawn by Lynch, etched by Champollion . . . . . . 212 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV ... 217 
 
 XXVI 225 
 
 . . . To-day I got up. . . . — Drawn by Lynch, etched by Mass:^ . 228 
 
 January 8th 231 
 
 February 5th 235 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 241 
 
THE AUTHOR'S NEW PREFACE. 
 
 My dear Calmann/ 
 
 You ask me to write a preface for a new and illustrated edition of 
 " La Dame aux Cam^lias." You address yourself to the only man in 
 this world who can neither praise nor attack the book, Janin has told 
 about Marie Duplessis all that could be told about her, and now and then 
 has even a little embellished it. What regards myself I have, in the 
 preface of my drama, or in the notes of the " acting edition," said every- 
 thing I could remember of that pretty girl who exercised such a great 
 influence on my literary career, for I owe her my first success as a novel- 
 writer and my first success as a dramatist. M. de Contades has quite 
 recently in the review "Le Livre" given a good many details and 
 particulars about her, which are quite correct and most interesting, so 
 that there is nothing more left for me to say. I think I have already 
 told how I wrote this book in three weeks, at Saint-Grermain en Laye, on 
 the corner of a table, in a room in the White Horse, for which I paid one 
 franc a day. This White Horse was the only inn that was open one 
 evening when I missed the last train. Is this so very interesting? 
 Would it be better to make some philosophical reflections on prostitution 
 and on the fatal influence of courtesans ? I think not, and so do you. 
 Well then, I better tell how I came to write this book. 
 
 About thirty-seven or thirty-eight years ago, I missed the train, as 
 I have already said, and took a room at the White Horse, in the High 
 Street. One of my friends who had dined with me at my father's, at 
 Monte-Christo, accompanied me, and we each took a room, for the regular 
 
 ' Monsieur Calmann Uvj, an eminent publisher in Paris, is the proprietor of the copy- 
 right of " La Dame aux Cam^lias." 
 ^ ' b 
 
VI 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S NEW PREFACE. 
 
 customers of the inn were carters, and drivers of public conveyances of 
 the neighbouring villages. 
 
 The next morning, when we awoke, it was a very fine day. Instead 
 of returning immediately to Paris, we got it into our heads to go to 
 Eavelet and hire some horses to ride about in the forest. I don't suppose 
 you ever knew Eavelet ; I am sorry for you. Eavelet was the proprietor 
 of a riding-school, or rather of some stables, near the first " rond-point " of 
 the terrace of Saint-Germain, and was a celebrity known to aU my con- 
 temporaries. He bought all the kicking, rearing, and runaway animals 
 declared unfit for service by the officers of the cavalry regiment then 
 stationed at Saint-Germain ; and people came in crowds from Paris on pur- 
 pose to mount them. In summer time the price was thirty "sous" an hour, 
 from seven o'clock in the morning till nine o'clock in the evening, and 
 soon these horses got cured of all the vices for which they had been sold. 
 It did not matter much if saddles for ladies or gentlemen were put on 
 them, for as soon as a young man or a young woman was on their back, 
 the whip was used on leaving the stable, and the rest was mere chance ! 
 But everything went all right, for the young people were merry ; and 
 every rider did not come a cropper, or, if they did, they got up again. 
 What a happy time that was ! 
 
 You wiU hardly believe it, but everybody used to meet at Eavelet's. 
 From 1840 until i860, when, I believe, the alterations of the terrace 
 compelled him to close his establishment, Eavelet's nags were constantly 
 used by all the pretty Parisian girls of a certain class, and amongst others 
 by Marie Duplessis, one of the regular customers, who was always in a 
 state of feverish excitement, and was delighted to go as fast as her horse 
 would carry her. 
 
 I remember a rather funny anecdote of a cherry-tree which was the 
 noblest ornament of the stable-yard. One day, whilst I was waiting for 
 a horse to be got ready for me, I asked Eavelet if I might climb on his 
 tree and pluck some cherries. He was rather phlegmatic, and replied : 
 " Yes, you can go, but there is already some one in it." I saw a ladder 
 against the tree, and began to climb ; then I perceived a young woman, 
 who was pretty, though rather dark of complexion, as my friend used to 
 
THE AUTHOR'S NEW PREFACE. vii 
 
 say, quietly seated between two branches, and calmly eating cherries. 
 "WUl you allow me, madam?" I asked. — "Certainly, sir, with the 
 greatest of pleasure." And there we were on a fine morning in June 
 eating cherries, and chatting about everything that could interest a young 
 man of twenty and a pretty girl who meet on a cherry-tree. About four 
 or five years ago I went into the shop of a dealer in curiosities to see if 
 I could buy at a reasonable price a looking-glass of the time of Louis 
 XVI. There was a nice-looking woman in the shop, with hair turning 
 grey, or that was even quite grey, dark and expressive eyes, and still 
 very fine teeth. I said to myself : " I have seen that face somewhere." 
 She looked at me, smiling ; and I stared at her in such a way that she 
 perceived I was beginning to remember her. " Yes, indeed," she said, 
 " it is me. Have you forgotten the cherry-tree of Saint-Germaia ? " 
 
 My friend, when he saw what fine weather we had, was of opinion 
 that we should remain two or three days longer at Saint-Germain, and 
 offered to go to Paris to fetch some clean linen and some clothes we 
 wanted for this unexpected stay in the country. I, in the meanwhile, 
 intended to return to my father's house, and asked him to come and 
 stay with me rather than remain at the White Horse. But he was 
 afraid of disturbing the author of " The Three Musketeers ; " and, besides, 
 the neighbourhood of Eavelet, the horses, the cherry-tree, and whatever 
 else might be the natural consequence of these various things, were 
 more attractive to him. He had scarcely gone, and I was hardly alone 
 on the terrace where I had walked so often with Marie Duplessis, when 
 my thoughts reverted to her ; and the idea of writing her history, or 
 rather a history about her, came into my head, and that so peremptorily, 
 that I bought three or four quires of large-sized paper, ink, and pens, 
 and went into my room, which cost me one franc a day, to begin to 
 write this book whilst waiting for my friend. On his return at dinner- 
 time he found me hard at work, and so carried away by my subject that 
 I decided not to leave Saint-Germain before having finished the whole of 
 it. This took me three or four weeks. My friend felt also an interest 
 in my work, of which he copied the sheets as soon as I had written them, 
 on condition that I should give him the original manuscript. I kept my 
 
viii THE AUTHOR'S NEW PREFACE. 
 
 promise, and he took it with him when he went to India, long before the 
 Suez Canal was opened. Now, somewhere about the Cape of Good Hope 
 it blew such a hurricane that everything that could be spared was thrown 
 into the sea to lighten the ship, and the manuscript of " La Dame aux 
 Camdlias " was in one of the trunks tossed overboard. What a fine 
 ending ! 
 
 As soon as I had finished my novel I took it to Cadot, the publisher, 
 who received me as he usually received authors who had dealings with 
 him, and who ruined him, so he said, because he paid four or five hundred 
 francs for a volume that had never been published before. After a good 
 many difficulties he consented to pay me a thousand francs for an edition 
 in two volumes octavo, of which twelve hundred copies were printed, and 
 of which he sold every copy. He then was kind enough to give me two 
 hundred francs more for a second edition duodecimo of fifteen hundred 
 copies, which was also sold ; but, when I asked him to bring out a third 
 edition, he told me to go about my business. 1 followed his advice, and, 
 one day when I was passing through the Rue Vivienne, called upon your 
 brother, who finally received my heroine, whom the house Quantin is 
 going to present anew to the public, but this time decked out in more 
 handsome attire than ever she wore before. 
 
 I thank you in her name, and wish her every success. 
 
 A. DUMAS Ftts. 
 

 introduction. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE MARIE DDPLESSIS 
 
 m 
 
 In the year 1845 — i: 
 those years of abundance and 
 peace, when all the favours of 
 wit, talent, beauty, and fortune 
 were to be found 
 in France — 
 there lived a 
 young and fair 
 \ lady possessing the 
 \ most charming face, 
 who, by her mere pre- 
 sence, wherever she went, attracted the admiration and homage of any 
 one who saw her for the first time, without either knowing her name or 
 
X MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. 
 
 profession. Her looks were, in truth, very natural and ingemious, her 
 gestures delusive, and her hearing hold and yet decent, like that of a 
 lady of the highest rank. Her countenance was serious and her smile 
 imposing ; and, merely from seeing her walk, any one might have said 
 of her what Ellevion said one day of a lady of the court : — " That is 
 evidently either a courtesan or a duchess ! " 
 
 Alas ! she was not a duchess ; she was horn on the lowest step of the 
 social ladder, so difficult to climh ; and she must indeed have heen 
 heautiful and charming to have ascended so lightly to the first round 
 when she was only eighteen, which was ahout her age at that period. I 
 remember meeting her for the first time, one day, in an abominable 
 "green-room" of a theatre on the Boulevards, badly lighted, and entirely 
 filled with that noisy crowd which generally criticises grand spectacular 
 melodramas. There were more blouses than coats in the room, more 
 caps than hats with feathers, and more threadbare paletots than new 
 suits. The conversation turned upon everything ; on dramatic art and 
 fried potatoes; on the plays performed at the Gymnase and on the 
 pastry of the Gymnase ; hut lohen this young woman appeared on this 
 peculiar threshold, it seemed as if she illumined all these burlesque or 
 savage objects with a glance of her lovely eyes. She walked on the 
 muddy fioor as if she was traversing the Boulevards on a rainy day. 
 She raised her dress intuitively in order not to touch the dried-up mud, 
 without thinking of showing us — for what would have heen the good 
 of it ? — a neatly shod foot, and a well-rounded leg, covered by a silk 
 stocking. The whole of her toilet was in keeping with her young and 
 lithesome form ; and her face, of a heautiful oval shape, rather pale, 
 corresponded with the charm she diffused around her, like an in- 
 describable perfume. 
 
 She entered the room, and went, with head erect, through the 
 astonished crowd. Liszt and myself were very much surprised when she 
 came and sat down familiarly at our table, for neither he nor I had 
 ever spoken to her. She was a woman of intelligence, taste, and common 
 sense. She immediately addressed the great artist, and infoi'med him 
 that she had once heard him play, and that he had set her drea/ming. 
 Like those sonorous instruments which respond to the fresh breath of a 
 May breeze, he listened with uninterrupted attention to her heautiful 
 
MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. xi 
 
 language, so full of ideas, and, at the same time, so eloquent and so pen- 
 sive. With the marvellous instinct which was peculiar to him, and his 
 great experience in the highest diplomatic circles, as well as in the highest 
 circles amongst artists, he was trying to discover who this woman co^dd 
 he who was so familiar and so dignified, spoke to him first, and who, 
 after the first words had been exchanged, treated him with a certain 
 hauteur, as if he had been presented to her at a levee in London, or at 
 a party given by the Duchess of Sutherland. 
 
 Meanwhile, the three solemn knocks of the prompter resounded 
 through the theatre, and the critics left the room, as well as the 
 crowd of spectators. The unknown lady alone remained with her com- 
 panion and ourselves ; she had even drawn near the fire, and, quite 
 shivering, placed her feet near the small logs, so that we could observe 
 her with the greatest ease, from the embroidered folds of her petticoat to 
 the curls of her black hair ; her gloved hand, which made you think you 
 were looking at a picture ; her handkerchief marvellously trimmed with 
 costly lace ; whilst in her ears shone two pearls from the East which 
 might have rendered a queen jealous. All these beautiful objects were as 
 natural to her as if she had been born amidst silks and velvet, beneath 
 some gilded ceiling of the grand "Faubourgs," with a crown upon 
 her head, and a crowd of flatterers at her feet. Her bearing tallied 
 ivith her language; her thoughts with her smile; her dress with her 
 person ; and you would have looked in vain in the very highest circles 
 for a woman ivho was more beautiful and in Tnore complete harmony 
 with her ornaments, her dress, and her conversation. 
 
 Liszt, however, very much astonished at seeing such a marvel in such 
 a place, and at the gallant meeting between the acts of so terrible a 
 melodrama, wholly abandoned himself to his fancy. Not only is he a 
 great artist, but, moreover, an eloquent speaker. He knows how to talk 
 to women, passes like them from one idea to another, and chooses the 
 most opposite ones. He adores paradoxes, and touches on serious as 
 well as on burlesque subjects of conversation. Lt would be impossible for 
 me to describe with what art, and with what infinite tact this woman, 
 whose name he did not know, and himself, ran through all the usual 
 elegant gossip and all the fashionable small talk of every-day con- 
 versation. 
 
 C 2 
 
xii MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. 
 
 They talked thus during the whole of the third act of the melodrama 
 before mentioned, whilst hardly a word was said to me, except once or 
 twice out of politeness ; but as I happened to be in one of those fits of 
 bad temper, when the human mind cannot feel any enthusiasm, I am 
 convinced that the lady thought me glumpy and perfectly absurd; and 
 she was right. 
 
 That winter passed, and the summer as well, but in the autumn — 
 when there was a grand benefit at the Opera — the door of one of the big 
 boxes of the ground-tier was suddenly and rather noisily pulled open, 
 and we saw advance the same handsome woman I had met on the 
 Boulevard, with a bouquet in her hand. It was she ! — but, on this 
 occasion, dressed splendidly as a fashionable lady, and arrayed charm- 
 ingly, as if she had come to conquer. Her beautiful hair was delight- 
 fully intermingled with diamonds and flowers, and arranged with that 
 studied grace which imparted to it movement and life ; her arms and 
 bosom were bare, though she wore a necJcIace and bracelets of emeralds. 
 In her hand she held a bouquet, but I cannot say what its colour was ; 
 you must have the eyes of a young man and the imagination of a child 
 to distinguish accurately the colour of the flower over which a handsome 
 face is bent. At our age, a man only looks at the cheek and the bright 
 glance, but troubles his head very little about the accessories ; and if he 
 amuses himself with making deductions, he does so by speculating on 
 the appearance of the lady herself, and finds, in truth, that he has quite 
 enough to do. 
 
 On the evening in question, Duprez was endeavouring to master that 
 rebellious voice of his, of whose failure he had already a foreboding ; 
 but he was the only person who had, and the public, as yet, never 
 suspected it. Only amongst the most attentive part of the audience, a 
 few amateurs divined the artist's fatigue and his exhaustion, in spite of 
 his skill, and though he made great efforts to deceive himself. The fair 
 person of whom I am speaking was evidently a skilful critic ; after paying 
 attention for the first few minutes, it was plain she was not under the 
 influence of her usual charm, for she withdrew abruptly to the back of 
 her box, and, as she ivas no longer listening, took up her opera-glass and 
 began to look at the audience. 
 
 She was, certainly, acquainted with a great many gentlemen of the 
 
MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. xiii 
 
 upper classes. From the mere movement of her glass you felt that the 
 fair looher-on could have told more than one story concerning these 
 young m^n of the highest rank She indiscriminately directed her glass 
 first here and then there, without hestoudng more attention on one than 
 on another, as if indifferent to all, while every one repaid her notice by 
 a smile, a rapid gesture, or a sharp and quick glance. From the back 
 of the badly-lit boxes and the midst of the stalls other glances, as fiery 
 as volcanoes, were cast towards the fair creature; but these she did not 
 see. Lastly, if by chance she directed her opera-glass on the recognised 
 female leaders of the Parisian upper classes, there was suddenly in her 
 attitude a certain indescribable air of resignation and humility which 
 was painful to behold. On the contrary, she turned her head away 
 with bitterness, if, unfortunately, her glance happened to alight on any 
 of those women of doubtful reputation and charming face, who occupy 
 the best stalls of the theatre on grand occasions. 
 
 The gentleman who accompanied her this time was a handsome, 
 young man, almost a Parisian, still possessing some opulent relics of 
 the paternal acres, which were squandered gradually in that city of 
 perdition. The young man, just budding into manhood, was proud 
 of this beauty in her apogee, and not sorry to increase his own im- 
 portance by showing that she was really his, and by annoying her 
 with those many marks of attention so dear to a young creature when 
 they come from a man she loves, and so disagreeable when they are 
 addressed to a mind otherwise occupied. She listened to him without 
 hearing him; she looked at him without seeing him. What did he 
 say ? The lady had not heard him ; but she endeavoured to answer, 
 and the few words she uttered, and which contained no meaning, 
 fatigued her. 
 
 Thus, without knowing it, they were not alone in the box, for 
 which a sum had been paid which would have kept a whole fo/mily for 
 six months. Between her and her gallant was seated the assiduous 
 companion of thoughts ill at ease, of bruised hearts, and of minds 
 which have exhausted every resource: ever increasing weariness, that 
 immense Mephistopheles of wandering Marguerites, of lost Clarissas, 
 of all those divinities, daughters of chance, who roam through life at 
 random. 
 
xiv MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. 
 
 This fair sinner, surrounded by the adorations and homage of youth, 
 ivas weary; and this very lassitude ought to serve her as a pardon 
 and excuse, for it was the punishment of her transitory prosperity. 
 Lassitude was the great misfortune of her life. She had seen so many 
 of her affections shattered, had been compelled by necessity to enter into 
 ephemeral "liaisons," to pass from one love to another, without knowing 
 why she stifled so quickly a partiality just springing up, and feelings 
 of tenderness just dawning, that she had become quite indifferent to all 
 things, forgetting the love of yesterday, and scarcely thinking any 
 more of the love of to-day than of the passion of to-morrow. 
 
 What an unfortunate creature! She had need of solitude, and she 
 was besieged by admirers ! She had need of silence, and she con- 
 stantly heard, without interval or cessation, the same words dinned into 
 her tired ears ! She wished to be quiet, and she was dragged to festivals 
 and riot ! She would have longed to be loved ; and she was told she was 
 beautiful ! She abandoned herself, therefore, without resistance, to the 
 vortex which was swallowing her up. What a life to lead for a young 
 ivoman ! and how well we understand the words of Mademoiselle de 
 Lenclos, who, after having reached the summit of a prosperity which 
 was almost fabulous, after becoming the friend of the Prince de Conde 
 and Madame de Maintenon, said, with a profound sigh of regret — 
 " Had any one proposed formerly to me, to lead such a life as I have 
 led, I should have died of grief and terror!" 
 
 At the conclusion of the opera the beautiful creature left: the per- 
 formance was scarcely half over. The audience were awaiting Bouffe, 
 Mademoiselle Dejazet, and the funny actors of the Palais Royal, not to 
 mention the ballet, in which Carlotta, light and charming, then just 
 beginning to feel intoxicated by the poetry of motion, was to dance. But 
 she would not stop for the vaudeville ; she wanted to leave at once and 
 return home, when mnny people had still three hours of pleasure 
 before them, amidst the sound of music, and underneath the flaming 
 chandeliers. 
 
 I saw her leave her box, and wrap herself up in a cloak lined 
 with costly ermine. The young man who had come with her appeared 
 out of temper, and, as he could no longer show her off, did not care 
 whether she felt cold or not. I even recollect I assisted her to lift her 
 
MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. xv 
 
 cloah on one of her shoulders, -which was very white, and that she looked 
 at me, without recognising me, with a gentle mournful smile, which she 
 transferred to the tall young man, who at that moment was engaged in 
 paying the box-opener, and in making her change a five-franc piece. 
 " Keep it all, madame" she said to the woman, bowing to her politely. 
 I saw her come down the grand staircase on the right, her white dress 
 standing out against the red cloak, with a handkerchief over her head 
 and fastened under her chin; the jealous lace fell a little over her eyes, 
 but what did that matter ? The lady had played her part, her day's 
 work was finished, and she no longer thought of appearing beautiful. 
 No doubt she left that evening the young man at her door. 
 
 It is worth remembering, and altogether to her credit, that this 
 young creature, who, during her youth, scattered gold and silver around 
 her by handfuls — for she was as capricious as she was benevolent, and 
 valued little that wretched money for which she paid so dearly — was 
 never the heroine of any of those tales of ruin and scandal, of gambling, 
 of debts and duels, which so many other women, in her place, would have 
 caused during their career. On the contrary, people who knew her 
 spoke only of her beauty, her triumphs, her good taste in dress, the 
 fashions she invented, and those which she inaugurated. They never 
 said that for her sake fortunes had been squandered, men put into 
 prison for debt, or that she had committed those acts of treachery which 
 are the ordinary accompaniments of Cimmerian love. This lady, so 
 soon snatched away by death, was outwardly decent and well-behaved. 
 She lived alone, even among that peculiar class amidst whom she dwelt, 
 and in a calmer and more serene region ; and, though it was pitiful, she 
 inhabited, after all, a country of perdition ! 
 
 I saw her a third time, at the inauguration of the Great Northern 
 Railway, on the occasion of a festival given by Brussels to France, 
 which had become her neighbour and guest. In that terminus, the 
 immense trysting-place of all the railroads of the North, Belgium had 
 collected every possible splendour ; all the plants of her hot-houses, the 
 flowers of her gardens, and the diamonds of her coronets. An in- 
 credible crowd of men in uniform covered with orders, as well as ladies 
 in light dresses adorned with diamonds, encumbered the scene of a 
 festival, the like of which we shall never see again. The French 
 
xvi MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. 
 
 peerage, the German nobility, Spanish, Belgium, Flanders, and Holland, 
 were decked out in their ancient jewels, which had formerly heen 
 worn at the court of Louis XIV. All those men who had made solid 
 and massive fortunes by trade, as well as elegant Parisian women, like 
 so many butterflies in a hive full of bees, had hastened to this festival 
 of industry and locomotion, of iron tamed, and of fire the bondservant 
 of time, which had found its master. It was a strange medley, in 
 which every kind of force and charm of creation were represented, from 
 oaks to flowers, from coals to amethysts. In the midst of this moving 
 mass of nations, kings, princes, artists, blacksmiths, and the handsome 
 coquettes of Europe, there appeared, or, rather I alone saw appear, our 
 charming friend, paler and more colourless even than usual, already 
 struck by that invisible disease which was destined to drag her to the 
 tomb. 
 
 She had gained admission to the ball in spite of her reputation, 
 favoured by her dazzling beauty ! She attracted every glance, and the 
 homage of all those who were present. A fluttering murmur greeted 
 her as she passed along, and even those who knew her bowed ; she, how- 
 ever, calm, collected, and dignified as she always was, accepted this 
 homage as though it were her due. She was not at all astonished at 
 treading on carpets on which the Queen herself might have walked ! 
 More than one prince stopped to look at her, and their looks gave her to 
 understand what women comprehend so well : — " / think you are hand- 
 some, and I am sorry I have to go away." That evening she was 
 leaning on the arm of another stranger, as fair as a German, and as 
 sedate as an Englishman, over-dressed, with clothes fitting him too 
 tightly, who was walking quite erect, and believed he was committing, 
 at that very moment, one of those acts of derring-do which men regret 
 to their dying day. 
 
 This gentleman s demeanour displeased the sensitive girl on his arm ; 
 she felt it with that sixth sense that was within her, and she became 
 more haughty, for her marvellous instinct told her that the more this 
 man was ashamed of what he had done, the more insolent she ought to 
 show herself, and trample contemptuously underfoot the remorse of the 
 timid youth. Very few persons understood what she must have suffered 
 at that moment ; she, a woman without a name, on the arm of a man 
 
MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. xvii 
 
 without a name, and this man the first to manifest disapprobation, whilst 
 his threatening attitude showed how uneasy, irresolute, and ill at ease 
 he was. This Anglo-German was, however, cruelly punished for his 
 inward 'pangs, for, at the turn of a large avenue, well lit up, our fair 
 Parisian met a friend of her own, a friend without any pretensions, 
 who asked her, now and then, to shake hands with him, and to smile 
 on him ; one of our own acquaintances, an artist, a painter, who knew 
 better than any one else, as he had seen so little of her, what a perfect 
 and very elegant model she was for every youthful temptation. 
 
 "Ah, here you are ! " she said to him ; " give me your arm, and let us 
 have a dance." Leaving the arm of her companion, she began a waltz 
 — a dance so very seductive, when inspired by Strauss, and when it 
 comes to us, breathing strains of love, from the banks of the German 
 Rhine, its true country. She danced marvellously, neither too quickly 
 nor stooping too much, obeying the guidance she felt inwardly, and 
 keeping time perceptibly, scarcely touching with her light feet the elastic 
 ground ; now bounding, then again resting, keeping her eyes fixed on 
 those of her partner. 
 
 A circle was formed round her; every one tried to be touched by her 
 beautiful hair, which followed the movement of the rapid waltz, and 
 every one strove to graze her light dress, exhaling such delicate perfumes ; 
 but gradually the circle grew smaller, and the other dancers stopping to 
 look at her, it came to pass that the tall young man, who had introduced 
 her to the ball, lost her in the crowd, and in vain tried to find that 
 charming arm which he had held in his own with such dislike. But he 
 could neither find again the arm, the fair creature, nor the artist. 
 
 Two days after this festival, the weather being very beautiful, she 
 came from Brussels to Spa, at that delightful hour when the verdure- 
 clad mountains allow the sun to penetrate. You then see all kinds of 
 happy invalids resting after the parties of the past winter, in order 
 to be better prepared for the joys of the winter to come. At Spa no 
 other fever is known than the ball fever ; no other languor but that of 
 absence; and no other remedies but those of talking, dancing, and 
 music, and, during the evening, the excitement of gambling, when the 
 Redoute is lit up brilliantly, and the echo of the mountains returns, 
 
 manifold, the intoxicating sounds of the orchestra. At Spa our fair 
 
 d 
 
xvni MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. 
 
 friend was welcomed with an eagerness somewhat rare in this rather 
 prudish village, that willingly gives up to Baden, its rival, the fair 
 creatures without a name, without a husband, and without any recog- 
 nised position. At Spa, too, the astonishment was general when people 
 heard that so young a creature was seriously ill, and when the medical 
 men sorrowfully confessed that in sober truth they had rarely met with 
 more resignation combined with greater courage. 
 
 A careful and most anxious diagnosis was mxide of her state of 
 health, and, after a long consultation, she was recommended quiet, rest, 
 sleep, and silence — those beautiful dreams of her life ! On hearing this 
 good advice she began to smile, and shook her head with an incredulous 
 air, for she knew that everything was possible for her, except keeping 
 those hours to herself which certain ladies can keep, and which belong 
 to them alone. She promised, however, to obey for a few days, and to 
 remain as quiet as possible. But her efforts were in vain, and soirve 
 time afterwards she was seen, intoxicated and mad with fictitious joy, 
 clearing with her horse the most difficult hedges ; and astonishing by 
 her liveliness the "habitues" of the alley of "Sept Heures," who had 
 seen her for a short time pensive, and reading quietly under the trees. 
 
 Soon she became the lioness of this beautiful spot, and the life 
 and soul of all parties, and of every ball. She made the orchestra 
 play her favourite airs ; and, when night had come, when a little sleep 
 would have done her so much good, she terrified the most intrepid 
 gamblers by the heaps of gold she piled up before her, and lost at 
 a single stake, as indifferent to gain as she was to loss. She tried 
 to kill time by gambling, if she could not fill up her spare moments in 
 any other way. Such as she was, however, she had the good fortune 
 in the cruel game of life to preserve some friends, which is a very 
 uncommon thing; it is even one of the signs of these fatal "liaisons" 
 that they only leave behind dust and ashes, vanity and nothingness, 
 after so much adoration ! How many a time has a lover passed his 
 mistress without recognising her ; and how often sv^h an unfortunate 
 creature has called in vain for assistance ! How many times has the 
 hand, that formerly only held flowers, been stretched out in vain for 
 alms, and for a crust! 
 
 This was not the case with our heroine. She fell without complain- 
 
MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. xix 
 
 ing, and when she had fallen she found kind assistance, support, and 
 protection among the passionate adorers of her happy days. Those 
 former rivals, who, perhaps, had been enemies, made arrangements to 
 watch hy the patient's pillow; to expiate nights of folly hy nights of 
 earnestness, when death approaches, when the veil is rent, and when the 
 victim struck down, as well as the accomplice of her guilt, understand 
 the truth of those serious words, " Vse Ridentihus ! " — " Woe to those 
 who laugh ! Woe ! " Which means, woe to profane pleasures, woe 
 to erratic love, woe to every changing passion, woe to the youth who 
 strays in the path of wickedness ; for at certain turns of this path he 
 has to retrace his steps, and falls into those abysses into which we fall 
 at twenty ! 
 
 Thus she died, gently lulled to sleep, and consoled hy ever so many 
 touching words, and a large number of brotherly acts of attention ; 
 she had no longer any lovers, but she had never had so many friends ; 
 and yet she did not regret life. She knew what awaited her if she 
 were restored to health, and that she would be obliged to carry again 
 to her discoloured lips the cup of pleasure which she had drained to its 
 dregs before its time. She died silently, as reserved in her death as 
 she had been during her life ; and, after so much splendour and so much 
 degradation, she had the supreme good taste to express a wish to be 
 buried at break of day in some retired and solitary spot, without fuss, 
 and without noise, as if she had been the honest mother of a family 
 going to rejoin her husband, her father, her mother, her children, and 
 all those whom she had loved, in the cemetery where she was to be 
 buried. 
 
 In spite of her, however, her death produced a certain sensation, 
 and was talked about for three days, which is a great deal in this town 
 so full of refined passions, where fites are held continually, and people 
 never grow tired of them. At the expiration of three days the door of 
 her house was unlocked. The tall windows looking out on the Boule- 
 vard, opposite the Church of the Madeleine, her patron saint, anew 
 allowed the air and sun to penetrate within those walls where she 
 had expired. You would have said the young creature was about 
 to reappear. Not a single odour of death remained amidst those 
 silky curtains, in those long draperies, with their ever-changing pretty 
 
XX MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. 
 
 colours, or on the Gobelin carpets, where flowers seemed to spring up, 
 scarcely touched by her childlike feet. 
 
 Every piece of furniture of these splendidly furnished rooms was 
 still in its place ; the bed in which she had died scarcely bore a mark 
 that anybody had slept in it. At its head a stool retained the im- 
 pression of the knees of the friend who had closed her eyes. An 
 antique clock, which had struck the hour for Madame de Pompadour 
 and Madame Dubarry, still struck the hour as before; in the silver 
 candelabras were still the wax candles prepared for the last evening- 
 chat ; in the flower-stands the monthly roses and the long-lasting heath 
 were struggling in their turn with death, for they were dying for want 
 of a little water ; their mistress had died for want of a little happiness 
 and hope. 
 
 Alas ! on the walls were hanging the pictures of Diaz, whom she 
 had been one of the first to adopt as the real painter of spring ; as well 
 as her portrait, which Vidal had drawn in black, white, and red, 
 and in which he had represented her with a delightful, chaste, and 
 classical countenance. Now, since his divinity is dead, the artist will 
 only portray respectable women; he had made an exception in her 
 favour, and this served the rising reputation of the painter as well as 
 it did his model. 
 
 Everything still spoke of her! The birds were singing in their 
 gilded cages; in the Buhl cabinets, through the transparent glass, people 
 beheld an admirable collection of the rarest masterpieces of Sevres 
 porcelain, worthy of a first-rate and wealthy antiquary ; of the most 
 exquisite paintings from Saxony, of the enamels of Petitot, the nudities 
 of Klingstedt, and the bacchanalian pictures of Boucher. She liked that 
 little, coquettish, graceful, elegant art, where even vice looks intelligent, 
 and innocence appears nude ; she liked shepherds and shepherdesses in 
 white china, Florentine bronzes, terra-cotta ornaments, as well as 
 enamels ; in fact, all that taste and luxury has invented for an effete 
 society. She beheld in them so many emblems of her beauty and her 
 life ! Alas ! she also was a useless ornament, a fancy article, a 
 frivolous plaything, broken at the first knock ; the brilliant produce 
 of a moribund society, a bird of passage, a momentary Aurora. 
 
 She had carried the science of domestic comfort and self-adoration 
 
MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. xxi 
 
 to such a pitch that her linen, her dresses, the most trivial things 
 connected with her were beyond comparison, for it was the dearest and 
 most charming occupation of her youth to enhance her beauty. 
 
 I have heard ladies of the first rank, and the most skilful coquettes 
 of Paris, express their astonishment at the art and delicacy of the most 
 trifling articles of her toilet-table. Her comb brought an extravagant 
 price, her hair-brush was purchased for its weight in gold. They sold 
 even her old gloves, so beautiful was her hand. They also sold the boots 
 she had worn, and women without reproach vied with one another to see 
 who could put on her Oinderella-like shoe. Everything was sold — even 
 one of her old shawls, which she had worn for three years ; even her 
 big parrot, with its brilliant plumxige, repeating a somewhat sad little 
 melody its mistress had taught it. Her portraits were sold ; her love- 
 letters were sold ; her horses were sold ; everything went ; and her rela- 
 tives, who used to turn away their heads when she drove by in her 
 carriage, with its armorial bearings, with her English horses at full 
 speed, gorged themselves triumphantly with the gold produced by her 
 spoils ! Out of respect for thernselves, they kept nothing of what had 
 belonged to her. What a prudish set of people they were ! 
 
 Such was this woman, who was an exception even among Parisian 
 fancies. I admit I was astonished when a book was published, called 
 "La DaWjC aux Camelias," of such vivid interest, and especially so 
 truthful, so fresh, and so novel. People spoke of it at first, as they usually 
 speak of pages bearing the stamp of the sincere emotion of youth ; and 
 every one was delighted to say that the son of Alexandre Dumas, who 
 had scarcely left college, was already following with a steady pace in 
 the brilliant footsteps of his father ; that he had his father's vivacity 
 and inward emotion; his vivid, rapid style, with a dash of that 
 dialogue, so natural, easy, and varied, which gives to the romances of 
 this great inventor their charm, their individuality, and their dramatic 
 power. 
 
 Thus the book obtained a great success; but soon its readers, 
 reversing their former fugitive impression, observed that " La Dame 
 aux Ca/melias " was not a novel showing much inventive power ; that 
 such a woman had really been alive, and quite recently too ; that this 
 drama was not a drarnia which the author had created, but, on the 
 
xxii MADEMOISELLE MARIE DUPLESSIS. 
 
 contrary, a domestic tragedy, of which the representation was quite true 
 and heartrending. Then people were anxious to know the name of 
 the heroine, her position in society, how much money she had left, 
 the ornaments she had worn, and who her lovers had been. The 
 public, who desire to know everything, and who in the end do know 
 everything, gradually learned all those details, and, having read the 
 book, wished to read it again ; it naturally came to pass that, the truth 
 being known, the interest of the story was enhanced. 
 
 This is how it happens that, through an extraordinary good fortune, 
 the present book, brought out carelessly as a futile novel, hardly destined 
 to live a day, is now reprinted with all the honours of a work accepted 
 by every one ! Read it, and you will recognise in its most minute details 
 the touching story of which this young man, so happily gifted, has 
 written, amidst many tears, the elegy and the drama, which has been 
 so successful, and lias had such a run of luck. 
 
 JULES JANIN. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
CHAPTER 
 
 1 ALWAYS thought that an author, 
 
 to create imaginary characters, ought to 
 
 study mankind ; just as one cannot learn 
 
 a language without great application. 
 
 Not having yet reached the age when people can invent facts, I have 
 
 to be satisfied with mere narrative. 
 
 The reader may be certain that this story, of which all the characters, 
 with the exception of the heroine, are still alive, is founded on fact. 
 
 Moreover, there are in Paris people who were eye-witneS;Ses to most 
 of the events I am relating in this book, and who can testify to the 
 truth, if my affirmation were not deemed sufficient. 
 
 Through a mere accident, I alone can write this story ; for I alone 
 
2 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 have been the confidant of those final details, without which it would 
 have been impossible to make it either interesting or complete. 
 
 How these details have been communicated to me the reader will 
 learn further on. On the 12th of March 1847, in passing through the 
 Rue Lafiitte, I observed a large yellow placard, announcing a sale of 
 furniture and costly curiosities, which had belonged to a person lately 
 deceased. No name was mentioned. The sale was to take place at No. 
 9, Eue d'Antin, on the i6th instant, from twelve till five o'clock. 
 
 It was also stated that the rooms and the furniture could be seen 
 on the 13th and 14th. 
 
 I have always been an amateur of curiosities, and I promised to 
 myself not to lose this opportunity, if not of buying, at least of examin- 
 ing some of the articles. 
 
 The next day I went to the Eue d'Antin. 
 
 It was still early, but there were already in the rooms gentlemen, 
 and even ladies, who, although clad in velvet, wrapped up in costly 
 shawls, and with elegant carriages waiting for them at the door, gazed 
 with astonishment, and even with admiration, at the magnificence that 
 was displayed. 
 
 After some time I understood the cause of this admiration and this 
 astonishment ; for having looked around, I soon perceived that I was in 
 rooms which had belonged to one of the frail sisterhood. Now, if there 
 be anything which ladies of fashion — and there were ladies of fashion 
 in the rooms — are anxious to behold, it is the apartments of one of 
 those demireps, whose equipages daily dash past their own, who, like 
 them, have their box at the Opera, or at the " Th^^tre Italien," and 
 who display, when in Paris, in so insolent a manner their luxuriant 
 beauty, their jewels, and their intrigues. 
 
 The person in whose rooms I now was, was dead ; therefore, the 
 most virtuous women could visit them ; for death had purified the air of 
 this opulent sink of iniquity ; and, besides, if needful, there was the 
 excuse that they attended without being aware to whom the rooms had 
 belonged. They had read the advertisements, and wished to see the 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 3 
 
 things advertised and to make their choice beforehand. Nothing could 
 be more simple ; — ^but it did not prevent their seeking, amidst all this 
 marvellous splendour, the mysterious traces of that private life of a 
 courtesan, of whom they had heard, no doubt, such strange tales. 
 
 If any mystery had existed, it had unhappily died with the goddess 
 of the temple ; and, though these ladies would have liked it, they could 
 only detect what was to be sold after she had died, and nothing of what 
 might have been bought there whilst she was alive. 
 
 There were, however, plenty of purchases to be made. The furniture 
 was superb. Nothing was wanting; there were articles in rosewood 
 and buhl, Sevres and China vases, small Dresden figures, satins, velvets 
 and laces, &c. 
 
 I walked through the rooms, following the noble-bom inquisitives 
 who had preceded me. They entered an apartment decked with Per- 
 sian hangings, and I was about to enter it also, when they almost im- 
 mediately came out again, smiling as if they had been shocked by this 
 last visit. This only increased my desire to go in. It was a dressing- 
 room, replete with the smallest necessaries of a lady's toilet, and in 
 which the prodigality of the deceased seemed to have reached its acme. 
 
 Upon a large table, placed against the wall — a table about six feet 
 long and three feet wide — were exposed all the treasures of Aucoc and 
 of Odiot. It was a magnificent collection, and not one of the many 
 articles so necessary for the toilet of a woman like the one whose rooms 
 we were inspecting, was of a baser metal than silver or gold. Never- 
 theless, the collection, only made gradually, was not the gift of one 
 lover. 
 
 As I am not shocked by looking at the dressing-room of a demirep, 
 I amused myself in examining it in detail ; and I discovered that the 
 various articles, so magnificently chased, bore different initials and coats 
 of arms. 
 
 Each of these presents seemed to represent a separate amour of this 
 
 wretched girl, and T said to myself that Heaven in its mercy had not 
 
 allowed her to suffer the ordinary penalty of such a life, but had let 
 
 A 2 
 
4 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 her die in the midst of her luxury, while she stiU was in possession of 
 her beauty, and before reaching old age, which is worse than death to 
 a courtesan. 
 
 Indeed, what can be more melancholy to behold than vice in old 
 age — above all, in a woman, who has not retained any self-respect, and 
 inspires no interest. One of the saddest stories to listen to is the 
 never-varying narrative of her repentance, not because she has gone 
 astray, but because her calculations were iU-made, and the money she 
 had made badly invested. I once knew an old woman who formerly 
 had been a demirep, and to whom nothing remained of the past but a 
 daughter, as beautiful as her mother had been, at least her mother's 
 contemporaries said so. To this poor child her mother had never spoken 
 as a mother should do, but had always told her that it was her duty 
 to support her aged parent, who had kept her when she was a child. 
 This unfortunate girl, who was called Louise, obedient to her mother's 
 commands, sold herself without any inclination of her own, without any 
 passion, without any pleasure ; as she would have followed any other 
 calling, had her mother taught her one. 
 
 This incessant prostitution, which she practised though quite young, 
 and which kept up the everlasting sickly condition of this girl, extin- 
 guished within her any sense of good or evil that Heaven might once 
 have given her, but which no one ever thought of developing. 
 
 I shall never forget this young girl making her appearance upon the 
 Boulevards, almost every day at the same hour, accompanied by her 
 mother, who watched over her as carefully as an honest mother would 
 accompanying her own daughter. I was then very young, and ready 
 to accept the easy morality of the age ; but I well remember that, on 
 beholding this disgusting surveillance, I felt shocked and horrified. 
 
 Moreover, the countenance of a virgin had never displayed more 
 innocence, or a more melancholy expression of passive submission. 
 
 One might have said she was a statue of patient endurance. 
 
 One day the countenance of this girl wore quite a different expres- 
 sion. In the midst of the immoral life she led, and which the mother 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 5 
 
 regulated, it appeared to the poor sinner that Heaven yet permitted her 
 to be happy. Why, after all, should Providence, who had created her 
 without any will of her own to cast' off the painful burden of her life, 
 leave her altogether without consolation 1 One day she discovered 
 she was in the way to become a mother. The little womanhood that 
 remained in her thrilled with joy. The soul finds strange refuges. 
 Louise hastened to announce to her mother the discovery that made her 
 so happy. I am ashamed to go on ; but I am not inventing any anec- 
 dotes of immorality, I am telling an unvarnished tale, which perhaps 
 it would be better not to publish, were it not that I believe it desirable, 
 now and then, to describe the martyrdom of those beings who are con- 
 demned without a hearing, and despised without any inquiry. I am 
 ashamed to tell it, but the mother replied to her daughter that they had 
 barely money enough to keep two people, and that there certainly would 
 not be sufiicient for three ; that such children are useless, and that her 
 being " enceinte " was a loss of time ! 
 
 Next day an old midwife, whom we will simply designate as a 
 friend of the mother, paid a visit to Louise, who remained for some 
 days in bed, and got up again paler and weaker than before. 
 
 About three months after, some one took pity on her, and undertook 
 her moral as well as her physical cure ; but the last treatment had been 
 too much for her, and Louise died in consequence of her miscarriage. 
 
 The mother stiU lives. How, Heaven only knows ! 
 
 This history came back to my mind whilst I stood looking at the 
 silver fittings of a dressing-case ,* — and it seems that I must have been 
 for some time buried in thought, for when I recovered myself, there was 
 nobody in the room, but I, and the man in charge, who watched me from 
 the door, to see that I took nothing away. 
 
 I approached this worthy man, to whom I was evidently an object 
 of great suspicion, and said, 
 
 " Can you tell me the name of the person who lived here ? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier." 
 
 I knew this girl, by name, and had seen her. 
 
6 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed I, "is Marguerite Gautier dead ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " "When did she die ? " 
 
 " Three weeks ago, I believe." 
 
 " And why are all these articles on view ? " 
 
 " The creditors think that it may benefit the sale. People can see, 
 beforehand, the efi"ect produced by the hangings and furniture, and you 
 understand that induces them to buy." 
 
 " Oh ! she had debts, then ? " 
 
 " Not a few, sir." 
 
 "But the sale wiU bring in enough to pay these, no doubt ?" 
 
 " It wiU bring in a good deal more." 
 
 " Who will get the surplus ? " 
 
 " Her family." 
 
 "Hadshe a family?" 
 
 " So it appears." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 As the man was now convinced that I had no bad intentions, he 
 bowed, and. I left the rooms. 
 
 Poor girl ! thought I, as I returned home, she must have died sadly 
 enough ; for in the world which she frequented friends only show them- 
 selves as long as a woman is in good health. And, in spite of myself, I 
 bewailed the fate of Marguerite Gautier. 
 
 This may perhaps appear ridiculous to many ; but I have an inex- 
 haustible stock of forbearance for courtesans ; and I do not trouble 
 myself even to argue about this compassion. 
 
 One day, going to the prefecture for my passport, I saw in one of 
 the neighbouring streets a girl between two gendarmes. I do not know 
 what she had done ; but all I can say is that she shed bitter tears, 
 while embracing a child, some few months old, from whom she was 
 separated through being arrested. Since then I have not been able to 
 despise any of these women whenever I chance to meet them. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 '' T 
 
 1 HE sale was fixed for the 1 6tli. 
 
 One day had been left between the 
 
 visiting days and the day of the sale, so 
 
 that the npholsterers might take down the 
 
 hangings, cnrtains, &c. 
 
 Just at that time I had returned from a journey, and, therefore, it 
 
 was quite natural that I had not heard of the death of Marguerite, 
 
 which is one of those pieces of news a man's friends always tell him 
 
 when he returns to the capital of gossip. Marguerite was pretty ; but 
 
8 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 though these women, -when alive, make a great deal of noise, very little 
 is heard of them after their death. They are suns which set as they 
 rise, without shedding any light. When they die young, their death is 
 known simultaneously to all their lovers ; for in Paris, nearly aU the 
 lovers of such a woman live on a footing of intimacy with one another. 
 Some few recollections of the deceased are exchanged in conversation ; 
 and then these gentlemen continue the even tenor of their life, without 
 such an accident causing them to shed even a single tear. 
 
 Now-a-days, when people are twenty-five, tears become so rare that 
 they cannot be bestowed on the first comer. At most, relatives, who pay 
 for it, are bewailed according to the sum of money they have left. 
 
 As to myself, although my initials were not on any of the articles 
 of Marguerite's toilet-table, that instinctive indulgence, that innate 
 feeling of pity, to which I have already pleaded guilty, caused me to 
 think of her death much longer perhaps than it deserved. 
 
 I remembered having often met Marguerite in the Champs Elysees, 
 in which she regularly drove every day, seated in an elegant brougham 
 drawn by two superb bays, and even then to have remarked that she 
 possessed an air of refinement very rare among girls of her class — a 
 refinement which was stiU enhanced by her almost matchless beauty. 
 
 These poor girls when they go out are always accompanied by some 
 person or other. 
 
 As no man willingly shows that he loves them, except when it is 
 dark, and as they have a horror of solitude, they always take with them 
 some woman, who, less fortunate than themselves, possesses no carriage ; 
 or some of those elderly belles who are elegantly dressed, though 
 nobody knows why, and to whom gentlemen can address themselves 
 without any hesitation when they wish to obtain some information 
 about the lady such women accompany. 
 
 But Marguerite did not behave thus ; she always came to the 
 Champs Elysees alone in her carriage, in which she showed herself as 
 little as possible, in winter wrapped in a large cashmere shawl, in 
 summer dressed very quietly ; and although she naturally met during 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 9 
 
 her favourite drive, many men whom she knew, if perchance she smiled 
 on them, the smile was visible to them only, and a duchess might have 
 smiled thus. 
 
 She did not drive between the " rond-point " and the entrance of the 
 Champs Elys^es, as was and is the practice of ladies like her : her pair 
 of horses bore her rapidly to the Bois. There she left her carriage, 
 walked for about an hour, entered it once more, and returned home at 
 full speed. 
 
 All these circumstances, of which I had often been a witness, 
 recurred to me, and I regretted the death of this girl, just as one regrets 
 a complete destruction of some fine work of art. 
 
 In fact, it was impossible to meet with a more perfect beauty than 
 Marguerite had been. 
 
 Tall, and at the same time very slender, she possessed in a superlative 
 degree the art of hiding this forgetfulness of nature by simply arranging 
 the dress she wore. Her cashmere shawl, the point of which reached 
 the ground, allowed to be seen the large flounces of a silk dress ; and the 
 thick muff which concealed her hands, and rested upon her chest, was 
 surrounded by drapery so skilfully arranged that, however fastidious the 
 beholder might be, he could not help being pleased by the general aspect. 
 
 Her head was charming, and a marvel in itself. It was very small, 
 and de Musset would have said that her mother must have taken 
 particular pains to shape it thus. 
 
 A pair of black eyes, surmounted by brows so perfectly arched that 
 they seemed as if pencilled, shone in an oval countenance of inde- 
 scribable charm. Imagine eyes with lashes so long that, when drooping, 
 they cast a shadow on the rosy tint of her cheeks ; a nose perfectly 
 straight gave an intelligent expression to her face, while the nostrils 
 slightly expanded by the ardent aspirations of a passionate temperament ; 
 a mouth regular in its form, with lips parted gracefully above teeth as 
 white as milk; a complexion tinged with that velvety down which 
 covers a peach that has never been touched ; and you can form an idea 
 of how that exquisite countenance looked. 
 
10 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 Her hair as black as jet, and curling naturally or artificially, parted 
 upon the forehead in two large bands, fastened at the back of her 
 head, exposed the tips of her ears, in which sparkled two diamonds 
 of the value of four or five thousand francs each. 
 
 How was it that the passionate life she led should have left Mar- 
 guerite the virgin-like, nay, even child-like expression which character- 
 ised her countenance ? We can only say that it was so, but we do 
 not pretend to understand it. 
 
 Marguerite had a beautiful portrait of herself, drawn by Vidal, the 
 only artist whose crayon could have reproduced her countenance. Since 
 her death, I have had that portrait, for some days, at my disposal, and its 
 likeness is so perfect, that it has been of use to me in giving some 
 details which otherwise might have slipped my memory, 
 
 I did not receive some of the particulars described in this chapter 
 till later on ; but I set them down now, so as to avoid the necessity of 
 going back to them when the story of this woman will be told. 
 
 Marguerite made it a point of going to all "first nights" at 
 theatres, and passed nearly every evening either there or in the ball- 
 room. Wherever a new piece was produced, she was sure to be pre- 
 sent, with three things which she always carried with her, and which 
 she placed in front of her box on the ground tier : her opera-glass, a 
 packet of " bonbons," and a bouquet of camellias. 
 
 Generally these camellias were white, sometimes they were red ; 
 but no one knew why she chose them of different colours, and the 
 " habitues " of the Paris theatres and her own friends had observed this 
 as well as myself. 
 
 Marguerite was never known to have any other flowers than camel- 
 lias, and eventually she came to be known at Madame Barjon's, the 
 florist from whom she purchased these flowers, as "the lady with the 
 camellias ; " and that name stuck to her. 
 
 Moreover, I knew as well as others who moved in a certain circle in 
 Paris, that Marguerite had been the mistress of some fashionable young 
 men; that she admitted it openly, and that they prided themselves 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. ii 
 
 upon it, which proved that lovers and mistress were satisfied with 
 each other. 
 
 However, for about three years past, after a visit to Bagnkes, it 
 was said that she lived exclusively with a foreign Duke of a certain 
 age, who was very rich, and endeavoured to keep her away, as much 
 as possible, from her former acquaintances ; and she appeared to yield 
 to this willingly. 
 
 The following details were told to me about her intimacy with the 
 Duke. 
 
 In the spring of 1842, Marguerite was so weak and so changed, 
 that her physicians ordered her to take the waters of Bagnkes ; and 
 she went there. 
 
 Among the patients at the baths was the daughter of the Duke 
 whom we have mentioned, and not only was she suffering from the 
 same disease as Marguerite, but she had also the same countenance, so 
 that these two girls might have been taken for sisters. But the young 
 Duchess was in the last stage of consumption, and died a few days 
 after Marguerite's arrival. 
 
 One morning the Duke, who lingered at Bagnkes, as one wiU 
 linger around the spot where one's affections are buried, saw Marguerite 
 in one of the walks. 
 
 It seemed to him that he had met the spirit of his child, and going 
 up to Marguerite, he clasped her hands, embraced her with tears in his 
 eyes, and, without asking who she was, implored permission to visit 
 her, and to cherish her as the living image of his lost daughter. 
 
 Marguerite, who was alone at Bagnferes with her maid, and was not 
 afraid of being compromised, granted the Duke that permission. 
 
 There were, however, at Bagnkes certain people who knew her, 
 
 and who were officious enough to go and tell the Duke what Marguerite 
 
 Gautier really was. This gave the old man a shock, for she was not 
 
 like his daughter in this respect. But the warning came too late ; the 
 
 young girl's society had become a necessity to him; it was his only 
 
 inducement to continue to live. 
 
 B 2 
 
12 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 He made no remark about her former life, for he had not the right 
 to do so, but he asked her to change her present mode of living, if 
 possible ; and offered her, in exchange for this sacrifice, whatever she 
 wished. She promised to do what he desired. 
 
 At the time we speak of, Marguerite, so impulsive by nature, was 
 very ill ; her past life appeared to her as one of the principal causes 
 of her illness ; and being rather superstitious, she hoped that Provi- 
 dence would leave to her her beauty and her health, in exchange for 
 her repentance and reformation. 
 
 And in fact, the waters, walking, the exercise she took, and her 
 going to bed at regular hours, had almost entirely cured her when the 
 summer was nearly over. 
 
 The Duke accompanied her to Paris, where he continued to visit 
 her daily, as he had done at Bagnferes. 
 
 This " liaison," of which the true origin and nature were not under- 
 stood by the public, produced a great sensation ; for the Duke, who was 
 well known to be immensely wealthy, now became notorious for his 
 prodigality. 
 
 The public supposed this old nobleman to be a profligate — ^which 
 is not unfrequently the case with rich old men — and hence his intimacy 
 with the young girl. People imagined everything except the truth. 
 
 However, the feelings of this bereaved father towards Marguerite 
 were so pure, that any other intimacy than that of mere affection would 
 have seemed unnatural to him, and he never addressed to her a single 
 word which his own daughter might not have heard. 
 
 It is far from my intention to make out our heroine anything else 
 than what she really was. As long as she remained at Bagnferes, the 
 promise which she had made to the Duke was not difficult to keep, and 
 she kept it faithfully ; but after her return to Paris, this young girl, 
 accustomed to a life of dissipation — to balls, and even to orgies — seemed 
 to think that solitude, only broken by the periodical visits of the Duke, 
 would soon kill her with weariness ; and the simoom of her former life 
 passed over her head and her heart. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 13 
 
 Add to this, that Marguerite had returned from her journey more 
 beautiful than ever, that she was only twenty, and that her iUness, 
 dormant but not extinct, continued to awaken in her those feverish 
 desires which are almost always produced by pulmonary affections. 
 
 The Duke felt it very much, when one day his friends, incessantly 
 on the watch for anything that could disgrace this young woman, with 
 whom he compromised himself, informed him, and proved to him, 
 that at certain hours, when she was sure he would not visit her, she 
 received other visitors, and that these persons sometimes stayed until 
 the next morning. 
 
 When she was asked if this were true. Marguerite acknowledged 
 that it was so, and advised the Duke, without any mental reservation, 
 not to trouble himself any more about her, for that she was unable to 
 keep the promise she had made him, and would no longer receive gifts 
 from a man whom she had deceived. 
 
 The Duke remained a whole week without making his appearance ; 
 but he could not stay away any longer, and on the eighth day he came 
 back, and asked Marguerite's permission to resume his visits, promising 
 to take her as she was, provided only that he might continue to see 
 her ; he also pledged his word that he would never utter a single 
 reproach, even if it should cost him his life. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs three months after the return of 
 Marguerite from Bagnferes ; that is to say, about the month of Novem- 
 ber or December 1842. 
 
.-a>'. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 On the 1 6th March at one o'clock 
 I went to the Eue d'Antin. 
 
 On entering the outer door the shouts of the auctioneer were 
 plainly heard. 
 
 The rooms were crowded. 
 
 Among the crowd were, of course, all the " celebrities " of elegant 
 vice, stealthily looked at by a few fashionable ladies, who had again 
 availed themselves of the excuse of a public sale to have an oppor- 
 tunity- of coming into close contact with females whom they could not 
 meet on any other occasion, and whose facile pleasures some of them, 
 perhaps, envied in secret. 
 
1 6 . THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 The Duchess of F .... stood side by side with Mademoiselle A 
 
 one of the saddest examples of modern demireps ; the Marchioness of 
 J . . . . hesitated in buying a piece of furniture for which Madame 
 D . . . ., the most elegant, and the most notoriously faithless wife of 
 our day, was also bidding ; the Duke of Y . . . ., who is believed in 
 Madrid to be ruining himself in Paris, and in Paris to be ruining him- 
 seK in Madrid, and who, after all, does not even spend his income, 
 while talking with Madame M . . . ., one of our cleverest female 
 novelists, who, now and then, is kind enough to vrrite down what 
 she says, and to sign what she writes, was exchanging confidential 
 glances with Madame N . . . ., that lovely frequenter of the Champs- 
 Elysees, where she almost always appears in either pink or blue, with 
 her carriage drawn by a pair of large black horses, bought at Tony's 
 for ten thousand francs, and for which she paid ready cash ; and 
 finally. Mademoiselle E . . . ., who, by her mere talent, made twice as 
 much money as great ladies receive as a dowry, and three times as 
 much as others make by their amours, had come, in spite of the cold, 
 to make some purchases, and she was as great an object of attention 
 as any one in the room. 
 
 We could mention many more initials of people assembled in these 
 rooms, and who were quite astonished to meet one another there, but 
 we refrain for fear of wearying our readers. 
 
 I observed that every one was in a very merry mood, and though 
 many who were present had known the departed, no one appeared 
 even to remember that she had ever been in existence. 
 
 There was a good deal of boisterous laughing going on; the auctioneer 
 bawled loud enough ; the dealers, who had secured the benches around 
 the table, endeavoured, in vain, to obtain silence, for they " meant 
 business." There never was an assembly more mixed or more noisy. 
 
 I moved about quietly amidst all this hubbub, and felt sad 
 when I thought that it was taking place near the room where had 
 so recently expired the poor creature whose furniture they were now 
 selling ofi" to pay her debts. Having come to look on rather than to buy 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 17 
 
 anything, I noticed the faces of the tradesmen by whose orders the 
 sale took place, and whose features brightened each time some article 
 realised a higher price than they expected. 
 
 They were honest, those men who had speculated upon the prostitu- 
 tion of this young woman, who had gained cent per cent by her, who 
 had hunted her down with their legal notices during the last moments 
 of her life, and who came after her death to reap the fruits of their 
 honourable calculations, as well as the interest for the disgraceful credit 
 they had given. 
 
 The ancients were right in having but one and the same deity for 
 tradesmen and thieves ! 
 
 Dresses, shawls, and jewellery were being sold with incredible 
 rapidity. Nothing among all these things suited me, and I was stand- 
 ing by patiently. 
 
 Suddenly the auctioneer called out, 
 
 " A volume beautifully bound, with gilt edges, entitled, ' Manon 
 Lescaut.' There is something written upon the first page. Who will 
 bid ten francs for it ? " 
 
 " Twelve ! " said a voice, after a long pause. 
 
 " Fifteen ! " said I. 
 
 I really do not know why I said this. No doubt on account of the 
 " something written on the first page." 
 
 " Fifteen ! " cried the auctioneer. 
 
 " Thirty ! " exclaimed the original bidder, in a tone which seemed 
 to defy competition. 
 
 It looked as if there was going to be some opposition. 
 
 " Thirty-five ! " I shouted, with the same tone of voice as my 
 antagonist. 
 
 " Forty ! " 
 
 " Fifty ! " 
 
 " Sixty ! " 
 
 " One hundred ! " 
 
 I must admit that if I had tried to cause some sensation, I perfectly 
 
 c 
 
1 8 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 succeeded ; for after I had made this bid there was perfect silence, and 
 everybody looked to know who the gentleman was who seemed so bent 
 on getting hold of this volume. 
 
 The tone with which I pronounced this last bid appeared to have 
 decided my antagonist, for he abandoned a contest which only had 
 served to make me pay for this volume ten times more than it was 
 worth ; and, bowing to me, he was polite enough to say, although it 
 was rather late in the day, 
 
 " The book is yours, sir." 
 
 As nobody made another bid, I became the purchaser of the volume. 
 
 I was afraid that I would be obstinate enough to bid for something 
 else, and then persist in buying it, which would certainly have drained 
 my purse ; and therefore I gave my address to the auctioneer's clerk, 
 told him to keep the volume for me, and went away. No doubt, many 
 people who witnessed this scene must have asked themselves why I paid 
 one hundred francs for a book which I could have bought anywhere 
 else for ten or fifteen francs at most. 
 
 About an hour afterwards I sent for my purchase. 
 
 Upon a blank leaf at the beginning of the volume was written in an 
 elegant hand the following words — the dedication of the giver of the 
 book — 
 
 " MANON TO MARGUEEITE. 
 HUMILITY." 
 
 and this was signed " Armand Duval." 
 
 What was the meaning of this word " Humility " ? 
 
 Had Manon recognised in Marguerite, according to the opinion of 
 Monsieur Duval, a superiority of profligacy or of passion ? 
 
 This second interpretation was the most probable, because the first 
 was an impertinent truth, which Marguerite would never have tolerated, 
 whatever she may have thought about herself, 
 
 I again went out, and forgot all about the book, but remembered it 
 when I was going to bed. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 19 
 
 Certainly "Manon Lescaut" is a touching narrative, of which I 
 know every detail ; and, nevertheless, whenever I get hold of it, I feel 
 my sympathy always revive ; I open the book, and for the hundredth 
 time I follow the adventures of the Abbd Provost's heroine, who is 
 so lifelike, that I seem actually to have known her. Through the 
 exceptional purchase of the volume, the comparison between her and 
 Marguerite gave it a fresh attraction. I perused it again, and my 
 sympathy and pity became almost a feeling of affection for the poor 
 girl, at whose sale I had bought this book. Manon had died in a 
 desert, it is true, but in the arms of a man who loved her with his 
 whole heart, and who, when she was dead, dug a grave for her with 
 his own hands, bedewed it with his tears, and left his heart behind ; 
 whilst Marguerite, a sinner like Manon, and perhaps as repenting, died 
 in the midst of splendour, if I could believe what I had seen, on the 
 very bed in which she had passed many a night ; but in a desert of the 
 heart, far more arid, far more boundless, and far more pitiless, than 
 where Manon had been buried. 
 
 Marguerite, indeed, as some of her friends, who knew everything 
 about her death, told me, had found no one to sit with her and console 
 her during the two months her lingering illness lasted. 
 
 From Manon and from Marguerite my thoughts went back towards 
 those women whom I knew, and whom I could see hurrying towards 
 inevitable death with songs upon their lips. 
 
 Poor creatures ! If it be wrong to love them, the least one can do 
 is to pity them. We pity the blind, who have never seen the light of 
 day ; the deaf, who have never listened to the harmonies of nature ; the 
 dumb, who have never been able to give utterance to their heartfelt 
 feelings ; — and yet, through a sham pretence of prudery, we do not wish 
 to pity that blindness of the heart, that deafness of the soul, that dumb- 
 ness of the conscience, which madden and benumb these unhappy 
 creatures, and render them incapable of seeing what is good, of 
 hearing the voice of God, and of speaking the pure language of love 
 
 and faith. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 Victor Hugo has created " Marion Delorme ; " de Musset has called 
 " Bemerette " into heing ; Dumas has described " Femande." The 
 thinkers and the poets of all times have brought to the courtesan the 
 offering of their sympathy ; and sometimes a large-hearted man has 
 rehabilitated them by his love, and even has given them his name. If 
 I insist upon this point, it is because among those who, perhaps, will 
 read this book, many may be prepared to throw it aside, thinking that 
 they will only find in it an apology for vice and for prostitution ; and 
 the author's years, no doubt, may contribute to this apprehension. 
 Those who think so are mistaken ; they can continue to read this book, 
 if only this fear deters them. 
 
 I am honestly convinced of this principle : that to women to whom 
 education has not taught what is right. Providence opens almost 
 always two paths which lead to Him ; those two paths are suffering 
 and love. These paths are difficult to tread, and those who wander in 
 them must be prepared to see their feet covered with blood, and their 
 hands torn to pieces ; but, at the same time, they leave on the thorns on 
 the way the gewgaws of vice, and reach the goal in that state of nudity 
 for which they need not blush before the Lord, 
 
 Those who meet such courageous female travellers are bound to 
 assist them, and to declare openly that they have met them ; for in 
 making this fact known they point out the road to others. 
 
 But it does not do merely to put up, as it were, at the entrance of life 
 two guide-posts, on one of which is written, " The road to what is right," 
 and on the other, " The road to what is vsTong," and then to say to 
 those who present themselves, " Choose ! " We ought, as our Lord has 
 done, show the path which leads from the second road to the first to 
 those who are being tempted on the way ; and above all, we ought not 
 to make the beginning of this path too difficult, or make it appear too 
 inaccessible. 
 
 Christianity is before us, with its marvellous parable of the prodigal 
 son, to teach us forbearance and clemency. Christ was full of love for 
 souls wounded by human passions, whose wounds He loved to heal, 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 21 
 
 applying to them the balm which was to cure them, and which was 
 extracted from the wounds themselves. Thus He said of Mary 
 Magdalene, "Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved 
 much," — a sublimity of forgiveness which must have kindled a faith 
 no less sublime ! 
 
 Why should we be more severe than our Lord was ? Why should 
 we, in holding obstinately to the opinions of the world, which pretends 
 to be harsh, that it may seem strong, why should we repulse those 
 souls, often bleeding from wounds through which oozes the evil of 
 their past life, like the bad blood of a diseased person, only waiting 
 for the touch of a friendly hand to be healed ? 
 
 I address myself to my own generation, to those for whom the theories 
 of Voltaire happily no longer exist ; to those who, like myseK, are weU 
 aware that humanity, within the last fifteen years, has made one of its 
 boldest forward strides. We know what is right and what is wrong ; 
 belief is springing up again ; respect for holy things is restored to us ; 
 and if the world is not altogether as it ought to be, it is at least 
 better than it was. The thoughts of aU intelligent men tend to the 
 same end, and all great minds are united in the same principle : " Let 
 us be virtuous ! let us be young ; let us be truthful ! Evil is vanity : 
 let us have the pride of virtue ; and, above all, let us not despair ; 
 let us not despise the woman who is neither a mother, a daughter, 
 nor a wife ; let us not esteem our family alone ; let us not reduce our 
 forbearance to mere egotism, since 'joy shall be in heaven over one 
 sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, 
 which need no repentance ; ' let us endeavour to create such rejoicing 
 on high, for Heaven wiU render it to us again tenfold ; let us leave upon 
 the road the alms of our clemency for those whom earthly desires have 
 led astray, but who will be saved, perhaps, by the expectation of a better 
 world ; and, as old women say, when they advise a man to take some 
 medicine which they have concocted, * If it does not do any good, it 
 cannot do any harm.' " 
 
 Certainly it must appear very bold that I should wish to draw such 
 
2 2 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 grand results from the unimportant subject I am writing about; but I 
 am one of those men who believe that the smallest thing contains the 
 germ of the greatest. The infant is small, and yet the man is contained 
 therein ; the brain is confined, and yet thought dwells in it ; the eye is 
 but a point, yet it grasps a large space. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The sale lasted two days, and produced a hundred and fifty 
 thousand francs. 
 
 Two-thirds of this went to the creditors, and the remainder to 
 Marguerite's relatives, — her sister and her nephew. 
 
24 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 When the notary wrote to the sister that Marguerite had left her 
 fifty thousand francs, she must have been rather astonished. 
 
 It was six or seven years since that sister had seen Marguerite, who 
 left her home on a certain day, and had never communicated, either 
 direct or indirect, any particulars of her life from the time she had 
 disappeared. 
 
 The friends of Marguerite were very much astonished when they 
 saw that her only sister was a buxom fine-looking country lass, who, 
 until then, had never left her native village. 
 
 She found herself wealthy all at once, without knowing even from 
 what source this unexpected fortune had come to her. 
 
 I have been told that she returned quickly to the country, very sad 
 for her sister's death ; but, nevertheless, somewhat consoled by investing 
 her money in the four-and-a-half per cents. 
 
 All these facts were reported in Paris, — that great city that originates 
 every kind of scandal, — and they had begun to be forgotten. I also 
 had almost ceased to think about the little share I had had in the 
 matter, when a fresh incident made me acquainted with the entire 
 history of Marguerite, and with details so touching that they inspired 
 me with a desire to write this narrative ; and that is why I have 
 written it. 
 
 The rooms in which she had formerly lived were empty, and had 
 been to let for three or four days, when one morning there was a ring 
 at the door of my rooms. 
 
 My servant, or rather the " portier," who acted as my servant, opened 
 the door, returned with a visiting-card, and informed me that the 
 gentleman who had handed it to him wished to speak to me. 
 
 I glanced at the card and read the name : 
 
 " Armand Duval." 
 
 I tried to remember where I had seen that name before, and I recol- 
 lected that it was written on the fly-leaf of the novel " Manon Lescaut." 
 
 What could the gentleman, who had given this book to Marguerite, 
 want with me ? I told the servant to show him in immediately. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 25 
 
 A young man entered, fair, tall, and very pale, dressed in a travelling 
 costume, which he seemed not to have changed for some days, nor 
 even to have taken the trouble of brushing it since he arrived in 
 Paris, for it was covered with dust. \ 
 
 Monsieur Duval was greatly moved, and made no effort to conceal it ; 
 it was with tears in his eyes, and with a trembling voice, that he said 
 to me, " Sir, I hope you will excuse my visit and my dress. Young 
 men make no compliments with one another; moreover, I was so 
 anxious to see you this very day that I have not even taken the time 
 to go to the hotel, where I sent my trunks, but have come directly 
 to you for fear that you might be out, notwithstanding it being so 
 early." 
 
 I begged Monsieur Duval to sit down near the fire ; and he did so, 
 while taking out his pocket handkerchief which he pressed to his face. 
 
 " You must be at a loss to understand," he remarked, smiling sadly, 
 " what such an unknown visitor as I am can be wanting of you at this 
 hour, in such a dress, and shedding tears, as he does. I come, in 
 short, to ask you to render me a great service." 
 
 " Pray speak, sir, I am wholly at your disposal." 
 
 " Were you present when Marguerite Gautier's goods were sold ? " 
 
 On asking this question, the young man could no longer suppress 
 his emotion, and was obliged to shed tears in spite of himself. 
 
 " I am sure I must appear very ridiculous to you," he added ; " pray 
 excuse me, and believe me that I shall never forget the patience with 
 which you have been kind enough to listen to me." 
 
 " Sir," I replied, " if the service which I appear to be able to 
 render to you can soothe, more or less, your sorrow, tell me as quickly 
 as possible in what way I can be of any use to you, and I shall be most 
 happy to do anything I can." 
 
 The sorrow of the young man affected me, and involuntarily I 
 should have liked to befriend him. 
 
 He asked me : 
 
 "You bought something at Marguerite Gautier's sale?" 
 
2 6 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " Yes, sir, a single volume." 
 
 " ' Manon Lescaut ? ' " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " Is that book still in your possession ? " 
 
 " It is in my bedroom." 
 
 When be heard that I stiU had that work he appeared much 
 relieved, and thanked me, as though I had already begun to render 
 hinj a service by keeping it. 
 
 I got up, went into my bedroom to fetch the book, and handed it 
 to him. 
 
 " This is indeed the very volume," and some big tears fell upon its 
 pages. 
 
 "May I ask, sir," looking steadfastly at me, and in vain 
 endeavouring to conceal that he had been weeping, and was ready 
 to weep again, " may I ask if you attach any value to this book 1 " 
 
 " Why do you ask, sir ? " 
 
 " Because I have come here to beg you to let me have it." 
 
 " Pardon my curiosity," I said, " but did you give the book to 
 Marguerite Gautier ? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " The book is yours, sir, take it ; I am happy to be able to return 
 it to you." 
 
 " But," replied Monsieur Duval, with some embarrassment, " the least 
 thing I can do is to repay you the sum you paid for it." 
 
 " Allow me to beg your acceptance of it. The price of a volume 
 at such a sale is a mere trifle, and I do not remember how much I 
 gave for it." 
 
 "You paid one hundred francs for it." 
 
 " That is true," I said, embarrassed in my turn. " But how do you 
 know ? " 
 
 " That was not very difficult to find out. I expected to be in Paris in 
 time for the sale, but I only arrived this morning ; I was anxious to get 
 something or other which had belonged to Marguerite, and I hastened 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 27 
 
 to the auctioneer and asked his permission to look over the list of 
 articles sold, and the purchasers' names. I then saw that you had 
 bought this book, and I resolved to entreat you to let me have it, 
 although the price which you paid for it made me fear that you yourself 
 wished to remember her, and had, therefore, bought this volume." 
 
 Whilst saying these words, Armand was evidently impressed with 
 the idea that I had known Marguerite in the same way that he had 
 known her. 
 
 I hastened to disabuse him. " I only knew Mademoiselle Gautier by 
 sight," I said ; " her death impressed me as the death of a pretty woman 
 always impresses a young man who was pleased now and then when he 
 saw her. I wished to buy something at the sale ; and I do not know 
 why I persisted in bidding for this volume, except for the satisfaction of 
 annoying a gentleman who was also eagerly bidding for it, and who 
 seemed to defy me to get it. I repeat therefore, sir, that this book is 
 entirely at your disposal, and I again beg you will accept it, not as if I 
 were an auctioneer, but in order that our acquaintance may last longer, 
 and become more intimate." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," said Armand, offering me his hand and clasping 
 mine. " I accept your offer, and shall be grateful to you as long as 
 I live." 
 
 I should have liked to have questioned Armand about Marguerite 
 and the dedication of the book, the journey which the young man had 
 made, and why he was so anxious to possess this volume, for it excited 
 my curiosity ; but I feared that my visitor would think that I had only 
 refused his money to have the right of questioning him and of inter- 
 fering in his affairs. 
 
 It appeared that he guessed what I wished to know, for he asked 
 me — 
 
 " Have you read this volume ? " 
 
 " Throughout," was the answer. 
 
 " What did you think of the two lines written by me at the 
 beginning ? " 
 
28 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " I saw at once that in your eyes this poor girl to whom you had 
 given that volume was removed from the ordinary category of her class ; 
 for I did not imagine that you wished to express in those few words a 
 commonplace compliment." 
 
 "You are right, sir; that girl was an angel. Kead this letter," he 
 said. 
 
 And he handed me a letter which had evidently been perused 
 innumerable times. 
 
 I opened it, and read as follows : — 
 
 " My dear Armand, — I have received your letter ; you are §till as kind 
 as ever, and I thank Heaven for it. Yes, my friend, I am ill indeed, and 
 I cannot be cured ; but the interest which you still take in me, greatly 
 diminishes my sufferings. I doubt if I shall live long enough to have 
 the happiness of again pressing the hand that wrote the kind letter I 
 have just received, and which would cure me, if anything could do so. 
 I shall not see you again, for I am dying, and hundreds of leagues 
 separate you from me. My poor friend ! your Marguerite of former 
 days is very much changed, and it is perhaps better that you should not 
 see her again, than see her as she is now. You ask me if I forgive 
 you ? With all my heart I do so, my friend ; for the harm you wished 
 to do me was but a proof of the love which you felt for me. I have 
 been confined to my bed for a month, and I care so much for your good 
 opinion, that I every day write in my diary what has happened from 
 the time when we parted until the moment when I shall no longer have 
 the strength to write any more. 
 
 "If you really feel any interest in me, Armand, call when you 
 return on Julie Duprat, who will hand you my diary. You will then 
 learn the reason and the excuse for my behaviour towards you. Julie 
 has been very kind to me; we often talk about you when we are 
 together. She was with me when your letter arrived, and we both 
 wept over it. 
 
 " In case 1 do not hear from you again, she has promised me to let 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 29 
 
 you have these papers on your return. Do not thank me for sending 
 you this daily contemplation of myself. It does me a great deal of 
 good, and forms the only happy moment of my life. If you discover, 
 on reading these pages, an excuse for my past conduct, I find in writing 
 them a continual relief to my feelings. 
 
 " I should like to leave you some trifle which would recall me for 
 ever to your mind ; but everything is seized in my rooms, and nothing 
 belongs to me. 
 
 " Can you imagine my feelings, my friend ? I am about to die, and 
 from my bedroom I hear the very men walking about in the drawing- 
 room whom my creditors have placed there, in order to see that nothing 
 is removed, and that nothing remains to me, if I should happen not to 
 die. I hope they will wait till aU is over before beginning the sale. 
 
 " Men are pitiless ! — or rather, I deceive myself; it is Heaven which 
 is just and inflexible ! 
 
 " Dearly beloved, you will come to the sale, and you will buy 
 something there ; for if I were to put the smallest thing aside for you, , 
 it might be discovered ; and these people would be capable of prosecut- 
 ing you for taking away goods that have been seized. 
 
 " It is a sad life which I am about to quit ! 
 
 " How kind Providence would be if it allowed me to behold you 
 once more before I die. But, according to all probability, I have to bid 
 you adieu, my friend. Pardon my not finishing this letter, but the 
 gentlemen who promised to cure me have exhausted me by bleeding, 
 and my hand is unable to write any more. 
 
 "Marguerite Gautier." 
 
 In fact, the last words were scarcely legible. 
 
 I returned the letter to Armand, who had been conning it over again 
 mentally while I was perusing it ; for as he took it he said to me : 
 
 " Who could ever have believed that it was a demirep who wrote 
 these words ; " and again overcome by his recollections, he looked for 
 some time at the letter, and at length pressed it to his lips. 
 
30 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " And when I think," he resumed, " that she died without my being 
 able to see her, and that I shall never see her again, — when I think 
 that she has done for me more than a sister would have done, — I cannot 
 forgive myself for having left her to die thus. She died whilst thinking 
 of me, whilst she was writing to me and uttering my name. Poor, dear 
 Marguerite ! " 
 
 And Armand, expressing these thoughts aloud, and shedding tears, 
 gave me his hand and continued : 
 
 " People would consider me very childish if they saw me bewail the 
 death of such a girl as Marguerite was, but they do not know what 
 I made her suffer ; how cruel I have been to her, and how kind and 
 submissive she has been. I fancied that I should have to forgive her, 
 and at this present moment I find myself unworthy of the pardon which 
 she grants me. I would give ten years of my life to shed tears for 
 one hour at her feet." 
 
 It is always difiicult to soothe a grief of which the cause is unknown 
 to you ; however, I felt so much sympathy for this young man who so 
 frankly made me the confidant of his sorrows, that I thought I had 
 better say a few words to him, and I asked him : 
 
 " Have you no relatives, no friends ? Do not despair ; go and see 
 them, and they will console you, for I can only pity you." 
 
 " You are right," he said, getting up from his chair and walking 
 up and down the room. " I weary you ; forgive me for not remem- 
 bering that my grief can be of little consequence to you, and that I am 
 troubling you with a matter which can have no interest for you." 
 
 " You entirely misconstrue the meaning of my words ; I would 
 gladly serve you, and I only regret my inability to allay your sorrows. 
 If my company and that of my friends can divert your thoughts — if, in 
 short, you have need of me in any way whatever, be assured that I 
 shall be delighted to be of use to you." 
 
 " Forgive me," he replied ; " grief exaggerates my sensations ; allow 
 me to remain here a few minutes longer, to dry my tears, so that the 
 idlers in the street may not look as a curiosity upon the big lout who 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 31 
 
 is weeping. You have made me very happy by giving me this volume ; 
 I shall never know how to be grateful enough for what you have done 
 for me." 
 
 " You will be grateful enough if you will grant me your friendship," 
 I said to Armand, " and if you wiU tell me the cause of your grief. 
 People are consoled by relating their sufferings." 
 
 " You are right ; but to-day my tears prevent me, and I could 
 only utter incoherent words. Another day I wiU teU you my history, 
 and you shall judge whether I am right in mourning for this poor girl. 
 And now," he added, wiping his eyes once more and looking at himself 
 in the glass, " let me hear you say that you have not thought me too 
 foolish, and permit me to come and see you again." 
 
 The young man looked so amiable and gentle, that I was almost 
 going to embrace him. 
 
 Tears came again in his eyes, and as I looked at him he turned 
 away his head. 
 
 " Do not despair, my friend," said I. 
 
 He bade me farewell. 
 
 Then, doing his utmost to prevent his shedding any more tears, he 
 left my rooms as quickly as possible. 
 
 I raised my window curtains and saw him enter a cab which was 
 waiting at the door ; but hardly had he taken his seat than he burst 
 once more into tears, and buried his face in his handkerchief 
 
CHAP. V. 
 
 I HEAED 
 
 nothing more 
 of Armand for a 
 considerable 
 time ; but, on 
 the other hand, Marguerite was very frequently the subject of con- 
 versation. 
 
 You may have observed that if a person's name who apparently 
 
34 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 was going to remain unknown or at any rate was indifferent to you, 
 be once pronounced in your presence, certain details commence 
 to crop up, and suddenly all your friends will talk about him of 
 whom they had never spoken before. Then you will learn that you 
 have almost been brought into contact with that person, who many 
 times crossed your path without being observed, and you will dis- 
 cover in the events that are told you a coincidence, an actual affinity 
 with certain events of yoixr own life. I was not exactly in this position 
 with regard to Marguerite, as I had seen her, met her, knew her by 
 sight, and also knew her daily habits. Nevertheless, since that sale, 
 her name was dinned so often in my ears, and in the visit mentioned 
 in the previous chapter that name had been pronounced by Armand 
 with so heartfelt an emotion, that I became more and more astonished, 
 whilst my curiosity was aroused. 
 
 Hence whenever I met an acquaintance to whom I had never before 
 mentioned Marguerite's name I asked him : 
 
 " Did you know Marguerite Gautier ? " 
 
 " The ' Lady with the Camellias ' ? " 
 
 " The very same." 
 
 " Oh, quite well ! " 
 
 This "quite well "was in many cases accompanied by a smile which 
 was meant to be very expressive. 
 
 " Well, what sort of a girl was she ? " I continued. 
 
 "A very kind-hearted girl." 
 
 " Is that aU you know about her ? " 
 
 " Good Heavens, yes ! She was perhaps more intelligent and had 
 more feeling than other girls of her class." 
 
 " Do you know anything particular about her ? " 
 
 " Yes, she ruined the Baron de G . . . ." 
 
 " Only that ? " 
 
 " She has been the mistress of the old Duke of B . . . ." 
 
 " Was she, indeed, his mistress ? " 
 
 " People say so. He gave her a good deal of money." 
 
 I always heard the same story. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 35 
 
 However, I was anxious to learn something about the "liaison" 
 between Marguerite and Armand. 
 
 One day I met a gentleman who was intimately acquainted with 
 many of those women, and I asked him if he had ever known Marguerite. 
 He replied : 
 
 " Ouite well." 
 
 " What sort of a girl was she ? " 
 
 " A very handsome and a very kind-hearted girl. I was sorry to 
 hear she was dead." 
 
 " Was her lover not a certain Armand Duval ? " 
 
 " A tall, fair young man ? " 
 
 " The same." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Who was this Armand ? " 
 
 "A young man who spent with her the little money he had, I 
 imagine, and then was obliged to leave her. People say he was madly 
 in love with her." 
 
 "And she?" 
 
 "They also say that she was very much attached to him, but as 
 such girls are attached. One must not expect from them more than 
 they can give." 
 
 " What has become of Armand ? " 
 
 "I do not know. I was very slightly acquainted with him. He 
 lived for five or six months with Marguerite in the country ; but, when 
 she returned to Paris, he went away." 
 
 " You have not seen him since ? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 Neither had I seen Armand again. I began to ask myself whether 
 
 at the time of his visit to me, when he had just heard of Marguerite's 
 
 death, his former love for her had not become somewhat exaggerated, 
 
 and his grief as well ; and I said to myself that he had perhaps already 
 
 forgotten the young woman who was dead, and the promise he had 
 
 made to come and pay me another visit. 
 
 E 2 
 
36 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 This supposition would have appeared probable enough in the case 
 of any other person ; but in the grief of Armand there was such an 
 accent of sincerity that, going to the other extreme, I fancied that his 
 sorrow might have made him ill, and that the reason why I had not 
 heard from him was that he was iU, and perhaps dead. 
 
 I could not help feeling an interest in this young man. Perhaps 
 there was a dash of selfishness in this interest; perhaps I thought 
 that underneath this grief there was a sad story of wounded affections ; 
 and, finally, perhaps my desire to learn that story had much to do with 
 the anxiety I felt about not hearing from Armand, 
 
 As Monsieur Duval had not come back to me, I resolved to pay, 
 him a visit. It was not difficult to find a pretext ; but unfortunately 
 I did not know his address, and no one among all those whom I asked 
 could tell me where he lived. 
 
 I went to the Eue d'Antin, and thought perhaps the "portier" 
 might know Armand's address, but there was a new "portier," and 
 he knew no more about it than I did. I then asked him where 
 Marguerite had been buried, and heard that it was at the cemetery of 
 Montmartre. 
 
 It was the beginning of April. The weather was fine, and the 
 graves would no longer look as desolate as during winter. In fact, it 
 was warm enough for the living to remember the dead and pay them 
 a visit. I went to the cemetery saying to myself that a single glance 
 at the grave would show me whether the grief of Armand stiU lasted 
 and would tell me, perhaps, what had become of him. 
 
 I entered the keeper's lodge and asked him if on the 22nd of 
 February a female named Marguerite Gautier had been buried in that 
 cemetery. 
 
 He turned over the leaves of a big book, in which were inscribed 
 and numbered the names of all those who took up their last abode 
 there, and informed me that, in truth, on the 22nd of February at noon 
 a young woman of that name had been interred there. 
 
 I asked him to show me her grave, for there is no means of finding, 
 without a guide, one's way in the city of the dead, which has its streets 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 37 
 
 like the cities of the living. The keeper summoned the gardener, to 
 whom he gave some orders, but who interrupted him by saying, "I 
 know, I know ; " and then turning towards me observed : " the grave 
 is easy to be recognised." 
 
 "Why so?" I asked. 
 
 "Because there are flowers on it, quite different from any other 
 grave." 
 
 " Do you take care of these flowers ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I wish all relatives took such care of the dead as the 
 young gentleman does, who especially ordered me to look after that 
 new grave." 
 
 After a few turns the gardener paused, saying, " Here it is." 
 
 Before me was a little plot of flowers which one would never have 
 supposed to be a grave, if a white marble tablet had not borne 
 Marguerite's name. 
 
 This marble tablet was set up vertically, whilst an iron railing 
 enclosed the ground, covered with white camellias. 
 
 " What do you say to that ? " the gardener asked. 
 
 "It is very beautiful." 
 
 "And every time a camellia fades, I have orders to replace it." 
 
 " Who gave you this order ? " 
 
 " A young gentleman who shed a good many tears the first time he 
 came. A former lover of the deceased, no doubt, for it appears she 
 was a fast young woman, and people say she had been very pretty. Did 
 you know her, sir ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " As well as the other gentleman ? " asked the gardener, with a 
 significant smile, 
 
 "No, I have never even spoken to her." 
 
 " And yet you come here to see her ! Well that is kind of you, 
 for those who come to visit the poor thing do not crowd the cemetery." 
 
 " No one comes here then ? " 
 
 " Not a soul, except that young gentleman who came once." 
 
 " Only once ? " 
 
38 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And lie has never come again since ? " 
 
 " No ; but he will when he comes back." 
 
 " He has gone on a journey then ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Do you know where he has gone to ? " 
 
 " I believe he has gone to see Mademoiselle Gautier's sister." 
 
 " Why has he gone there ? " 
 
 " To ask her permission to have the body taken up again, and to 
 have it buried somewhere else." 
 
 " Why should he not leave her here ? " 
 
 "You know, sir, that people have strange ideas about the dead. 
 We see that every day. This grave has been bought only for five years, 
 and the young gentleman wishes to have a grave for her in perpetuity, 
 and a larger plot of ground as well. It will be much finer in the new 
 part of the cemetery." 
 
 *' What do you call the new part of the cemetery ? " 
 
 " The new graves that are now for sale on the left. If this cemetery 
 had always been managed as it is now, there would not be one in the 
 world to compare with it. But there is a good deal to do yet before it 
 is as it should be. Moreover, people have their fancies." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " WeU, I mean that there are people who are proud even here. It 
 appears that this Mademoiselle Gautier led rather a fast life ; I beg 
 your pardon for saying it. Now the poor thing is dead, and there 
 remains just as much of her as of those against whom there is nothing 
 to say, and whose graves we water every day. Well, when the friends 
 of those who are buried by the side of Mademoiselle Gautier heard 
 what she had been, they got it into their heads to object to her being 
 here ; and they said that such kind of women ought to be buried 
 in a place by themselves, just as paupers are ! Did you ever hear 
 anything like it ? I gave a bit of my mind to these sleek citizens — 
 who do not come here four times a year to see their dead, and who 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 39 
 
 bring their own flowers with them,, and such flowers ! — who grudge the 
 expense of keeping up the graves of those for whom they pretend to 
 weep ; who have carved on these tombs regrets they never felt, and 
 who now come to raise difficulties about who lies in the vicinity of their 
 relatives. You can believe me or not, sir ; I did not know this young 
 girl, and I do not know what she has done. WeU, I like her, the poor 
 little thing ; and I take care of her, and I provide her with camellias 
 at the lowest price. She is my favourite. We gardeners of cemeteries 
 are compelled almost to love the dead, for we are so busy that we 
 hardly have any time to love anybody else." 
 
 I looked at this fellow, and my readers will understand, without 
 my entering into details, with what emotion I listened to him. 
 He probably perceived it, for he continued : 
 
 " They say that many people have ruined themselves for that girl, 
 and that she had lovers who adored her ! Well, it seems odd and 
 pitiful, but not one of them ever comes here to see her, nor even to buy 
 her a single flower. Yet she has no reason to complain, for she has 
 some one to remember her, and he does as much for her as all the 
 others would do. But we have here girls of the same class and of 
 about the same age ; and I feel it when I see their poor bodies thrown 
 into the grave, and not a single soul caring for them when once they 
 are dead. Our business is not always agreeable, especially if we have 
 any heart or feeling left. I cannot help it, it is not my fault ; I have 
 a fine handsome daughter at home who is about twenty ; and sometimes 
 when they bring here a dead girl of her own age, whether it be a fine 
 lady or a poor wanderer, I cannot help feeling for her. 
 
 " But I weary you with my talk, and it is not to listen to me that 
 you have come here. I was told to show you the grave of Mademoiselle 
 Gautier. There it is. Can I do anything else for you ? " 
 " Do you know the address of Monsieur Armand Duval ? " 
 " Yes sir ; he lives in ... . Street, at least I go there to get paid 
 for those fiowers." 
 
 "Thank you, my friend." 
 
40 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 I cast a last look upon this grave covered with flowers, and should 
 have liked to have penetrated to the bottom to see what change had 
 been produced in this beautiful creature who was buried there ; and 
 then I walked away full of thought. 
 
 " Should you like to see Monsieur Duval ? " said the gardener, who 
 walked beside me. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I am sure he has not come back, for, otherwise, we should have 
 seen him here." 
 
 " You are quite sure then that he has not forgotten Marguerite ? " 
 
 " I am quite sure of it. I am convinced that his anxiety to have 
 the grave changed is only because he wants to see her once more." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 "The first words he said to me when he entered the cemetery 
 were to ask what he could do to see her again ? That could only be 
 managed by changing her grave, and I gave him all the necessary 
 information for getting the permission for this alteration. You see, in 
 order to remove the dead from one tomb to another, it is necessary to 
 get the sanction of the family, who alone can authorise such a removal, 
 which must take place in the presence of a commissary of police. 
 Now, Monsieur Duval has gone to Marguerite Gautier's sister to obtain 
 her sanction, and therefore his first visit on his return will certainly 
 be to our place." 
 
 We had reached the gates of the cemetery. I thanked the gardener 
 anew, and handed him some small coins ; then I went to the address 
 he had given me. 
 
 Armand had not yet returned. 
 
 I left a note for him, in which I asked him to come and see me as 
 soon as possible, or to let me know where I could find him. 
 
 Two days afterwards, early in the morning, I received a reply from 
 Monsieur Duval, in which he informed me that he had come back, and 
 begged me to call on him, as he was completely worn out, and quite 
 unable to leave the house. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I FOUND Armand in bed. ; 
 
 On seeing me, he held out his hand, which was very hot. 
 " You are feverish," I said. 
 
 " That is nothing ; it is only the fatigue of a quick journey," 
 " You have been to Marguerite's sister ? " 
 " Yes ; but how did you know that ? " 
 " I know it. Did you get the permission you wanted ? " 
 " Yes ; but who told you that I had gone there, and why I went 
 there ? " 
 
42 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " The gardener of the cemetery." 
 
 " Have you seen the grave ? " 
 
 I hardly dared to answer ; for the tone of his voice showed that the 
 young man was still a prey to the emotion which I had witnessed, and that 
 every time his thoughts or the words of others led to this painful sub- 
 ject, his feelings would overpower him involuntarily for a long time yet. 
 
 I contented myself, therefore, with replying by a mere nod of the 
 head. 
 
 " Has he taken care of it ? " asked Armand. 
 
 Some big tears rolled down the cheeks of the invalid, who turned 
 away his head to hide them. I pretended not to have seen them, and 
 endeavoured to change the conversation. 
 
 " It is three weeks since you left," said I. 
 
 Armand passed his hands over his eyes, and replied, 
 
 " Yes, just three weeks." 
 
 " You have had a long journey ? " 
 
 " I have not been travelling all the time ; I was ill, or I should 
 have returned long since. Hardly had I arrived at the place where 
 Marguerite's sister lived, when I got an attack of fever, and was forced 
 to keep my bed." 
 
 " You came back again without being quite cured." 
 
 " If I had remained a week longer in the country I should have died." 
 
 " But now you have returned you must take care of yourself. Your 
 friends will come to see you, and, if you will allow me, I'll be one 
 of them." 
 
 " I shaU get up in a couple of hours." 
 
 " How imprudent ! " 
 
 " I must get up." 
 
 " Why this hurry ? " 
 
 " I must go to the Commissary of Police." 
 
 " Why do you not send some one else on this errand, which may 
 bring on a fresh attack of your illness 1 " 
 
 " It is the only thing that can cure me ; I must see her. Since I 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 43 
 
 heard she was dead, and especially since I have seen her grave, I 
 cannot sleep any more. I cannot imagine that this woman, whom I 
 left so young and so lovely, is dead ; I must assure myself of it ; I must 
 see what change Heaven has made in the being whom I loved so much, 
 and perhaps the horror of the spectacle will obliterate my despair and 
 my recollections. I trust you will accompany me, if it does not annoy 
 you too much." 
 
 " What did her sister say to you 1 " 
 
 " Nothing. She seemed very much astonished that a stranger 
 should wish to purchase a piece of ground, and erect a tomb for 
 Marguerite ; and she signed at once the authorisation I asked for." 
 
 " If you follow my advice, you will defer removing the body until 
 you are better." 
 
 " Believe me, I am quite strong. Moreover, my sorrow never leaves 
 me any rest ; and I shall grow mad if I do not as soon as possible 
 accomplish what I intend to do, I pledge you my word that I cannot 
 be quiet till I have seen Marguerite. It is perhaps a fancy, caused by 
 the fever that consumes me, a dream of my restless nights, a result of 
 my madness, but even if I were to become a Trappist, as Monsieur de 
 Rancd became after seeing the corpse of his beloved, I will see her. 
 
 " I can understand it," I said to Axmand, " and I am wholly at your 
 service. Have you seen Julie Duprat ? " 
 
 " Yes, I saw her the very day I returned." 
 
 " Has she given you the papers Marguerite left for you ? " 
 
 ** Here they are." 
 
 Armand drew a roll of paper from beneath his pillow, and instantly 
 put it back. 
 
 " I know these papers by heart," he said ; " for the last three weeks 
 I have read them ten times a day. You shall read them also, but later 
 on, when I am more calm, and then I can explain to you all the love 
 and affection this confession reveals. 
 
 " But now I have a service to ask of you." 
 
 " What do you wish me to do 1 " 
 
 P 2 
 
44 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " You have a carriage at the door ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Will you take my passport, go to the post-office, and ask if there 
 are any letters for me. My father and sister may have addressed them 
 ' poste restante,' and I left in such a hurry that I did not even inquire 
 if there were any before leaving. After you have done this, we can go 
 together to let the Commissary of Police know that the removal of the 
 body is going to take place to-morrow." 
 
 Armand handed me his passport, and I went to the post-office in the 
 Eue Jean-Jacques Rousseau. 
 
 There were two letters for Duval. I took them and went back to 
 his rooms. 
 
 When I returned, Armand was dressed and ready to go out. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, taking his letters. " Yes," added he, having 
 looked at the addresses ; " yes, they are from my father and sister ; 
 they must have been astonished at my silence." 
 
 He opened the letters, and did not read them, but rather guessed 
 their contents, for each of them was of four pages. After a few moments 
 he folded them up again, and said : " Let us go, I will answer these 
 to-morrow." 
 
 We went to the Commissary of Police, and Armand handed him the 
 authorisation from Marguerite's sister. 
 
 Thereupon, the Commissary gave him a letter for the keeper of the 
 cemetery, and it was arranged that the removal of the body should take 
 place the next day at ten o'clock in the morning ; that I should call for 
 him an hour before, and that we should go together to the cemetery. 
 
 I also was anxious to be present at this removal, and I confess that 
 I slept little that night. 
 
 If I am to judge from the thoughts that kept me awake, the night 
 must have been a long one for Armand. 
 
 When I entered his room at nine o'clock the next morning I found 
 him terribly pale ; but he seemed calm. 
 
 He smiled, and gave me his hand. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 45 
 
 His candles had burned down to the sockets, and before we went 
 out he took a very bulky letter addressed to his father, and containing 
 no doubt his impressions of the previous night. 
 
 Half an hour later we were at Montmartre. 
 
 The Commissary was waiting for us. 
 
 We walked slowly towards Marguerite's grave. The Commissary 
 went first, Armand and I followed close behind him. 
 
 From time to time I felt Armand's arm trembling convulsively, as if 
 he were seized with a sudden chiU. When I looked at him, he under- 
 stood my glance and smiled, but since we left his rooms we had not 
 exchanged a single word. 
 
 Shortly before we reached the grave, Armand stopped to wipe his 
 face, which was dripping with perspiration. 
 
 I took advantage of this pause to breathe myself, for I also felt 
 almost choking. 
 
 Whence comes the painful pleasure which one takes in spectacles of 
 this kind ? 
 
 We arrived at the grave. The gardener had already removed all 
 the flower-pots ; the iron railing had been taken away, and two men 
 were at work shovelling the earth. 
 
 Armand leaned against a tree and looked on. 
 
 His whole soul seemed to have passed into his eyes. 
 
 Presently one of the grave-diggers' spades struck against a stone. 
 
 At this sound, Armand drew back as if he had received an electric 
 shock, and squeezed my hand so violently that he hurt me. 
 
 The grave-digger now took a large shovel and gradually emptied the 
 grave ; then, when he came to the large stones which covered the coffin, 
 he threw them out one by one. 
 
 I observed Armand ; for I feared that at any moment his feelings, 
 which he visibly suppressed, might overpower him, but he continued 
 looking on with his eyes fixed and glaring, as if he were mad, and only 
 a slight quivering of the cheeks and lips showed that he was suffering 
 from violent nervous excitement. 
 
46 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 As for myself, I can say but one thing, that 1 wished I had not 
 come, 
 
 "When the coffin was uncovered, the Commissary said to the work- 
 men : " Open." 
 
 The men obeyed as if they were doing the most ordinary thing in 
 the world. 
 
 The coffin was of oak and the men began to unscrew the upper lid. 
 The humidity of the soil had rusted the screws, and it was not without 
 some difficulty that the coffin was opened. A horrible smeU became 
 instantly perceptible, in spite of the aromatic herbs with which it 
 had been filled. 
 
 " Great Heavens ! Great Heavens ! " murmured Armand, turning 
 paler than before. 
 
 The grave-diggers themselves drew back. 
 
 A large white shroud covered the body, of which the outline was 
 partly visible. The shroud had been entirely gnawed away at one 
 corner, and left exposed a foot of the corpse. 
 
 I almost felt sick, and even while I write these lines, the 
 remembrance of this scene comes back to me in all its horrible 
 reality. 
 
 " Make haste," said the Commissary. 
 
 Then one of the men began to unstitch the shroud with his hand ; 
 and lifting a corner of it, suddenly exposed the face of Mar- 
 guerite. 
 
 It was horrible to see ; it is horrible to relate. 
 
 Of the eyes there remained but two empty sockets ; the lips had 
 disappeared, and the white teeth were tightly clasped. The long black 
 hair, quite dry, stuck to the temples, and partly veiled the green 
 cavities of the cheeks ; and yet I recognised in this visage the lively, 
 red and white countenance which I had so often beheld. 
 
 Armand, without being able to take his eyes from this spectacle, 
 put his handkerchief to his mouth and was biting it. 
 
 As for me, it seemed that an iron band was clasping my brow, and 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 47 
 
 that a veil covered my eyes ; there was a ringing in my ears, and all 
 that I could do was to open a smeUing-bottle, which I had brought 
 accidentally, and to make use of it. 
 
 In the midst of this attack of giddiness I heard the Commissary say 
 to Duval : 
 
 " Do you recognise the deceased ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the young man, almost inaudibly. 
 
 " Then close the coffin and take it away." 
 
 The workmen replaced the shroud upon the countenance of the 
 corpse, closed the coffin, lifted it up, and moved towards the spot to 
 which they had been told to carry it. 
 
 Armand did not move, his eyes were riveted on the empty grave ; 
 he was as pale as the corpse which we had just beheld, and seemed 
 petrified.-, < 
 
 I knew what was going to happen when the body should be 
 removed, and when his excitement gave way and could no longer 
 sustain him. 
 
 I approached the Commissary and asked, pointing to Armand : 
 
 " Is the presence of this gentleman any longer necessary 1 " 
 
 " No," he replied ; " I even advise you to take him away, for he 
 seems very unwell." 
 
 " Come away," said I to Ajmand, taking his arm. 
 
 " What ? " he asked, staring at me without recognising me. 
 
 " All is over," I added, " you really must come away, my friend ; 
 you are pale and cold, these emotions will kill you." 
 
 " You are right ; let us go," replied he mechanically, but without 
 moving a step. 
 
 I seized him by the arm and drew him along. 
 
 He allowed himself to be led like a child, only murmuring from 
 time to time : 
 
 " Did you see those eyes ? " 
 
 And then he turned round, as if the vision called him back. 
 
 Meanwhile his walk became unsteady ; he could only move by fits 
 
48 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 and starts; his teeth chattered; his hands were icy cold, and he 
 appeared to be in a high state of nervous agitation. 
 
 I spoke to him, but he did not answer ; all that he could do was 
 to allow himself to be led away. 
 
 At the gates of the cemetery our carriage was waiting ; and it was 
 high time for us to reach it. 
 
 Hardly had Armand taken his seat when his shivering increased, 
 and he became violently agitated, but the fear of alarming me made him 
 murmur, whilst pressing my hand : 
 
 " It is nothing, it is nothing ; I wish I could shed tears." 
 
 I heard his chest heave, whilst his eyes became bloodshot ; but his 
 tears refused to flow. 
 
 I made use of the smelling-bottle I had brought with me, and when 
 we arrived at his rooms the nervous fit had subsided, and he was only 
 shivering. 
 
 "With the help of his man-servant I got him into bed ; I ordered a 
 large fire to be lit in his room and ran to fetch my doctor, to whom I 
 related what Tiad happened. - 
 
 He came back with' me in a few moments. 
 
 Armand's face was purple; he was delirious, and uttered incoherent 
 words, amongst which only the name of Marguerite could be heard 
 distinctly. 
 
 " What is the matter with him ? " I asked the doctor, after he had 
 examined the patient. 
 
 " He has brain fever," he replied, " and it is very fortunate for him 
 that he has got it ; for, may Heaven forgive me if I am wrong ! I believe 
 that otherwise he would have become insane ; luckily, the bodily illness 
 will conquer the mental one, and perhaps in a month he may be cured 
 of both." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Diseases like the one by which Armand was attacked have at 
 least this advantage, that they kill quickly or are very soon cured. 
 
 A fortnight after the events I have just related, Armand was quite 
 convalescent, and we became very intimate. I scarcely left his room 
 all the time his illness lasted. 
 
5° THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 Spring had come, flowers and trees were budding, and the birds 
 were singing. The window of my friend's room opened pleasantly upon 
 a garden, of which he could breathe the healthy air. 
 
 The doctor had permitted him to get up, and we often sat talking 
 near the open window during the warmest hour of the day, that is, from 
 twelve till two o'clock. 
 
 I carefully avoided speaking about Marguerite, always dreading that, 
 despite the apparent calmness of the patient, this name should awaken 
 sad remembrances, now lulled to sleep ; but Axmand, on the contrary, 
 seemed to take a pleasure in speaking of her ; no longer, as formerly, 
 with tears in his eyes, but with a gentle sigh which reassured me as to 
 the state of his mind. 
 
 I noticed that since his last visit to the cemetery, which had been 
 the cause of this violent attack, his illness seemed to have filled up the 
 measure of his moral sufferings, and the death of Marguerite appeared 
 to him but as a thing of the past. A sort of consolation had been the 
 result of the certainty he had acquired ; and to drive away the sombre 
 image which often presented itself to him, he sought to recall the happy 
 moments of his "liaison" with Marguerite, and seemed only to wish to 
 dwell on these. 
 
 The body was too exhausted by the attack, and even by the cure, to 
 allow the mind to be stirred up by violent emotions ; and the merry 
 sight of spring, which was continually before Armand's eyes, in spite of 
 himself led his thoughts to pleasant imagery. 
 
 He had always obstinately refused to let his family know the danger 
 he was in, and after he had recovered his father was still ignorant that 
 he had been so ill. 
 
 One evening he remained at the window later than usual. The 
 weather had been superb, and the sun was setting in a twilight glowing 
 with azure and gold. Although we were in Paris, the surrounding 
 verdure seemed to shut us out from the world, and only now and 
 then the noise of some carriage disturbed our conversation. 
 
 " It was about this time of the year, and on the evening of a day 
 like this, that I first became acquainted with Marguerite," said Armand 
 to me, following the train of his own thoughts, and not paying any 
 attention to what I was saying to him. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 51 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 Presently he turned again towards me and said : 
 
 " I must tell you this story ; you can write a book about it, but no 
 one will believe it to be true ; still it may perhaps be made interesting." 
 
 " You shall teU it to me later on, my friend," I said, " you are not 
 strong enough yet." 
 
 " It is very warm this evening ; I have eaten the breast of a chicken," 
 he replied, smiling, "I have no fever, we have nothing to do, and I 
 am going to tell you everything." 
 
 " WeU, if you insist upon it, I am listening." 
 
 " It is a very simple story," he added ; " but I must tell it you in the 
 order in which the events happened. If you make anything of it by 
 and by, you are at perfect liberty to tell it your own way." 
 
 This is the story he related to me, and I have scarcely changed a 
 word of his touching narrative. 
 
 " Yes," resumed Armand, letting his head rest against the back of 
 his chair; "yes, it was on such an evening as this; I had spent the 
 day in the country with one of my friends, Gaston E. . . . In the 
 evening we returned to Paris, and not knowing what to do with our- 
 selves, went to the ' Th^Mre des Vari^tds.' " 
 
 Between the acts we went out, and in one of the passages we 
 passed a tall lady, to whom my friend bowed. 
 
 " To whom did you bow ? " asked I. 
 
 " To Marguerite Gautier," he replied. 
 
 " She seems greatly changed, for I do not recognise her," I said, 
 with an emotion, which I wiU explain presently. 
 
 " She has been very iU. The poor girl wiU not last long." 
 
 I remember his words as if they had only been spoken yesterday. 
 
 You must know, my friend, that for two years, whenever I met this 
 girl, she produced a strange impression on me. 
 
 Without knowing why, I then turned pale and my heart began to 
 beat violently. One of my friends who dabbles in the occult sciences 
 declared that it was " an affinity of fluids," but I believe simply that I 
 was destined to fall in love with MargueritCj and that I had a presenti- 
 ment of the fact. g 2 
 
52 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 She really produced an impression upon me ; and several of my 
 friends had observed it, and were very much amused when they found 
 out who the lady was. 
 
 The first time I ever saw her was on the Place de la Bourse, at the 
 door of Susse's shop. She wore a white dress, stepped out of an 
 open carriage, and was received with a murmur of admiration on her 
 entering the shop. As for me, I remained fixed to the spot from the 
 moment she entered until she left. Through the window I saw her 
 select some articles which she had come to purchase. I might have 
 entered also, but I dared not; I did not know who she was, and I 
 feared she might guess why I had come in, and be offended. However, 
 I did not think I should ever see her again. 
 
 She was elegantly dressed ; she wore a muslin dress with a great 
 many flounces ; an Indian shawl with flowers embroidered in silk, and 
 corners worked in gold; an Italian straw hat, and a single bracelet 
 composed of a massive chain of gold, which, just then, was fashionable. 
 
 She re-entered the carriage and drove away. 
 
 One of the shopmen was standing at the door, following with his 
 eyes the carriage of his fashionable customer ; I approached him and 
 asked her name. 
 
 " That is Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier," he replied. 
 
 I did not like to ask for her address, and went away. 
 
 The remembrance of this vision, for such it reaUy was, did not 
 leave me, as many such visions had done before, and I was looking 
 everywhere for this lady in white, so regally beautiful. 
 
 Some days afterwards a grand performance took place at the " Op^ra 
 Comique," and I went there. The first person I beheld in one of the 
 boxes on the ground-tier was Marguerite Gautier. 
 
 The young man who was with me recognised her also, for he said, 
 as he named her to me : " Look at that pretty girl." 
 
 At that moment, Marguerite turned her opera-glass in our direc- 
 tion ; she saw my friend, smiled and made him a sign to come up, and 
 pay a visit to her box. 
 
 "I shall go and say good evening to her," he said. "I shall be 
 back in a moment." 
 
WWJi 
 
 ^' j^ml ~ \^m 
 
 
 
 '»>-. 
 
 
 
 I'k 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 53 
 
 I could not help saying to him : 
 
 " You are very fortunate." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 "To know that lady." 
 
 " Are you in love with her ? " 
 
 "No," said I, blushing; for I really did not know my feelings, 
 " but I should very much like to make her acquaintance." 
 
 " Come with me and I will introduce you," 
 
 " Ask her permission first." 
 
 " Nonsense, it is not necessary to be so particular with her ; come." 
 
 This remark pained me. I dreaded to acquire the certainty that 
 Marguerite was unworthy of the feeling which I entertained for her. 
 
 In a book by Alphonse Karr, called "Am Kauchen," there is a 
 story of a man who one evening follows a girl, very elegantly dressed, 
 and so handsome that he falls in love with her at first sight. He feels 
 himself strong enough to undertake anything, persevering enough to 
 conquer everything, and courageous enough to do everything, for the 
 mere reward of being allowed to kiss this girl's hand. He scarcely 
 dares steal a glance at the pretty ankle which she displays in lifting 
 up her dress to avoid its being soiled. Whilst he is dreaming 
 of all that he would do to obtain this woman, she suddenly stops 
 at the corner of a street, and asks him to come up to her rooms 
 with her. 
 
 He turns away his head ; crosses the street, and goes home, quite 
 broken-hearted. 
 
 I remembered this story ; and I, who would have suffered anything 
 for Marguerite's sake, feared that she would accept me at too short 
 a notice, and grant me too quickly her love, for which I was almost 
 ready to make any sacrifice, and for which I would have waited a 
 long time. It is thus with us men ; but it is very fortunate that the 
 imagination leaves this poetical halo to the senses, and that our cor- 
 poreal desires make this concession to the aspirations of the soul. 
 
 If any one would have said to me, "You shall win this woman to- 
 night, and shall be killed to-morrow," I should have accepted the offer. 
 But had I been told, " Give her ten louis and you shaU be her lover," 
 
54 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 I should have refused and have wept like a child, vpho finds on awaken- 
 ing the castle vanished of which he had caught a glimpse during his 
 dreams. 
 
 Nevertheless, I wished to know her ; it was a means, and indeed 
 the only means, of finding out what she really was. 
 
 I therefore told my friend that I should not like to be introduced to 
 her without her permission, and rambled about the passages, thinking 
 to myself that a moment hence I should meet her, without knowing 
 how I should bear her glance. 
 
 I even tried to study beforehand what I was going to say to her. 
 Love is naught but sublime childishness ! 
 A moment afterwards my friend returned. 
 " She expects us," said he. 
 " Is she alone VI asked. 
 " With another lady." 
 " Are there no gentlemen ? " 
 "No." 
 
 " Come, let us go then." 
 
 My friend's intention seemed to be to leave the theatre. 
 " Hallo ! " said I, " this is not the way." 
 
 " We are going to buy some 'bonbons.' She asked me for them." 
 We entered a confectioner's shop in the "Passage de I'Op^ra." 
 I should have liked to buy the whole shop, and began to think 
 with what we could fill a big bag, when my friend asked for a pound 
 of " raisins glacis." 
 
 •' Do you know if she Kkes them 1 " 
 
 " It is well known that she never touches any other ' bonbons.' " 
 "I say," he continued, as we returned, " do you know to what sort 
 of woman I am going to introduce you ? Do not imagine that she is 
 a duchess. She is simply a demirep, very much so, my dear fellow ; 
 so do not make any compliments with her, but say whatever comes 
 uppermost in your mind." 
 
 " All right," I stammered out, and I foUowed him, saying to myself 
 that I was about to be cured of my passion. 
 
 As we entered the box Marguerite was laughing loudly. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 55 
 
 I should have liked her to be sad. 
 
 My friend introduced me ; Marguerite made me a slight bow, and 
 said : 
 
 " Where are my ' bonbons ' ? " 
 
 " Here they are," 
 
 She took them and looked at me. I cast down my eyes and blushed. 
 
 She whispered a few words to the lady who was with her, and then 
 they both burst into laughter. 
 
 I was quite sure that I was the subject of their merriment, and I 
 became more confused than ever. At that time I was courting a little 
 shop-girl, very affectionate and very sentimental, whose sentiment and 
 melancholy letters often made me laugh. I understood what I must 
 have made her suffer, and for fully five minutes I loved her as never 
 woman was loved before. 
 
 Marguerite ate her bonbons without troubling herself further about 
 me. 
 
 My friend, who had introduced me, did not like to leave me in this 
 ridiculous position. 
 
 " Marguerite," he said, " you must not be surprised that Monsieur 
 Duval does not say anything to you. You overpower him so much 
 that he cannot utter a word." 
 
 " I rather think he has accompanied you, because you thought it 
 would be tiresome to come here alone." 
 
 " If that were true," said I in my turn, " I should not have urged 
 my friend to ask you for permission to introduce me." 
 
 " That was perhaps only a way of putting off the fatal moment." 
 
 If one is acquainted with women of the class to which Marguerite 
 belonged, one is aware what pleasure they take in making fun of, and 
 in teasing people whom they meet for the first time. It is, no doubt, 
 a sort of revenge for the humiliations to which they are often com- 
 pelled to submit from those they see every day. 
 
 It is, therefore, necessary in order to answer them, to be accustomed 
 to their society, and I was quite unaccustomed to it ; besides, the ideal 
 which I had formed of Marguerite made her raillery more bitter to me. 
 Whatever this woman did could not be a matter of indifference to me. 
 
S6 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 I rose, therefore, saying with a change of voice which I could not 
 wholly conceal : 
 
 " If such is your opinion of me, Madame, it only remains to take 
 my leave, and I assure you that I shall not intrude again." 
 
 I bowed and took my departure. 
 
 Hardly had I closed the door of the box, when I heard another 
 burst of laughter. I only wished some one would have run against me 
 at that moment. 
 
 I returned to my seat. 
 
 The prompter's knock was heard, which is the signal for the rising 
 of the curtain. 
 
 Ernest returned to his staU by my side. 
 
 " How strangely you behaved," he said, as he took his seat ; " they 
 thought you were mad." 
 
 " What did Marguerite say when I came away ? " 
 
 " She laughed and declared she had never seen such a strange 
 fellow. But you must not consider yourself beaten ; only you should 
 not do such girls the honour to take what they say seriously. They do 
 not know what elegance and politeness mean ; they are like dogs 
 on which one sprinkles perfume, and which find the smell so dis- 
 agreeable that they go and roll themselves in the gutter." 
 
 " After aU, what does it matter ? " said I, trying to take an in- 
 different tone; "I shall never see her again, and, although I was 
 pleased with her before I knew her, it is quite a different thing now 
 that I have been introduced." 
 
 "Nonsense," he replied, "I do not despair of seeing you one 
 day or other at the back of her box, and hear it reported that 
 you are ruining yourself for her sake. But you are right, she 
 has been very badly brought up; still she would make a capital 
 mistress." 
 
 Luckily the curtain rose and my friend did not utter another word. 
 For me to say what was played would be impossible. AU that I 
 remember is, that from time to time I raised my eyes to the box which 
 I had quitted so abruptly, and that the faces of fresh visitors succeeded 
 each other every moment. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS, 57 
 
 However, I was far from thinking no more of Marguerite. Another 
 feeling had taken possession of me. It seemed to me that I had to 
 wipe out her insult and my ridiculous behaviour ; I said to myself that, 
 if it cost me all that I had in the world, I would master this girl 
 and by right take the place I had abandoned so suddenly. 
 
 Before the close of the performance. Marguerite and her friend left 
 their box. 
 
 In spite of myself I quitted my stall. 
 
 " Are you going ? " asked Ernest. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 At that moment he perceived that Marguerite's box was empty, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Go ! go ! May luck attend you, or rather, may you have a better 
 chance ! " 
 
 I went. 
 
 On the stairs I heard the rustling of dresses, and some people 
 talking. I stepped aside and, without being observed, saw the two 
 ladies pass, accompanied by a couple of gentlemen. 
 
 Under the colonnade of the theatre a little page was waiting. 
 
 " Go and tell the coachman to drive to the ' Caf^ Anglais,' " said 
 Marguerite, " we wiU walk as far." 
 
 Some minutes afterwards, loitering about on the Boulevard, I 
 saw at the window of one of the private rooms of the restaurant 
 Marguerite leaning on the balcony, and plucking to pieces one of the 
 camellias of her bouquet. 
 
 One of the gentlemen was bending over her and speaking to her 
 in a low tone of voice. 
 
 I went and sat down on the first floor of the restaurant opposite, 
 the " Maison d'Or," and never lost sight of the window of the " Caf^ 
 
 Anglais." 
 
 At one o'clock in the morning Marguerite entered the carriage 
 
 with her three friends. 
 
 I took a cab and followed. 
 
 The carriage stopped at No. 9, Kue d'Antin. 
 
 H 
 
58 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 Marguerite entered her house alone. 
 
 This was, no doubt, an accident, but that accident made me very 
 happy. 
 
 After that day, I often met Marguerite at the theatres or in the 
 Champs-Elysdes. She seemed always good-tempered, and I always 
 felt the same emotion. 
 
 A fortnight, however, elapsed without my seeing her anywhere. I 
 met Gaston by accident and asked him what had become of her. 
 
 "The poor girl is very ill," he replied. 
 
 " What's the matter with her ? " 
 
 " There is something wrong with her lungs, and as she has not led 
 the sort of life to get better, she is confined to her bed, and reported 
 to be at death's door." 
 
 How strange are a man's feelings ! I was almost glad of this illness. 
 
 I went, however, daily to inquire how she was, but never left my 
 name, nor my card. I thus learned her convalescence, and her depar- 
 ture for Bagnferes. 
 
 Time passed ; the impression she had made on me was gradually 
 fading away from my mind, though I remembered her still. I travelled 
 about a good deal. Fresh " liaisons," other habits, and various occupa- 
 tions took the place of this one idea ; and when I thought of my first 
 meeting her, I only saw in it one of those fancies which beset a man 
 when he is very young, and appear rather laughable a few years after- 
 wards. 
 
 But there was no merit in my completely forgetting her ; for I had 
 lost sight of Marguerite since her leaving Paris ; and, as I told you, 
 when she passed me in the lobby of the " Thd4tre des Vari^tds " I did 
 not recognise her. 
 
 It was true she wore a veil ; but if she had worn a veil two years 
 ago I should have recognised her all the same, without needing to see 
 her ; I should have divined her presence intuitively. 
 
 This did not prevent my heart beating, when I knew who it was. 
 The two years passed without seeing her, and the effect which it 
 seemed to me this separation should have produced, vanished at the 
 mere touch of her dress. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 NEVEKTHELESS, continued Armand, after a pause, though I 
 was aware that I was still in love with her, I felt more manly than 
 before, and though I longed to meet Marguerite again, I also wished to 
 show her that I was no longer so weak as I had been. 
 
 How strange a man in love behaves, and what excuses he manu- 
 factures to obtain what he desires ! 
 
 H 2 
 
on 
 was 
 
 ^° THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 I could not remain any longer in the lobby, and went back to my 
 orchestra-staU, throwing a rapid glance at the audience, to see what 
 box she occupied. 
 
 She was in one of the boxes on the ground-tier, but quite alone. 
 She was much changed, as I have told you. I no longer discovered 
 her lips that smile of indifference, for she had suffered, and 
 suffering still. 
 
 Although it was April she wore a winter-dress and was wrapped in 
 velvet. 
 
 I looked so long at her that my gaze at last attracted her notice. 
 
 She stared at me for a few moments, took her opera-glass to examine 
 me more closely, and thought, doubtless, that she recognised me, with- 
 out being absolutely certain who I was ; for when she laid down her 
 glass she showed the charming courtesy of a woman, and smiled, in 
 reply to the recognition she seemed to expect from me ; but I did not 
 respond, in order to show her that I was indifferent and had forgotten 
 her when she remembered me. 
 
 She thought she was mistaken and turned away her head. 
 
 The curtain rose. 
 
 I have many times seen Marguerite at the theatre, but I have never 
 seen her pay the least attention to the performance. 
 
 As for me, I did not feel any interest in the play, and occupied 
 myself with her alone, taking very good care, however, not to let her 
 perceive it. I noticed that she exchanged looks with some one who 
 occupied the box opposite hers, and in casting my eyes towards that 
 box, I recognised a woman with whom I was pretty well acquainted. 
 
 This woman, formerly a demirep, had tried to become an actress and 
 failed ; but, counting upon her acquaintance with the " gay world " of 
 Paris, had started in business, and taken a milliner's shop. 
 
 I thought that she might be the means of my meeting Marguerite 
 again, and when she looked towards me I made her a sign and nodded 
 to her. 
 
 As I had anticipated, she beckoned me to come to her box. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 6i 
 
 Prudence Duvemoy, such was the happy name of the milliner, was 
 one of those buxom women of about forty, with whom a man has no 
 need to exercise any great amount of diplomacy to make them say 
 what he wishes to know ; above aU, when what he wishes to know is 
 as simple as the question I had to put to her. 
 
 I seized the opportunity when she was again exchanging glances 
 with Marguerite to ask her : 
 
 " Whom are you looking at ? " 
 
 "At Marguerite Gautier." 
 
 " Do you know her 1 " 
 
 "Yes. She is one of my clients and my neighbour." 
 
 " Do you live then in the Eue d'Antin ? " 
 
 "At No. 7. The window of her dressing-room overlooks mine." 
 
 " They say she is a charming girl ? " 
 
 " Don't you know her 1 " 
 
 " No, I should like to." 
 
 " Shall I ask her if you can pay her a visit in her box ? " 
 
 " No, I should prefer being first introduced to her." 
 
 " At her own house ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That is more difficult." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because her friend is an old Duke who is very jealous." 
 
 " How very nice to speak of him as ' her friend.' " 
 
 " Yes, * her friend,' " resumed Prudence. " The poor old man would 
 find it very difficult to become a lover." 
 
 Prudence then told me how Marguerite had first met the Duke at 
 Bagn^res. 
 
 " Is that the reason why she is here alone ? " I asked. 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " But who will take her home ? " 
 
 " The Duke." 
 
 "Is he coming for her then ? " 
 
62 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " In a moment." 
 
 " And who will take you home ? " 
 
 "Nobody." 
 
 " I offer my services." 
 
 " But you are with a friend, I believe 1 " 
 
 " We offer our services then." 
 
 " But who is your friend ? " 
 
 " He is a very nice and a very intelligent fellow, and he will be 
 delighted to make your acquaintance." 
 
 " Well, that is arranged ; we shall all leave after this piece, for I 
 have seen the next one." 
 
 " I shall be most happy ; I will go and tell my friend." 
 
 " Go then." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Prudence, just at the moment I was leaving, 
 " see, there is the Duke just entering Marguerite's box." 
 
 I looked. 
 
 A man of about seventy took his place behind the young woman, 
 and handed her a bag of " bonbons," of which she immediately took 
 some, smiling at the same time. Then she came to the front of the 
 box, and made a sign to Prudence which might mean : 
 
 " Would you like some of these ? " 
 
 " No," answered Prudence. 
 
 Then Marguerite took back the bag, and began conversing with 
 the Duke. 
 
 All these details may seem childish to you; but everything that 
 refers to this young creature is still so fresh in my memory, that I can- 
 not prevent myself thinking about it this very day. 
 
 I went down to the stalls to acquaint Gaston with the arrangement 
 I had made for him and for myself. 
 
 He agreed to go with us. 
 
 We left our stalls with the intention of going to Madame Duvernoy's 
 box. 
 
 Scarcely had we opened the door leading to the stalls when we were 
 
1 
 
 
 !S ', 
 
 :: f, ,£»^x'"^. 
 
 t • 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 63 
 
 obliged to stop, to allow Marguerite and the Duke to pass as they were 
 leaving the theatre. 
 
 I would have given ten years of my life to be in the place of that 
 old gentleman. 
 
 On reaching the Boulevard, he handed Marguerite into a phaeton, 
 which he drove himseK, and they disappeared as fast as a pair of 
 splendid horses could carry them. 
 
 We entered Prudence's box. 
 
 When the piece was finished, we took an ordinary four-wheeler to 
 drive us to No. 7, Rue d'Antin. On our arriving there. Prudence invited 
 us to come in and have a look at her rooms, which we had never seen 
 yet, and of which she seemed very proud. You can judge how readily 
 I accepted her offer. 
 
 It appeared to me that I was gradually drawing nearer to Marguerite, 
 and I soon led the conversation on everything concerning her. 
 
 " Is the old Duke with your neighbour ? " I asked Prudence. 
 
 " No, she must be alone." 
 
 " Then she will be horribly dull," remarked Gaston. 
 
 "We pass almost all our evenings together, or when she comes 
 home she calls me," said Prudence. "She never goes to bed before 
 two in the morning. She cannot sleep earlier." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because there is something wrong with her chest, and she is 
 almost always in a fever." 
 
 " Has she no lovers, then ? " I asked. 
 
 " I never see any one when I leave her ; but I cannot answer for it 
 that no one comes after I am gone. I often meet at her rooms, of an 
 evening, a certain Count de N . . . . , who imagines that he advances his 
 suit by paying visits at eleven o'clock at night, and by sending her as 
 much jewellery as she wants ; but she has taken a strong dislike to him, 
 which is wrong on her part, for he is very wealthy. It is no use my tell- 
 ing her again and again, ' My dear child, this is the very man you want.' 
 She usually listens to what I say, but, when I begin to talk about him, 
 
64 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 she turns her back on me, and replies that he is too stupid. I admit 
 that he is stupid ; but he would give her a position, whereas the old Duke 
 may die any day. Old men are selfish ; his family are continually re- 
 proaching him for his affection for Marguerite, and for both these reasons 
 he will leave her nothing. I preach to her, but she answers, ' It will be 
 quite time enough to take the Count when the Duke is dead.' 
 
 " It is not always amusing," continued Prudence, " to live as she 
 does. I know it would not suit me ; I would soon send the worthy old 
 gentleman to the right about, for he is very insipid. He caUs Marguerite 
 his daughter, and takes care of her as if she were a child, but he never 
 leaves her for a moment alone. I am sure at this very minute one of 
 his servants is standing in the street to watch who is going out, and 
 especially who is entering the house." 
 
 " Poor Marguerite," remarked Gaston, as he sat down at the piano, 
 and began playing a waltz. " I did not know this ; though it seemed 
 to me that she looked less cheerful of late." 
 
 " Hush ! " said Prudence ; " listen." 
 
 Gaston paused. 
 
 " I think she calls me." 
 
 "We listened. 
 
 Some one was calling Prudence. 
 
 " Now then, gentlemen, go away," said Madame Duvernoy to us. 
 
 " This is the way you practise hospitality," observed Gaston, laugh- 
 ing. " We shall go when it suits us." 
 
 " Why should we go ? " I said. 
 
 " Because I am going to Marguerite." 
 
 " We will await your return here." 
 
 " That is out of the question." 
 
 " Then we wiU go with you." 
 
 «' That is worse." 
 
 " But I know Marguerite," said Gaston, " and I can go and pay her 
 a visit." 
 
 " But Armand does not know her." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 65 
 
 " I will introduce him." 
 
 " That is impossible." 
 
 We again heard Marguerite's voice calling Prudence. 
 
 The latter went to her dressing-room window and opened it. 
 Gaston and I followed her. 
 
 We hid ourselves so as not to be seen from without. 
 
 " I have been calling you these ten minutes," said Marguerite from 
 her window, in an almost commanding tone. 
 
 " What do you want with me ? " 
 
 " I want you to come immediately, because Count de N . . . . is still 
 here, and wearies me to death." 
 
 " But I cannot come just now." 
 
 " What prevents you ? " 
 
 "There are two young men in my rooms who won't go away." 
 
 " TeU them that you have to go out." 
 
 " I have told them so." 
 
 " Very well then, leave them. When they see you have gone they 
 will go away too." 
 
 " After having turned everything topsy-turvy." 
 
 " But what do they want ? " 
 
 " They wish to see you." 
 
 " Who are they 1 " 
 
 " You know one of them, Gaston R . . . ." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I know him. Who is the other 1 " 
 
 " Armand Duval. You do not know him ? " 
 
 " No, I don't ; but bring them all the same. Anything rather than 
 the Count. Don't be long, I am waiting for you." 
 
 Marguerite closed her window, and Prudence shut hers. 
 
 Marguerite, who had for one moment recollected my features, did 
 not remember my name. I would have preferred an unfavourable 
 recollection to this forgetfulness. 
 
 " I knew she would be delighted to see us," said Gaston. 
 
 " Delighted is not quite the word," replied Prudence, putting on 
 
 I 
 
66 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 her shawl and bonnet. " She receives you in order to drive away the 
 Count. Try to be more agreeable than he is, or I am sure Marguerite 
 will pick a quarrel with me." 
 
 Prudence went downstairs, and we followed. 
 
 I was trembling all over ; it seemed to me that this visit was 
 destined to have a great influence on my life. 
 
 I felt even more nervous than on the evening of my introduction to 
 Marguerite in the box at the " Op^ra Comique." 
 
 When we reached the door of her apartments, which you have seen, 
 my heart beat so violently as to prevent me from thinking. 
 A few notes of the piano fell on our ears. 
 
 A woman who looked more like a companion than a lady's maid 
 opened the door to us. 
 
 We entered the drawing-room and went through to the boudoir, 
 which was then as you saw it. 
 
 A young man was leaning against the mantelpiece. 
 Marguerite, seated at the piano, let her fingers run over the keys, 
 and commenced some tunes which she did not finish. 
 
 Dulness seemed to predominate ; for the gentleman was embarrassed 
 by his own insignificance, and the lady by this dull personage's 
 presence. 
 
 On hearing Prudence's voice. Marguerite rose and came to meet 
 us; and after having bestowed a glance expressive of her thanks 
 on Madame Duvernoy, she said : 
 
 "I am glad to see you, gentlemen. Come in." 
 
r^^\ 
 
 ■^fc '" ^ ^uM 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 " Good even- 
 ing, my dear Mr. 
 Gaston," said 
 Marguerite to my friend. " I am very glad to see you. Why did you 
 not come to my box at the ' Varidtds ' ? " 
 " I did not like to intrude." 
 "Friends," said Marguerite, and she dwelt on the word, as if to 
 
 I 2 
 
68 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 make it clear to those who were present that in spite of the familiar 
 way in which she received Gaston, he was not, and never had been, 
 anything more than a friend ; " friends never intrude." 
 
 " Then, as a friend, will you allow me to introduce to you Monsieur 
 Armand Duval." 
 
 " I already told Prudence to do so." 
 
 " Madame," said I bowing, and endeavouring to make myself almost 
 intelligible, " I have already had the honour of being introduced 
 to you." 
 
 Marguerite seemed to be trying to recall when that had been ; but 
 it had slipped her memory. 
 
 "I am thankful, Madame," I continued, "that you have forgotten 
 my former introduction, for I made myself very ridiculous, and must 
 have been very tiresome. About two years ago, when you were at the 
 ' Opdra Comique,' I was presented to you by Ernest de . . . ." 
 
 "Ah! I remember," said Marguerite, smiling. "It was not you 
 who were ridiculous, it was I who was disagreeable ; I even tease 
 people sometimes now, but less frequently than I used to. I trust 
 you have forgiven me, sir." 
 
 And she offered me her hand, which I kissed. 
 
 " Indeed," she resumed, " I have the bad habit of wishing to 
 embarrass people whom I see for the first time. It is very stupid ; 
 but my doctor tells me it is on account of my nervous irritability, and 
 because I am always in bad health ; and you may believe my doctor." 
 
 "But you seem in very good health." 
 
 " I have been very ill." 
 
 " I am aware of it." 
 
 "Who told you?" 
 
 " Everybody knew it. I called frequently to inquire after you, and 
 I was delighted to hear that you were much better." 
 
 " I never received your card." 
 
 " I never left it." 
 
 "Were you then the gentleman who when I was ill in bed 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 69 
 
 called every day to ask how I was, and who would never leave his 
 name." 
 
 " Yes, it was I." 
 
 " Then you were more than kind, you were generous. You, Count, 
 would not have acted thus," added she, turning towards Monsieur de 
 N . . . ., and after having cast upon me one of those looks by which 
 women express their opinion of men. 
 
 " I have only known you these two months," replied the Count. 
 " And this gentleman only knew me five minutes. You always say 
 something stupid." 
 
 Women are merciless to men whom they dislike. 
 The Count blushed, and bit his lips. 
 
 I was sorry for him, for he appeared in love like myself ; and the 
 harsh candour of Marguerite must have made him very unhappy, 
 especially in the presence of a couple of strangers. 
 
 " You were playing the piano when we came in," I said, in order to 
 change the conversation. " Will you not do me the favour of treating 
 me as an old acquaintance, and continue your music 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! " said she, throwing herself on the sofa, and inviting us to 
 sit down beside her, " Gaston knows what sort of music I play. It is 
 good enough when I am alone with the Count, but I have no wish to 
 let you suffer such tortures." 
 
 "You prefer then to play when I am here," remarked the Count, 
 with a smile which he endeavoured to render expressive and ironical. 
 
 "You are wrong to blame me for this, for it is the only preference 
 I'll ever show you." 
 
 It seemed clear that this poor young fellow was not to say a single 
 word. He cast on Marguerite a look full of entreaty. 
 
 " I say. Prudence," she added, " have you done what I asked you ? " 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That's right. You wiU teU me all about it by-and-by. I have 
 something to say to you ; so, do not go until I have had some conversa- 
 tion with you." 
 
7° THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " We are intruding," I observed ; " and now that we, or rather I 
 have been introduced for a second time, and in order to make you for- 
 get the first introduction, Gaston and myself will take our leave." 
 
 "On no account ! My observation was not intended for you ; on 
 the contrary, I wish you to stay." 
 
 The Count drew an elegant watch from his pocket, to see what 
 o'clock it was. 
 
 " It is time for me to go to the club," he remarked. 
 
 Marguerite made no reply. 
 
 The Count then left the fireplace, and approaching her, said : 
 
 " Adieu, Madame." 
 
 Marguerite rose. 
 
 " You are going already, my dear Count 1 " 
 
 " Yes. I fear that I weary you." 
 
 " Not more than usual. When shall I see you again ? " 
 
 "Whenever you will permit me." 
 
 "Adieu then." 
 
 This was cruel, you must allow. 
 
 Luckily the Count was very well brought up, and very good tem- 
 pered. He contented himself with kissing Marguerite's hand, which 
 she carelessly enough held out to him, and after he had bowed to her 
 left the room. 
 
 As he passed the door he cast a glance at Prudence. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, with an air which seemed to say, 
 " What would you have me do ? I have done all I could," 
 
 " Nanine ! " exclaimed Marguerite, " show a light." 
 
 We heard the outer door open and shut. 
 
 " At last, he has gone," said Marguerite, coming back to the room. 
 " I cannot stand that young man at any price." 
 
 I "My dear child," said Prudence, "you are really too cruel to him, 
 for he is very kind and considerate. On your chimney-piece there is 
 a watch he has made you a present of, for which he must have paid 
 at least five thousand francs, I am sure." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 71 
 
 And Madame Duvemoy approached the mantelpiece and played 
 with the trinket of which she had spoken, casting upon it covetous 
 looks. 
 
 "My dear," said Marguerite, seating herself at the piano, "when 
 I put into one scale what he gives me, and into the other what he says 
 to me, I think that he pays very little for his visits." 
 
 " The poor fellow is in love with you." 
 
 " If I were compelled to listen to all those who are in love with 
 me, I should not have time to eat my dinner," 
 
 And she ran her fingers a few times over the keys of the piano ; 
 after which, coming back to us, she said : 
 
 " Will you take something ] I should like to drink a glass of punch." 
 
 " And I, I could eat a little bit of chicken," said Prudence, " if we 
 are going to have some supper." 
 
 "That is a good idea," remarked Gaston, "let us go and have 
 supper somewhere." 
 
 "No, we are going to have supper here," said Marguerite, and she 
 rang the bell for Nanine, who soon made her appearance. 
 
 " Let us have some supper, Nanine." 
 
 " What shaU it be ? " 
 
 " Anything you like, but bring it at once." 
 
 Nanine went away. 
 
 " That's it ! " said Marguerite, jumping about like a child, " we are 
 going to have some supper. How tiresome that stupid Count is ! " 
 
 The more I saw of this girl, the more she bewitched me. She was 
 fascinatingly beautiful. Even her spare figure was a charm in itself. 
 
 I fell in deep thought. 
 
 I can hardly explain what were my feelings. I was full of indul- 
 gence for her mode of life, full of admiration for her beauty. The 
 proof of disinterestedness she gave in not accepting the advances 
 of the wealthy and fashionable young Count, who was quite ready 
 to ruin himself for her sake, excused, in my eyes, all her previous 
 faults. 
 
72 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 There was, without doubt, some sincerity in this girl. 
 She was evidently still only on the threshold of vice. Her firm 
 step, her lithesome form, her pink and expanded nostrils, and her 
 large eyes, with slight blue circles underneath, denoted one of those 
 ardent temperaments which spread around them a perfume of volup- 
 tuousness, like those Oriental vials, which, however carefully closed, 
 allow to escape the odour of the essence they contain. 
 
 Indeed, whether it was her temperament, or an effect of her morbid 
 condition, but, from time to time, flashes of passion lit up her eyes, of 
 which the realisation would have been a dream of Heaven for the man 
 whom she could have truly loved. Numerous men had loved Mar- 
 guerite, and those whom she had professed to love could not yet be 
 counted. 
 
 In short, one recognised in this girl the virgin whom some accident 
 had made a courtesan, and the courtesan whom an accident might 
 have made a most loving and most pure virgin. Marguerite possessed 
 still pride and independence ; two sentiments which, when wounded, 
 produce the same effects as modesty. I remained silent, and only 
 betrayed my heartfelt feelings in my looks. 
 
 Then she said to me suddenly, " It was you who called to inquire 
 after me when I was ill ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you know that you behaved very generously. What can I do 
 
 to thank you ? " 
 
 " Permit me to call occasionally on you." 
 
 " As often as you please, from five to six in the afternoon, and from 
 eleven o'clock tiU midnight. I say, Gaston, play me the ' Invitation 
 to the Waltz.'" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " First to please me, and secondly because I can never learn to play 
 
 it myself." 
 
 " What's the difiiculty ? " 
 
 " The third part. The passage in sharps." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 73 
 
 Gaston rose, went to the piano, and began to play that marvellous 
 melody of Weber's, of which she had left the music open on the 
 instrument. 
 
 Marguerite, with one hand resting on the piano, looked at the 
 music whilst he was playing, and hummed each note in a low voice ; 
 and when Gaston came to the passage which she had mentioned, 
 she sang it, and beat time with her fingers on the top of the 
 instrument, 
 
 " Do, re, me, fa, sol, la, si, do. There ! that is what I cannot play. 
 Let me hear it once more." 
 
 Gaston repeated the passage, after which Marguerite said : 
 
 " Now, let me try." 
 
 She sat down and played it in her turn, but the rebellious fingers 
 invariably made mistakes with one of the notes just mentioned. 
 
 " Now this is incredible," she exclaimed, just like a child ; " I never 
 can play this passage. Do you know I try it sometimes till two o'clock 
 in the morning ? That stupid Count plays it without looking at the 
 music, and admirably too ; and that is the reason, I believe, I am so 
 angry with him." 
 
 She began again, but always with the same result. 
 
 " The deuce take Weber, music, and the piano ! " she exclaimed, 
 flinging the music-book to the other end of the room. " Can you make 
 it out why I cannot play eight sharps one after another ? " 
 
 And she folded her arms, and looked at us, whilst stamping on the 
 floor. 
 
 Her face was flushed, and a slight cough parted her lips. 
 
 " There you are," observed Prudence, who had taken off her hat, 
 and was arranging her hair before the glass ; " you are getting in a 
 rage, and you will be ill. Let us have some supper, and that will be 
 much better ; as for me, I am dying of hunger." 
 
 Marguerite rang a second time, and then went again to the piano, 
 where she began singing in a low tone of voice a rather indecent song, 
 of which she played the music without any difficulty. 
 
74 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 Gaston knew the song, and began to join in it, so that they sang a 
 sort of duet. 
 
 "Do not sing such abominable songs," said I to Marguerite in a 
 friendly tone of entreaty. 
 
 " Oh ! how modest you are," she replied smiling, at the same time 
 giving me her hand. 
 
 " It is not on my account, but on yours." 
 
 Marguerite made a gesture, which seemed to imply : " it is a long 
 time since I have had anything to do with modesty." 
 
 At this moment Nanine re-entered the room. 
 
 " Is supper laid ? " asked Marguerite. 
 
 " It will be ready in a moment, Madame." 
 
 " By-the-by," remarked Prudence, " you have not seen the rooms. 
 Come, and I wiU show them to you." 
 
 You have visited them, and you know that the drawing-room was 
 magnificent. 
 
 Marguerite accompanied us a little way; then she called Gaston, 
 and went with him into the dining-room to see if supper was ready. 
 
 " Hallo ! " exclaimed Prudence, as she took from a bracket a small 
 Dresden statue. " I did not know you had this little man." 
 
 " What little man ? " 
 - "That small shepherd holding a bird-cage." 
 
 " Take it if you like." 
 
 " Oh ! I should be afraid of robbing you." 
 
 " I was about to give it to my maid. I think it hideous ; but, if 
 you like it, you can have it." 
 
 Prudence looked only at the present, and not at the manner in 
 which it was given. She put the little man away, and took me into 
 the dressing-room ; then, showing me two miniatures hanging opposite 
 one another, she said : 
 
 " This one is Count de G who has been very much in love 
 
 with Marguerite; it was he who brought her out. Do you know 
 him?" 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 75 
 
 " No ; and who is that one 1 " said I, pointing to the other 
 miniature. 
 
 " That is the little Viscount de L . . . . ; he was compelled to 
 leave her." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because he was nearly ruined. He doted on Marguerite." 
 
 " And, no doubt, she also loved him ? " 
 
 " She is such an extraordinary girl one never knows what to think. 
 On the day he went away she visited the theatre, as usual, and yet she 
 shed tears when he left her." 
 
 At this moment Nanine came to tell us that supper was ready. 
 
 When we entered the supper-room, Marguerite was leaning against 
 the wall, and Gaston was holding her hands, and addressing her in a 
 low tone of voice. 
 
 "You are mad," I heard Marguerite say. "You know that I won't 
 have anything to say to you. A man does not ask a woman like me to 
 love him, after knowing her for two years. Such girls as I am give our 
 love at once, or not at all. Come, gentlemen, let's go to supper." 
 
 And escaping from Gaston's grasp. Marguerite made him sit at her 
 right, and myself at her left. Then she said to Nanine : 
 
 " Before you sit down, teU the servants not to admit any one." 
 
 This order was given at one o'clock in the morning. We laughed, 
 drank, and ate heartily. In a few moments we were all as merry as 
 possible, and now and then some jokes were made, amidst shouts of 
 laughter from Nanine, Prudence, and Marguerite, which are con- 
 sidered fanny by a certain class of people but always soil the lips of 
 those who make them. Gaston seemed to enjoy himself; he was 
 young and his heart was in the right place, but his mind had been 
 somewhat warped by his early habits. At one moment I felt half 
 inclined to drown my thoughts, to care no more nor trouble myself 
 about whatever was going on, and to be as merry at that supper as 
 the others were. But little by little I felt isolated amidst all this 
 
 noise ; my glass remained untouched, and I became almost sad whilst 
 
 K 2 
 
r6 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 looking at this beautiful creature of twenty, who drank and talked 
 like a porter, and laughed all the louder the broader the jest was. 
 
 Nevertheless, this gaiety, this talk, and this drinking which, in 
 others, would have appeared to me the result of dissipation and 
 force of habit, seemed in Marguerite's case to be caused by a feverish 
 desire to forget, and by her nervous irritability. At each glass of 
 champagne she drank, her cheeks reddened with a feverish glow ; and 
 her cough, which was slight at the beginning of supper, became, at 
 last, troublesome enough to compel her to lean her head against the 
 back of her chair and hold her chest with both her hands, every time 
 she wanted to cough. 
 
 I felt sorry to think that such daily excesses would severely injure 
 so delicate a creature. 
 
 At last what I dreaded and foresaw came to pass. Towards the 
 end of the supper, poor Marguerite, attacked by a far more violent fit of 
 coughing than any she had had since I had been in the room, and 
 which seemed to tear her chest to pieces, turned purple, closed her eyes 
 with the pain, and pressed her napkin to her lips, which was stained by 
 a few drops of blood. Then she rose and ran into her dressing-room. 
 
 " What's the matter with Marguerite ? " asked Gaston. 
 
 " She has laughed too much, and is spitting blood," said Prudence ; 
 " but that is nothing, for she does it every day. Leave her alone. She 
 likes that best." 
 
 But I could not bear to remain seated, and to the great astonish- 
 ment of Prudence and Nanine, who called me back, I went to see how 
 Marguerite was. 
 
\l 
 
 -^3 
 
 m. 
 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 The room to which she had retired was lit by a single candle 
 placed upon the table. Lying upon a large conch with her dress 
 
78 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 unfastened, she pressed one hand to her heart while the other hung 
 by her side. On the table was a silver basin, half filled with water, 
 and this water was streaked with blood. 
 
 Marguerite, very pale, and with lips apart, was panting for breath. 
 At times her chest heaved, and she uttered a deep sigh, which seemed 
 to relieve her somewhat and to give her a few minutes of ease. 
 
 I drew near, but she did not move ; I seated myself beside her, and 
 took her hand which was resting upon the couch. 
 
 " Oh ! is it you ? " she said smiling. 
 
 My countenance must have betrayed my anxiety, for she added : 
 
 " Are you also iU ? " 
 
 " No, but you are. Are you stiU in pain 1 " 
 
 " Very little," and she dried with her handkerchief the tears which 
 the cough had brought to her eyes. " I am used to it now." 
 
 " You will kill yourself, Madame," I said, with a voice that showed 
 my emotion ; "I wish I were a friend or a relative, that I might pre- 
 vent you from injuring yourself as you do." 
 
 " It really is not worth the trouble, and you should not alarm your- 
 self," she replied, with some bitterness. " See how the others concern 
 themselves about me. They know that nothing can be done for such 
 an illness as mine." 
 
 She rose, and taking the candle, placed it on the mantelpiece, and 
 looked at herself in the glass. 
 
 "How pale I am!" she remarked, as she fastened anew her 
 dress, and passed her fingers through her hair, which had become 
 undone. " Well, never mind ! Let us go back to supper. WiU you 
 come ? " 
 
 But I remained seated and did not stir. 
 
 She understood the emotion which I felt, for she drew near me, 
 and ofi'ered me her hand, saying : 
 " There now, come." 
 
 I took her hand and raising it to my lips dropped upon it, in spite 
 of myself, some tears which I had long tried to suppress. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 79 
 
 " How childish you are ! " she said, taking a seat beside me, " you 
 are weeping. What is the matter 1 " 
 
 " I must appear very silly to you, but what I have just seen pains 
 me deeply." 
 
 " You are very kind ; but what can I do ? I cannot sleep, and 
 I must amuse myself in some way ; and besides, what does it matter 
 if there is in the world one more or less of such girls as I am? 
 The doctors tell me that the blood I spit comes from my bronchial 
 tubes ; I pretend to believe them ; that is all that I can do for 
 them." 
 
 " Listen to me, Marguerite ! " I exclaimed, with a warmth which I 
 could not repress. " I do not know what influence you are going to 
 exercise upon my future ; but this I do know, that at the present 
 moment there is not one person in the world, not even my sister, for 
 whom I feel as I do for you. It has been so ever since I first saw you. 
 For Heaven's sake, let me beg you to take care of yourself and not 
 lead the life you do." 
 
 " If I were to take care of myself, I should die. That which keeps 
 me up is the feverish life I lead ; besides, it is all very well for ladies 
 in society, who have families and friends, to take care of themselves ; 
 but we are abandoned when we can no longer minister to the vanity or 
 the pleasures of our lovers, and lonely days are succeeded by more 
 lonely nights. I know it, for when I was for two months confined to 
 my bed, no one called on me after the first three weeks." 
 
 "I am almost a stranger to you, it is true," I replied, "but, if you 
 have no objection, I wiU nurse you like a brother ; I will not leave you, 
 and I will cure you. Then, when you have recovered your strength, 
 you shall, if you like, resume the life you now lead ; but I am sure 
 that you would much prefer a quiet existence which would render you 
 happier, and preserve your beauty." 
 
 "You think thus to-night, because wine makes you melancholy, 
 but you would not be as patient as you pretend to be." 
 
 " Permit me to remind you. Marguerite, that you have been ill for 
 
8o THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 two months, and that during those two months I called every day to 
 inquire after you." 
 
 " That is true. But why did you not come up ? " 
 
 " Because I did not know you, then, well enough." 
 
 " Do people stand upon ceremony with a girl like me ? " 
 
 "A man should always be polite to a lady; at least that is my 
 opinion." 
 
 " And so you wiU take care of me ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You wiU stay with me every day ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And every night also ? " 
 
 " As long as I do not weary you." 
 
 " And what do you call that ? " 
 
 " Self-sacrifice." 
 
 " And whence arises this self-sacrifice ? " 
 
 " From an irresistible sympathy which I feel for you." 
 
 " What you mean is that you are in love with me ; say so at once, 
 it is much simpler." 
 
 " It is possible ; but if I am to tell you so sometime or other, I shall 
 not do so to-night." 
 
 " It would be much better if you never told me so at all." 
 
 " Why 1 " 
 
 "Because from such a declaration can only result two things." 
 
 " And those two things are ? " 
 
 " Either I refuse to listen to you, and then you will be angry ; or 
 I return your love, and then you will have a melancholy mistress, who 
 is nervous, ill, sad, or gay, with a gaiety more melancholy than sad- 
 ness itself ; a woman who spits blood and spends a hundred thousand 
 francs a year. This may be aU very weU for a wealthy old man like the 
 Duke, but would be very tiresome for a young man like you ; and to 
 prove to you that I speak the truth, let me tell you that each youthful 
 lover whom I have ever had very soon left me." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 8i 
 
 I made no answer ; I listened. This frankness, which was almost a 
 confession ; this wretched life of which I caught a glimpse through the 
 golden veil which hid it, and from the reality of which the poor girl 
 sought refuge in dissipation, excitement, and late hours, all this produced 
 such an impression on me that I could not utter a single word. 
 
 " Come," continued Marguerite, "we are talking nonsense ; give me 
 your hand, and let us go back to supper. They will be wondering what 
 has become of us." 
 
 " Go back if you like ; but I will ask you to allow me to remain 
 here." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because your merriment distresses me too much." 
 
 " Very well, then ; I will be sad." 
 
 " Listen, Marguerite ; permit me to say something that no doubt has 
 been told you often, and which you may perhaps not believe, as you 
 have been accustomed to hear it repeatedly, but which, nevertheless, 
 is true, and which I shall never again repeat to you." 
 
 " What are you going to teU me ? " she asked, smiling somewhat 
 like a young mother who is listening to a foolish saying of her 
 child. 
 
 " I wish to tell you that since I have seen you, I don't know how 
 nor why, you have become part and parcel of my very existence ; that I 
 have endeavoured to drive your image from my thoughts, but that it has 
 constantly returned ; that this very day when I meet you again, after not 
 having seen you for two years, you exercise a still greater influence on 
 my heart and mind ; and that now, as you have received me, now that 
 I know you, now that I perceive how eccentric you behave, you have 
 become indispensable to me ; and that I shall become mad, not only 
 if you do not love me, but if you do not allow me to love you." 
 
 " Unfortunate young man, must I say to you what Madame D. . . . 
 said to one of her admirers ; ' you must be very rich then ? ' You are 
 not aware that I spend six or seven thousand francs a month, and that 
 my spending such a sum has become necessary to my very existence. 
 
 L 
 
82 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 You do not know, then, my poor friend, that I should ruin you in an 
 incredibly short time, and that your family would legally prevent your 
 handling any money in order to punish you for living with such a 
 creature as I am. Love me if you like as a friend, but not otherwise. 
 Come and see me, and we will laugh and talk together; but do not 
 exaggerate to yourself my good qualities, for I really have not many of 
 them. Your heart is in the right place ; you need some one to love 
 you ; you are too young and too sensitive to live amongst us. Make 
 love to a married woman. You see that I am a good girl, and that I 
 speak frankly to you." 
 
 " What the deuce are you about 1 " exclaimed Prudence, who came 
 upon us unawares, and appeared on the threshold of the room with her 
 hair in disorder and her dress disarranged. I recognised in this the 
 hand of my firiend Gaston. 
 
 " We are talking sensibly," said Marguerite ; " leave us for a 
 moment, and we will join you presently." 
 
 " Very well, very well, talk away, my children," said Prudence, with- 
 drawing and banging the door, as if to emphasise her words. 
 
 " It is agreed then," said Marguerite when we were alone, " that 
 you are not to love me any more." 
 
 " Then I wiU leave France." 
 
 " Are you so much in love with me 1 " 
 
 I had advanced too far to retract, and, moreover, this girl almost 
 drove me beside myself. This medley of gaiety and sadness, of candour 
 and prostitution ; this very illness which developed her susceptibility 
 as well as her nervous excitement ; all this made me feel that if from 
 the first moment I did not master this forgetful and fitful temperament. 
 Marguerite would be lost to me for ever. 
 
 " Come now, are you reaUy in earnest in what you are saying ? " 
 
 " Very much in earnest." 
 
 " But why did you not speak to me sooner ? " 
 
 " When could I have done so ? " 
 
 " The day after you were introduced to me at the ' Op^ra Comique.' " 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 83 
 
 " I thought you would not have received me very well, if then I had 
 called to see you." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I had behaved stupidly the previous evening." 
 
 " That is true. But you already loved me at that time ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Which did not prevent you from going home and sleeping very 
 quietly, after having been at the ' Opdra.' We know what these grand 
 passions are." 
 
 " You are mistaken. Do you know what I really did on the night 
 I saw you at the ' Op^ra Comique ' ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I went to the ' Caf^ Anglais,' and stood waiting at the door. Then 
 I followed the carriage in which you and your three friends were, and 
 when I saw you enter your apartment alone, I was very happy." 
 
 Marguerite began to laugh. 
 
 " What are you laughing at 1 " 
 
 "At nothing." 
 
 " TeU me, I entreat you, or I shall believe you are still making fun 
 of me." 
 
 " You wiU not be angry ? " 
 
 " What right have I to be so ? " 
 
 "Well, then, if you must know it, I had a good reason for entering 
 my apartment alone." 
 
 " May I know that reason ? " 
 
 " Somebody was waiting for me." 
 
 Had she stabbed me to the heart, I could not have felt the blow 
 more severely. I rose and offered my hand. 
 
 "Adieu!" I said. 
 
 "I knew that you would be annoyed," she replied; "men are 
 always very anxious to learn what will vex them most." 
 
 " But I assure you," I added coldly, for I wished to convince her 
 that I was for ever cured of my passion, " I assure you that I am not 
 
84 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 angry. It was very natural for some one to be waiting for you, and 
 it is also very natural for me to say good-bye at three o'clock in the 
 morning." 
 
 " Is some one then waiting for you at home ? " 
 
 " No ; but I must go," 
 
 "Adieu, then." 
 
 " You dismiss me 1 " 
 
 " Not at aU." 
 
 " Why do you pain me thus ? " 
 
 " How have I pained you ? " 
 
 " By telling me that somebody was waiting for you." 
 
 "I could not help laughing at the idea that you were so pleased at 
 seeing me enter the house alone, when there was such a good reason 
 for it." 
 
 " Often a man is pleased with a trifle ; and it is cruel to destroy his 
 pleasure, when by letting it alone he is happier than he was before." 
 
 "But to whom do you imagine you are talking? I am neither a 
 maiden nor a duchess. I only made your acquaintance to-day, and have 
 not to account to you for my actions. Suppose even that I might, one 
 day, become your mistress, you cannot be ignorant of the fact that I 
 have had other lovers. If already you show yourself jealous now, what 
 will it be afterwards, if that ' afterwards ' should ever come to pass ? 
 I never met a man like you ! " 
 
 " Because you never met a man who loved you as I do." 
 
 " Come now, frankly, you reaUy love me so very much ? " 
 
 " As much as it is possible to love, I think." 
 
 " And when did this love begin ? " 
 
 " On a certain day when I saw you come out of your carriage, and 
 enter Susse's shop, some three years ago." 
 
 " All this is very fine ! What can I do to show my gratitude for 
 such an affection ? " 
 
 " Love me a little," I replied, whUst my heart throbbed so violently 
 that it almost prevented my speaking ; for in spite of her semi-sarcastic 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 85 
 
 smiles all the time we had been conversing, I imagined that Marguerite 
 began to share my feelings, and that the hour drew near I had waited 
 for so long. 
 
 " What am I to do with the Duke ? " 
 
 "What Duke 1" 
 
 " My jealous old friend." 
 
 " He will know nothing of.it." 
 
 " But if he should know ? " 
 
 " Then he wiU forgive you." 
 
 "Alas! no; he will abandon me, and then what will become of me 1" 
 
 " But you did not scruple to run such a risk for another man." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " 
 
 " Because you told the servant to admit no one to-night." 
 
 " That is true ; but that gentleman is a friend on whom I can rely." 
 
 " But for whom you do not seem to care much, as you close your 
 door against him at such an early hour." 
 
 " You ought not to reproach me, as I did this only to receive you 
 and your friend." 
 
 I had gradually drawn near to Marguerite, and clasping my arms 
 around her waist, gently pressed her slight form. 
 
 " If you but knew how I love you," I whispered to her. 
 
 " Is that quite true ? " 
 
 " I swear it to you." 
 
 " Well, then, if you promise to obey aU my wishes, without saying 
 a single word, without making any remark, or without questioning me, 
 I may, perhaps, return your love." 
 
 " I promise to do everything you wish." 
 
 " But I give you fair warning that I must be free to do exactly as 
 I like, without giving you the slightest explanation. I have been for a 
 long time on the look out for a young man pliable, fond of me without 
 distrusting me, and who could be loved without claiming my love as 
 his right. I have never been able to find such a one. Men, instead 
 of being satisfied when we grant them for a considerable time that 
 
86 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 which they hardly could have hoped to obtain once, demand from their 
 mistress an account of the past, the present, and even of the future. 
 In proportion as they become accustomed to her, they seek to subdue 
 her, and they become the more exacting the more she indulges them. 
 If I decide to take again a lover he must possess three very rare qualities : 
 he must have confidence in me, be submissive and discreet," 
 
 " Very well ! I will be all you wish." 
 
 " We shaU see." 
 
 " And when shaU we see ? " 
 
 " By-and-by." 
 
 "Why not now r' 
 
 " Because," said Marguerite, getting up from the couch, and taking 
 from a large bouquet of red camellias, which had been sent to her in 
 the morning, a single flower which she put in my buttonhole, " because 
 it is not always possible to execute treaties on the day of their signature." 
 
 There was no difficulty in understanding that. 
 
 " And when may I see you again ? " said I, clasping her in my arms. 
 
 " When this camellia will have changed its colour." 
 
 " And when will that be ? " 
 
 " To-morrow between eleven o'clock and midnight. Are you 
 satisfied ? " 
 
 " Can you ask me ! " 
 
 " Not a word of this to your friend, nor to Prudence, nor to any one." 
 
 " You may depend on me." 
 
 " Now embrace me and let us return to the drawing-room." 
 
 I did so ; she arranged her hair, and we left the room, she singing, 
 and I half mad with joy. 
 
 In the drawing-room, pausing for a moment, she whispered to me : 
 
 " It must seem very strange to you that I accept you so readily ; 
 but should you like to know why 1 
 
 " It is," she continued, taking my hand, and placing it upon her 
 heart, which throbbed and palpitated violently ; " it is because, having 
 to live a shorter -time than others, I have promised myself to live faster." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 87 
 
 " Do not speak thus, I entreat you." 
 
 " Don't distress yourself," she said laughing ; " however short a time 
 I may have to live, I shall live longer than you wiU love me." 
 
 And she entered the supper-room singing. 
 
 "Where is Nanine?" she said, on seeing Gaston and Prudence 
 alone. 
 
 " She is asleep in your room waiting till you are ready to go to 
 bed," answered Prudence. 
 
 " Poor girl ! I am killing her. Come, gentlemen, it is time for you 
 to go home." 
 
 Ten minutes after Gaston and I took our leave. Marguerite pressed 
 my hand as she said good-bye to me, and remained with Prudence. 
 
 " WeU ! " said Gaston, when we were in the street, " what did you 
 say to Marguerite ? " 
 
 " She is an angel and I am madly in love with her." 
 
 " I thought as much. Have you told her so ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And has she promised to believe you ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then she did not behave like Prudence." 
 
 " Has she promised you anything ? " 
 
 " She has behaved much better, my dear feUow. You would hardly 
 believe it ; but that buxom Duvernoy is a very fine woman still." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 At this stage 
 of his narrative 
 Armand paused. 
 
 " Will you be 
 kind enough to 
 shut the win- 
 dow ? " he said to 
 me ; "I begin to 
 feel cold. Mean- 
 while, I wiU get 
 into bed." 
 
 I shut the win- 
 dow. Armand, 
 who was still very weak, took off his dressing-gown and went to 
 bed, whilst he rested his head for a few minutes on the pillow, 
 
 M 
 
90 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 as if fatigued by a long walk or agitated by painful recollec- 
 tions. 
 
 " You have, perhaps, talked too much," I remarked. " Do you wish 
 me to leave you, so that you can have a nap 1 You can tell me the rest 
 of this story another day." 
 
 " Does it weary you 1 " 
 
 " On the contrary." 
 
 " Then I shall go on with it. Even if you left me alone, I could 
 not go to sleep." 
 
 When I came back to my rooms, he resumed, without hesitating 
 for a moment, for he still remembered perfectly all the details, I did 
 not go to bed, but began to reflect upon what had just happened. My 
 meeting with Marguerite, my being introduced to her, the promise she 
 had made me, all this had been so rapid and so unexpected, that 
 now and then I thought I was dreaming. It was not, however, the 
 first time that a girl like Marguerite had promised to meet a man the 
 very next day after his first making love to her. 
 
 It was in vain that these thoughts came into my head ; the first 
 impression produced on me by my future mistress was so powerful that 
 it could not be effaced. I persisted in not seeing in her a girl like 
 others, and with the vanity, which almost all men possess, I was ready 
 to believe she felt irresistibly the same affection for me that I felt for 
 her. 
 
 Nevertheless, I was aware of several examples which did not confirm 
 this belief, and often I had been told that Marguerite's love was a com- 
 modity more or less expensive, according to the season. 
 
 But how, also, on the other hand, could I reconcile this reputation 
 with her continually refusing to accept the young Count whom I had 
 met at her house 1 You wiU say that he did not please her, and that, 
 as she was splendidly kept by the Duke, she would decidedly take 
 a lover whom she would like if she were to choose another. Why 
 then would she have nothing to say to Gaston, who was charming, 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 91 
 
 intelligent, and rich ; and why did she seem to prefer me whom she 
 had thought so ridiculous the first time she saw me 1 
 
 It is true that something may happen in a minute that affects women 
 more than a whole year's courtship. 
 
 Of those who were present at supper, I was the only one who had 
 shown any feeling when she left the table. I had followed her, so 
 stirred up by emotion that I was not able to hide it, and I had shed 
 tears when kissing her hand. These circumstances, as well as my 
 daily visits during the two months she had been ill, might have made 
 her see in me a personage quite different from those people she had 
 hitherto known, and perhaps she had argued with herself that she 
 might grant to an affection expressed in such a manner what she had 
 so often granted, so that it was no longer of any importance to her. 
 
 All these suppositions, as you perceive, were probable enough ; but 
 whatever might have been the reason of her promise, one thing was 
 certain, that she had promised to meet me. 
 
 Now, I was in love with Marguerite ; I was going to stay with her, 
 and I could ask for nothing more. However, I repeat it, although she 
 was a demirep, and perhaps to make it all the more poetic, I had so 
 little expected that my love should be responded to, that, the nearer 
 the moment approached which would put an end to mere expectation, 
 the more I began to doubt. 
 
 I did not close my eyes the whole night. 
 
 I no longer recognised myself; I was half mad. Now, I did not 
 think myself handsome enough, nor rich enough, nor elegant enough 
 to be the lover of such a woman ; then I felt myself puffed up with 
 pride at the idea of becoming her lover ; again I began to fear that 
 Marguerite had only for me a caprice which would last a few days ; 
 and, having a foreboding of evil and of a prompt dismissal, I said to 
 myself that perhaps I should act wiser if I were not to go to her in the 
 evening, but leave town at once, after sending her a letter to tell her 
 what I feared. Then again, there were no limits to my expectations, 
 whilst my confidence was unbounded. My dreams of the future were 
 
 M 2 
 
92 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 incredible; I said to myself that I would cure this girl physically, 
 as weU as morally ; that I would pass aU my life with her ; and that 
 her love would render me happier than the affection of the chastest 
 maiden. 
 
 In fact I cannot repeat to you the innumerable thoughts that 
 welled from my heart to my brain, and which gradually passed away in 
 the sleep which overcame me at daybreak. 
 
 When I awoke it was two o'clock. The weather was very fine. I 
 cannot remember that life had ever before appeared to me so beautiful 
 and so bountiful. Kecollections of the previous evening presented 
 themselves to my mind without any shadows, without any obstacles, 
 and gaily escorted by the expectations of the evening to come. I dressed 
 myself in a hurry ; I was happy, and quite capable of performing the 
 noblest actions. From time to time my heart leaped in my bosom with 
 joy and with love. A gentle feverish agitation was stirred within me ; 
 I no longer troubled myself with the reasons which had pre-occupied 
 me before I fell asleep ; I saw but the result, and only thought of 
 the hour when I was again to behold Marguerite. 
 
 It was impossible for me to stay at home. My rooms appeared too 
 small to contain my happiness, and all nature was not too large to give 
 vent to my feelings. 
 
 I went out. 
 
 I passed along the Rue d'Antin ; Marguerite's brougham awaited 
 her at the door. I walked towards the Champs-Elys^es. Without 
 knowing any one, I liked everybody I met. 
 
 How kind-hearted love makes a man ! 
 
 I walked for an hour from the " Chevaux de Marly " to the " rond- 
 point," and from the " rond-point " to the " Chevaux de Marly." I saw 
 in the distance Marguerite's carriage ; I did not know it, but guessed it 
 was hers. 
 
 At the moment of turning the corner of the Champs-Elysdes, she 
 ordered the carriage to stop, and a tall young man left some friends with 
 whom he had been conversing to come and talk to her. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 93 
 
 They chatted for a few minutes ; the young man rejoined his friends, 
 the horses went on ; and I, who had approached the group, recognised 
 in the one who had spoken to Marguerite the Count de G, . . ., whose 
 portrait I had seen, and whom Prudence had pointed out to me as the 
 man to whom Marguerite owed her position. 
 
 The night before she had given orders not to admit him, and I sup- 
 posed that she stopped her carriage to let him know why she had done 
 so, whilst I was hoping at the same time that she would have found 
 some new excuse for not receiving him this evening. 
 
 I do not know how I spent the rest of the day ; I walked, smoked, 
 and conversed ; but at ten o'clock at night I could not recollect what 
 I had said and whom I had met. 
 
 AU that I remember is that I went back to my rooms ; that I passed 
 three hours in dressing myself, and that I looked a hundred times at my 
 clock and my watch, which unluckily told precisely the same story. 
 
 When it struck haK-past ten I said to myself that it was time to go. 
 
 I lived then in the Rue de Provence ; I went along the Eue du 
 Mont-Blanc, crossed the Boulevard, took the Rue Louis-le-Grand, the 
 Kue de Port-Mahon, and the Rue d'Antin. I looked up at Marguerite's 
 windows. 
 
 They were lit up. 
 
 I rang the bell. 
 
 I asked the " portier " if Mademoiselle Gautier was at home. 
 
 He replied that she never came home before eleven or a quarter-past. 
 
 I looked at my watch. 
 
 I thought that I had walked very gently, but I had not taken 
 five minutes to come from the Rue de Provence to Marguerite's 
 house. 
 
 Then I paced up and down the street, which was without shops, 
 and quite deserted at this hour. 
 
 In half an hour Marguerite arrived, stepped out of her brougham, 
 and looked around her as if she wanted to see some one. 
 
 The carriage went slowly away; for the stables and coach-house 
 
94 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 were not in the same house where she lived. Just as she was going to 
 ring the bell, I drew near, and said to her : 
 
 " Good evening ! " 
 
 " Oh, is it you ? " she replied, in a tone which did not show that 
 she felt very pleased in seeing me. 
 
 "Did you not give me permission to come and pay you a visit 
 to-night r' 
 
 " You are right, I had forgotten it." 
 
 These words effaced aU the reflection^ I had made during the morn- 
 ing, as well as all my hopes for the future. However, I began to get 
 accustomed to her peculiarities, and did not go away, as I certainly 
 should have done formerly. 
 
 We went into the house. 
 
 Nanine had opened the door beforehand. 
 
 " Has Prudence come back ? " asked Marguerite. 
 
 " No, Madame." 
 
 " Go and tell her servant that she is to come to me as soon as 
 she returns. But before you go, put out the lamp in the drawing-room ; 
 and if any one calls, say that I have not yet returned, and that I shall 
 not be home this evening." 
 
 She was preoccupied by something, and, perhaps, annoyed by my 
 untimely visit. I did not know what countenance to assume, nor what to 
 say. Marguerite went towards her bedroom, and I remained where I was. 
 
 " Follow me," she said. 
 
 She took off her bonnet and her velvet cloak, and threw them on 
 the bed ; then she dropped into a large easy-chair near the fire, which 
 was always kindled in her room till the very beginning of summer, and 
 said to me, as she played with her watch-chain : 
 
 " Well ! what news have you to tell me 1 " 
 
 " No news at all, except that I was wrong to come this evening." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you appear to be vexed, and, no doubt, I annoy you." 
 
 "You do not annoy me, only I am iU. I have been in pain 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 95 
 
 the whole day; I did not sleep all night, and I have a frightful 
 headache." 
 
 " Shall I leave the room, so that you can get into bed ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you can remain. If I want to go to bed, I can very well do 
 so while you are here." 
 
 Just then some one rang the beU. 
 
 "Who is coming here now?" she said, with a gesture of im- 
 patience. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards the bell rang again. 
 
 "Is there no one to open the door? I shall have to do so myself." 
 
 She rose from her chair saying : 
 
 " Wait here for me." 
 
 She went to the outer-door, which I heard her open. I was 
 listening. 
 
 The gentleman to whom she had opened the door stepped into the 
 dining-room. At the first words he spoke I recognised the voice of the 
 young Count de N . . . . 
 
 " How are you this evening? " he asked. 
 
 "I am iU," abruptly answered Marguerite. 
 
 " Am I in your way ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so." 
 
 " What a nice reception you give me ! What have I done to you, 
 my dear Marguerite ? " 
 
 "My dear friend, you have done nothing to me. I am iU, and I 
 want to go to bed ; you will, therefore, do me the kindness to leave. 
 It worries me to death not to be able to come home of an evening 
 without seeing you appear five minutes afterwards. What do you 
 want ? That I should become your mistress ? I have already told you 
 a hundred times that I refuse, that you irritate me most horribly, and 
 that you had better pay your addresses to some one else. To-night I 
 repeat it to you for the last time ; I wiU have nothing to say to you. 
 Do you understand that ? Ah ! here is Nanine, who has just come in ; 
 she will show you a light. Good-night." 
 
96 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 And without adding a word, without listening to what the young 
 man was muttering, Marguerite returned, and violently slammed 
 the door. A few minutes afterwards, Nanine also came into the 
 room. 
 
 "Once for all," said Marguerite to her, "you will always teU that 
 stupid fellow that I am not at home, or do not wish to receive him. I 
 am tired, at last, of perpetually seeing people who come to ask me for 
 the same thing, pay me, and then believe they no longer owe me any- 
 thing. If women only knew what it meant, they would sooner become 
 lady's maids than enter our shameful profession. But no ; we are led 
 away by the idea of having fine dresses, carriages, and diamonds ; 
 we believe what is told us, for even prostitution has its belief, and 
 little by little we wear out our heart, our body, and our beauty ; we 
 are dreaded as if we were wild beasts, and despised as if we were 
 pariahs ; we are only surrounded by persons who always take from us 
 more than they give, and some fine day we crawl away to die like 
 dogs, after having ruined others, and ruined ourselves as well." 
 
 " Madame, pray calm yourself," said Nanine ; " you are nervous this 
 evening." 
 
 "This dress is too tight for me," said Marguerite, unfastening 
 it, " give me a dressing-gown. Well ! where is Prudence ? " 
 
 " She has not yet returned, but they will send her to you as soon 
 as she comes in." 
 
 " Even Prudence," continued Marguerite, taking off her dress, and 
 putting on a white dressing-gown, " knows very well to come to 
 me when she wants me, but does not care to do me a service unless 
 I make it worth her while. She is aware that this evening I am 
 waiting for her answer, that I must have it and am uneasy, and yet 
 I am quite sure she has gone gadding about without troubling herself 
 about me." 
 
 " Perhaps she has been detained." 
 
 " Give me some punch." 
 
 " You will make yourself ill again," remarked Nanine. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 97 
 
 "All the better. Bring me also some fruit, a 'p^td,' or the wing 
 of a chicken ; something directly ! I am hungry." 
 
 I cannot tell you the impression this scene produced on me, but 
 you can guess it. 
 
 "You will stay and have some supper with me," she said ; " mean- 
 while take up a book ; I am going to my dressing-room for a minute." 
 
 She took one of the candlesticks, opened a door at the foot of 
 her bed, and disappeared. 
 
 My thoughts reverted to the kind of life this girl was leading, and 
 a feeling of pity was added to my love for her. 
 
 I walked up and down the room, all the while communing with 
 myself, when Prudence entered. 
 
 " What ! you here," she said ; " where is Marguerite ? " 
 
 " In her dressing-room." 
 
 " I will wait for her. I say, do you know she likes you very 
 much?" 
 
 " I was not aware of it." 
 
 " She has not told you anything about it ? " 
 
 " No, she has not." 
 
 " Why are you here ? " 
 
 " I came to pay her a visit." 
 
 "At midnight?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " You are jesting." 
 
 " She has even received me very badly." 
 
 " She will now receive you better." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 " I bring her good news." 
 
 " There is no harm in that. What did she say to you about 
 me, and when ? " 
 
 " Yesterday evening, or rather this morning, after you and your 
 friend left. By-the-by, how is your friend ? Is his name not Gaston 
 R ?" 
 
98 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " Yes," I said, without being able to keep from smiling, remem- 
 bering what Gaston had told me, and seeing that Prudence scarcely 
 knew his name. 
 
 " He is a nice young fellow. What does he do 1 " 
 
 " He has about twenty-five thousand francs a year." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed. Well, to come back to you ; Marguerite questioned 
 me about you. She asked me who you were, what you did, what 
 women you had been courting ; in fact, everything a woman can ask 
 about a man of your age. I told her all that I knew, and even said 
 that you were a very nice young fellow." 
 
 " Thank you. Now, tell me ; what did she want you to do for her 
 last night ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all. She simply wanted to get rid of the young Count ; 
 but to-day I had to go somewhere for her, and I bring her an answer 
 now." 
 
 At this moment Marguerite came out of her dressing-room, wearing 
 a smart little cap with bows of yellow ribbon. 
 
 She looked charming. 
 
 Her bare feet were stuck in a pair of satin slippers ; and she was 
 trimming her nails. 
 
 " Well," she said, on seeing Prudence, " have you seen the Duke ? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " What did he say to you ? " 
 
 " He has supplied me with what you wanted." 
 
 "With how much?" 
 
 " Six thousand francs." 
 
 " Have you got the money ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Did he appear to be annoyed? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Poor man." 
 
 These two words were uttered in a manner impossible to render. 
 Marguerite took the notes which Prudence handed to her. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 99 
 
 " It was high time," she ohserved. " My dear Prudence, are you 
 in want of money ] " 
 
 " You know, my child, that we are two days from the fifteenth ; if 
 you could lend me three or four hundred francs, you would do me a 
 service." 
 
 " Send in the morning ; it is too late to get change now." 
 
 " You won't forget." 
 
 " Make yourself easy. Will you stay to supper with us ? " 
 
 " No. Charles is waiting for me at home." 
 
 " You are still in love with him ? " 
 
 " I am raving about him, my dear. Till to-morrow. Good-bye, 
 Armand." 
 
 Madame Duvemoy went away. 
 
 Marguerite opened one of the cupboards underneath an " ^tag^re," 
 and threw the bank-notes into it. 
 
 " You wiU permit me to lie down? " she asked, smiling, and walking 
 towards the bed. 
 
 " I not only permit it, I beg you to do so." 
 
 She turned back the lace coverlet, and laid down. 
 
 " Now," she said, " come and sit near me, and let us converse." 
 
 Prudence was right ; the answer she had brought to Marguerite had 
 put her in a better temper. 
 
 " You wiU. pardon me for having been so cantankerous this evening," 
 she said, taking my hand. 
 
 " I am ready to pardon you a great deal more." 
 
 " And you love me ? " 
 
 " I am madly in love with you." 
 
 " Notwithstanding my bad temper ? " 
 
 " Notwithstanding everything." 
 
 " WiU you swear it to me ? " 
 
 " Yes," I said in a low tone. 
 
 Nanine then entered with plates, a cold chicken, a bottle of claret, 
 and some strawberries. 
 
 N 2 
 
100 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " I did not make any punch," said Nanine ; " claret is much better 
 for you. Am I not right, sir ? " 
 
 " Certainly," I answered, still greatly moved by Marguerite's last 
 words, and looking at her with eyes full of passion. 
 
 "That wiU do," she said. "Put aU these things on the little 
 table, and draw it up close to the bed ; we will help ourselves. You 
 have been kept up these three nights, Nanine ; you must want to go to 
 bed ; have a good rest ; I don't require anything more." 
 
 "ShaU I lock the door?" 
 
 " I should think so ; and, above all, tell them not to let any one 
 in to-morrow morning before twelve." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 At five o'clock in the morning, when daylight began to peep 
 through the curtains, Marguerite said to me : 
 
 " Forgive me for driving you avray, but it is not my fault ; the Duke 
 comes every morning, and if they tell him I am asleep, he will wait, 
 perhaps, till I awake." 
 
 I took hold of her head whilst her dishevelled hair was falling 
 about her, and giving her a last kiss, asked : 
 
 " When shall I see you again ? " 
 
 "Listen," she said, "take the little gilded key which is on the 
 mantelpiece ; go and open this door, put back the key in its place, and 
 go away. During the day you wiU receive a letter with my commands ; 
 for you know you are to obey me blindly." 
 
102 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " Suppose I were already to ask you for something? " 
 
 "What is it r' 
 
 " Permission to keep this key." 
 
 " I never gave that key to any one." 
 
 " Well, give it to me ! for I swear to you no one has ever loved you 
 as I do." 
 
 " Well, then, take it ; but I tell you frankly it depends entirely on 
 me if it be of any use to you." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " There are bolts inside the door." 
 
 " How cruel you are ! " 
 
 " I will have them removed." 
 
 " You love me then a little ? " 
 
 " I do not understand how it is, but I think I do ; now go away, 
 I am very sleepy." 
 
 We remained for a moment in each other's arms, and then I took 
 my departure. 
 
 There was no one in the streets. The great city was still sleeping 
 and felt less close than it would be a few hours later on, when it would 
 resound with the busy hum of men. 
 
 It seemed as if this sleeping town belonged to me. I tried to 
 recollect the names of those men I had hitherto envied ; but I could 
 not recall one without finding myself happier than he was. 
 
 To be loved by a chaste maiden, to be the first to reveal to her the 
 strange mystery of love, is certainly a great happiness ; but it is the 
 simplest thing in the world. To gain possession of a heart unaccus- 
 tomed to be attacked is to enter a town not fortified, and without any 
 garrison. Education, a feeling of duty, and family affection are 
 watchful sentinels ; but no sentinels are so vigilant as not to be 
 deceived by a young girl of sixteen to whom, through the voice of the 
 man she adores, nature gives those first lessons of passion which are so 
 much the more ardent as they seem the more pure. 
 
 The more a young girl believes in what is right, the more readily 
 she abandons herself, if not to her lover, at leiast to love ; because not 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 103 
 
 being distrustful she is without strength. To make himself beloved by 
 such a girl is a triumph which any man of twenty-five may obtain 
 whenever he likes. And this is so true that you will observe that 
 young girls are watched over with great care, and surrounded by ever 
 so many bulwarks. Convents have no walls high enough, mothers no 
 locks strong enough, religion no observances long enough to confine 
 aU those charming birds in cages, into which people do not even take 
 the trouble to throw a few flowers. Therefore they are longing to see 
 this world which is hidden from them; they suppose that it is very 
 tempting ; they are ready to listen to the first voice which, through the 
 bars of their prison, teUs them its secrets, and to bless the hand which 
 is the first to lift the comer of the mysterious veil. 
 
 But to be reaUy loved by a courtesan is a victory far more difficult. 
 With such women the body has worn out the soul ; sensuousness has 
 burned up the heart; dissipation has hardened every feeling. They 
 have long been familiar with the words a man utters to them ; they are 
 acquainted with the means he employs, and have bartered the very 
 love which they inspire. They love as a profession, and not from 
 impulse ; they are more securely guarded by their calculations than a 
 virgin is by her mother, and her convent. Thus they have invented 
 the word " caprice " for that non-mercenary love to which they treat 
 themselves now and then as an excuse, a repose, or a consolation ; 
 like those usurers who, after fleecing a great number of people, think 
 to atone for everything by lending one day or other twenty francs to 
 some poor wretch who is dying of hunger, without asking any interest 
 or any acknowledgment of the debt. 
 
 Moreover, when Heaven permits a courtesan to feel any love, that 
 very love which seems at first a sort of forgiveness, becomes almost 
 always a chastisement. There is no absolution without penance. 
 When a woman whose past career is a reproach to her, finds herself 
 suddenly haunted by a love profound, sincere, irresistible, of which 
 she could never have beheved herself capable ; when she has acknow- 
 ledged her love, what an absolute sway the beloved exercises over 
 her ! How strong he feels himself, because he has the cruel right of 
 
104 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 saying to her : " You feel the power of love now, but you formerly 
 pretended to have the same feelings for money." 
 
 Then she knows not what proofs to give of her affection. Some 
 fable relates how a child, after having for a long time amused himself 
 by shouting in the fields for help and so disturbing the labourers, was 
 one day devoured by a bear, because those whom he had deceived so 
 often, paid no attention to the cries he raised through genuine fear. 
 It is thus with these unhappy girls when they really love ; they have 
 so often told so many falsehoods that people will no longer believe 
 them, and in the midst of their remorse they are consumed by their 
 very passion. 
 
 Hence those noble instances of self-sacrifice and of austere repent- 
 ance, of which some of them have given examples. 
 
 But when the man who inspires this redeeming sentiment is 
 generous enough to accept it without remembering the past, when he 
 wholly gives himself up to that sentiment, when, in short, he loves as 
 he is beloved, then that man exhausts at once aU earthly emotions, 
 and after such a passion his heart will remain for ever closed to any 
 other love. 
 
 I did not make these reflections that same morning after returning 
 to my rooms ; they could have only been the presentiment of what was 
 about to happen, and in spite of my love for Marguerite I foresaw no such 
 consequences. I make these reflections now, because everything is 
 irrevocably finished, and they are the natural outcome of what has 
 taken place. 
 
 But to return to the first day of this " liaison." When I came back 
 to my rooms I was wild with delight ; I remembered that the barriers 
 placed by my imagination between Marguerite and myself had dis- 
 appeared ; that I was her lover, and occupied, more or less, all her 
 thoughts ; that I had in my pocket the key of her room, and the right 
 of making use of that key ; and I was glad to live, proud of myself, 
 and pleased with my lot in this world. 
 
 On a certain day a young man passes through a street ; he brushes 
 against a young woman, looks at her, turns round, and passes on ; he 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 105 
 
 does not know this woman; she has pleasures, passions, sorrows, 
 which he does not share. He does not exist for her, and, perhaps, if he 
 spoke to her, she would make fun of him as Marguerite had made fun 
 of me. Weeks, months, years flow on, and all at once, after they have 
 each followed their destiny in various directions, the logic of fate brings 
 them again face to face. Then this woman becomes the mistress of this 
 man, and loves him. How ? Why ? Their two existences now make 
 but one ; their intimacy had scarcely begun when it appears to them 
 to have always existed, and every other event that happened before 
 is eflfaced from the memory of this pair of lovers. We must acknow- 
 ledge that this is strange. 
 
 As for me, I no longer remembered how I had lived before the 
 preceding day. My whole being was steeped in joy at the recollection 
 of the words exchanged during the first night. Either Marguerite was 
 clever in deceiving, or she felt for me one of those sudden passions 
 revealed in the first kiss, and which sometimes die as suddenly as 
 they arise. 
 
 The more I reflected on it, the more I said to myself that Marguerite 
 had no cause to feign a passion which she did not feel ; I also said to 
 myself that women have two ways of loving, which may spring from one 
 another : they love with the heart and with the senses. A woman often 
 takes a lover, impelled to it by her temperament ; and, without having 
 expected it, she learns the mystery of immaterial love, and no longer 
 lives except through her feelings ; often a young girl who imagines 
 marriage only to be the union of two pure affections receives the 
 sudden revelation of physical love ; this energetic conclusion of the 
 most chaste impressions of the soul. 
 
 I fell asleep whilst occupied with these thoughts. My servant woke 
 me and handed me a letter from Marguerite which contained the 
 following words : 
 
 " These are my commands : Come this evening to the ' Vaudeville,' 
 between the third and fourth acts. — M. G." 
 
 I locked this note in one of the drawers of my table, so as always 
 
io6 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 to have the reality at hand, and as a proof that I was not dreaming, as 
 I sometimes fancied I was. 
 
 She did not tell me to come and visit her in the daytime, so I did 
 not dare to present myself at her house ; but I was so anxious to meet 
 her before the evening that I went to the Champs-Elysdes where, as on 
 the day before, I saw her pass and get out of her carriage. 
 
 I was at the ' Vaudeville ' at seven. 
 
 Never before had I entered a theatre so early. 
 
 All the boxes became gradually occupied except one on the ground- 
 tier near the stage, which remained empty. 
 
 The third act had begun. The door of this box, on which I kept 
 my eyes almost constantly fixed, opened, and Marguerite appeared. 
 
 She immediately advanced to the front, glanced at the stalls, saw 
 me, and thanked me with a look. 
 
 She seemed wonderfully handsome that evening. 
 
 Was I the cause of her looking so well ? Did she love me enough 
 to believe that the more beautiful she looked the happier I should be ? 
 I was not yet aware of it, but if such had been her intention, she 
 completely succeeded ; for when the audience saw her, they whispered 
 among themselves, and the actor who was then on the stage gazed 
 at the woman who had disturbed the spectators by her mere appear- 
 ance. And I had the key of her apartment, and in another three or 
 four hours she would again be mine. 
 
 People blame men who ruin themselves for actresses and demireps. 
 What astonishes me is that men do not commit twenty times more 
 follies for them. You must have led such a life as I have to know 
 how the flattering compliments which these women daily pay their 
 lovers firmly root into the heart the passion — for there exists no 
 other name for it — which the latter feel. 
 
 Prudence took her place in the box, and a gentleman, whom I recog- 
 nised as the Count de G . . . ., seated himself at the back. 
 
 On seeing him I felt my blood freeze in my veins. 
 
 Doubtless Marguerite perceived the impression produced by the 
 presence of this gentleman in her box ; for she smiled on me anew, and 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 107 
 
 turning her back on him, appeared to listen very attentively to the 
 first piece. At the close of the piece she turned round and said a 
 tew words to the Count, vpho left the box ; then Marguerite beckoned 
 to me to come and see her. 
 
 " Good evening," said she on my entering ; and she gave me her 
 hand. 
 
 " Good evening," I replied, addressing myself to Marguerite and 
 Prudence. 
 
 " WiUyou sit down?" 
 
 " I am afraid of taking some one's place. Is the Count de G . . . . 
 not coming back ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have sent him to get me some ' bonbons,' so that we might 
 converse for a few minutes. Madame Duvernoy is in my confidence." 
 
 "Yes, my children," said the latter, "make yourselves easy. I 
 won't say anything." 
 
 "What is the matter with you this evening?" asked Marguerite, 
 rising and going to the back of the box to kiss me on the forehead. 
 
 " I am not very well." 
 
 " Then go to bed," she replied, with that ironical air so well 
 suited to her delicate and intelligent countenance. 
 
 " Where shaU I go to bed ? " 
 
 " In your rooms." 
 
 " You know very weU that I cannot sleep there." 
 
 " Then you should not come and look so sulky, because you have 
 seen a gentleman in my box." 
 
 " That is not the reason why I look sulky." 
 
 "But it is though. I am no novice, and you are wrong; so we 
 wiU not say anything more about it. Come after the piece is over to 
 Prudence's rooms, and remain there until I call you. Do you hear ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Could I do anything else than obey her ? 
 
 "You love me still? " she resumed. 
 
 "Can you ask such a thing ! " 
 
 " Have you been thinking of me ? " 
 
 o 2 
 
io8 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 "The whole day." 
 
 " Do you know I am decidedly afraid of falling in love with you ? 
 Ask Prudence." 
 
 " Yes," answered her buxom companion ; " she worries me with talk- 
 ing so much about it." 
 
 " Now then, go back to your seat. The Count will soon return and 
 need not find you here." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because it cannot be pleasant for you to see him." 
 
 "No; only if you had told me that you wished to go to the 
 ' Vaudeville ' this evening I could have sent you a box quite as well." 
 
 " Unfortunately he brought it me without my asking for it, and he 
 offered also to accompany me. You know very well that I could not 
 refuse him. All that I could do was to write to you where I was going, 
 so that you might see me, and that I myself might have some 
 pleasure in seeing you earlier ; but as this is the reward I get for it 
 I shall know what to do next time." 
 
 " I am wrong ; I beg your pardon." 
 
 "Now that is better. Eetum quietly to your seat, and, above all, 
 don't be jealous any more." 
 
 She kissed me again and I left the box. 
 
 In the passage I met the Count, who was coming back. 
 
 I returned to my stall. 
 
 After all, the presence of Monsieur de G . . . . in Marguerite's box 
 was the simplest thing in the world. He had been her lover ; and there 
 was nothing extraordinary in his bringing her a box and accompanying 
 her to the theatre. From the moment such a girl as Marguerite became 
 my mistress I was of course obliged to accept her ordinary mode of living. 
 
 Nevertheless, I was very unhappy for the remainder of the evening, 
 and felt very sad on going away, after having seen the Count, Prudence, 
 and Marguerite step into the carriage which was waiting for them at 
 the door of the theatre. 
 
 And yet a quarter of an hour afterwards I was in Prudence's 
 rooms. She had only just that moment returned. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " You have come here almost as quickly as we did," said Prudence 
 to me. 
 
 " Yes," I replied ; " where is Marguerite ? " 
 
no THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " In her rooms ? " 
 
 " Quite alone 1 " 
 
 " No, with Monsieur de G . . . ." 
 
 I paced rapidly up and down the room. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? " 
 
 " Do you think it is pleasant for me to wait here till Monsieur de 
 G . . . . leaves Marguerite 1 " 
 
 "You are talking nonsense! You know that she cannot turn 
 the Count out of doors. He has long been her friend, has always 
 given her a great deal of money, and still does so. Marguerite spends 
 more than a hundred thousand francs a year, and has a good many 
 debts. The Duke sends her whatever she asks for, but she cannot 
 always be asking him for all she wants. She must not quarrel with 
 the Count, who yearly allows her at least about ten thousand francs. 
 Marguerite is very fond of you, my dear fellow, but you ought not to 
 take your ' liaison ' with her so much to heart, for her sake as well as for 
 yours. It is not with your seven or eight thousand francs that you can 
 keep up the style in which she lives. Such a sum would not pay for 
 her carriage. Take Marguerite for what she is ; for a kind-hearted, 
 intelligent, and pretty girl ; be her lover for a month or two ; give her 
 bouquets, ' bonbons,' and boxes at the theatre, but do not think of doing 
 anything more, and be not so ridiculous as to be jealous. You know 
 what Marguerite is, and that she is not an innocent girl ; and as you 
 please her and are very fond of her, you should not worry about any- 
 thing else. I like the idea of your being so thin-skinned ! You have the 
 most fascinating mistress in Paris; she receives you in magnificent rooms; 
 she is covered with diamonds, and if you like will not cost you a penny, 
 and yet you are not satisfied. What the deuce ! you are too exacting." 
 
 " No doubt you are right ; but in spite of myself, the idea that this 
 man is her lover deeply hurts my feelings." 
 
 " But is he still her lover? She cannot do without his assistance ; 
 that is all. 
 
 " For the last two days she has closed her doors against him, but 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. m 
 
 she cannot do otlierwise than accept his box at the theatre, and allow 
 him to accompany her. He returns with her and goes to her rooms for 
 a moment, but he will not remain there, as you are here. All this is 
 very natural, it seems to me. Besides, you do not object to the Duke." 
 
 " That is true ; but he is an old man, and I am sure that Marguerite 
 is not his mistress. Moreover, one might possibly tolerate one ' liaison ' 
 and not accept two. Such leniency looks too much like calculation ; 
 and such easy-going lovers seem like those wretches who, fallen much 
 lower, speculate on such a forbearance, and make a profit out of the 
 speculation." 
 
 " My dear fellow, you are very much behind the times. How 
 many men of noble birth, rich and most fashionable, have I seen, who 
 behave as I advise you ; and that without hesitation, or any feeling of 
 shame or remorse. Why, it happens every day I How do you suppose 
 certain ladies in Paris could keep up the style in which they live, if 
 they had not three or four lovers? There is no fortune, however 
 large, which alone could defray the expenses of a girl like Marguerite. 
 A yearly income of five hundred thousand francs is enormous in 
 France. Well, my dear friend, such an income would not be sufiicient ; 
 and I will tell you why. A man who has so much money has an 
 establishment to keep up ; he has horses, servants, carriages, a pack 
 of hounds, and friends ; he often is married, has a family, keeps a 
 racing stud, gambles, travels, and does ever so many things. All his 
 actions are so regulated that he cannot dispense with any, without 
 raising a suspicion of being embarrassed, and being talked about. 
 When aU these items are taken into account, he cannot give to a woman 
 more than forty or fifty thousand francs a year, and even that is a great 
 deal. Very well, then ; other amours must pay her yearly expenses. 
 Marguerite has no need of this ; she has, by a miracle, met an old 
 millionaire whose wife and daughter are dead, whose only relatives are 
 as wealthy as he is himself; and he gives her aU that she asks, and 
 wants nothing in exchange ; but she cannot ask him for more than 
 sixty or seventy thousand francs a year, and I am sure that if she were 
 
112 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 to apply to him for more he would refuse it, in spite of his fortune and 
 the affection he entertains for her. 
 
 " All those young men with incomes of twenty or thirty thousand 
 francs, that is to say, barely enough to live upon in the society they 
 frequent, know very well, when they are the lovers of a girl like Mar- 
 guerite, that she cannot even pay the rent of her apartments with what 
 they give her. They do not tell her that they know this ; they pretend 
 not to see anything ; and when this has lasted for some time they go 
 about their business. If they are vain enough to try and pay for all she 
 wants, they ruin themselves like fools, and go to Algeria and are killed, 
 after having left in Paris about a hundred thousand francs worth of debts. 
 Do you suppose that such a girl is under any obligation to these men 
 for acting thus ? Not the least in the world ! On the contrary, she 
 sees that she has sacrificed her position to them, and was losing money 
 all the time she was with them ! No doubt, you will consider all these 
 details very disgraceful ; but, nevertheless, they are true. You are a 
 charming young fellow, whom I like very much; but I have lived 
 for about twenty years among demireps ; I know what they are, and 
 their good and bad qualities ; and I should not wish you to take 
 seriously to heart a caprice which a pretty girl has for you. 
 
 "Moreover," continued Prudence, "let us admit that Marguerite 
 loves you sufficiently to give up the Count and the Duke, in case the 
 latter should become aware of her 'liaison,' and tell her to choose 
 between you and him ; then the sacrifice she would make for you 
 would be enormous ; there is no doubt of that ! What sacrifice can 
 you make for her that would be as important, when you have become 
 tired of her, when, in fact, you want to have nothing more to do with 
 her ? What will you do, then, to repay her for what you have made 
 her lose 1 Nothing ! You will have isolated her from those friends 
 amongst whom she might have made her fortune and a position for the 
 future ; she will have given you the best years of her life, and she will 
 be forgotten. Either you will behave as men usually do, reproach her 
 with her former life, tell her that in leaving her you only do what her 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 113 
 
 other lovers have done, and abandon her to inevitable misery ; or you 
 wiU be an honest man, think it your duty to live with her, and thus 
 unavoidably prepare for yourself a most wretched existence ; for such a 
 ' liaison,' excusable in a young man, ceases to be so when a man is of 
 a certain age. She will have become an obstacle to everything ; she 
 prevents you from forming family ties or from listening to the voice of 
 ambition, that second and last love of men. Believe me then, my 
 friend, take things as they are, and women for what they are worth, 
 and don't give to a girl like Marguerite the right of saying that you 
 owe her anything." 
 
 These arguments were sensible, and so logical, that I should have 
 thought Prudence quite incapable of them. I could find nothing to 
 reply, except that she was quite right ; then I shook hands with her, 
 and thanked her for her advice. 
 
 "Come, come," she said, "drive away those ridiculous notions, and 
 be merry. Life is delightful, my dear feUow, but that depends on the 
 glass through which you look at it. Ask your friend Gaston for 
 advice ; he is a young fellow who seems to understand love as I do. 
 You may be certain of one thing, unless you are an arrant fool, namely, 
 that quite near here a handsome girl is waiting most impatiently for 
 the departure of the person now with her ; that she thinks a good deal of 
 you, that you wiU stay with her till the morning, and that she certainly 
 loves you. Now, come and stand at the window with me, so that we may 
 see the Count go away, which he will do shortly, to make room for us." 
 
 Prudence opened her window, and we stood beside each other on 
 the balcony. 
 
 She was looking at a few passers-by ; I was buried in thought. 
 
 All that she had said to me was passing through my mind, and I 
 could not help admitting that she was right ; but the genuine love I felt 
 for Marguerite could hardly reconcile itself to such arguments. I 
 occasionally sighed, and then Prudence turned round and shrugged her 
 shoulders like a physician who despairs of a patient. 
 
 " How short is life and how rapid are our sensations ! " I said to 
 
114 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 myself. " I have scarcely known Marguerite two days. Only yester- 
 day she became my mistress, and already she has taken such hold of 
 my thoughts, my heart, and my life, that the visit of the Count de 
 G. . . . seems a misfortune happening to myself." 
 
 At length the Count went away, entered his carriage and drove off. 
 
 At the same moment Marguerite called us. 
 
 " Make haste, the cloth is being laid," she said, " we are going to 
 have some supper." 
 
 When I entered the room she ran to meet me, threw her arms 
 around my neck, and embraced me warmly. 
 
 " Are you still sulky V she asked. 
 
 " No, it is aU over," replied Prudence ; " I have been preaching to 
 him, and he has promised to be a good boy." 
 
 " That's right." 
 
 In spite of myself I cast my eyes on the bed ; it had not been dis- 
 turbed. As for Marguerite, she wore a white dressing-gown. 
 
 We sat down to supper. 
 
 Fascination, gentleness, frankness of manner. Marguerite possessed 
 them all ; and I was compelled, from time to time, to recognise that I 
 had no right to demand anything else ; that many persons would con- 
 sider themselves happy to be in my place ; and that, like the Shepherd 
 of Virgil, I had only to enjoy the pleasures which a deity, or rather a 
 goddess, offered to me. I endeavoured, therefore, to put into practice 
 the theories of Prudence, and to be as cheerful as the two ladies 
 were ; but it was natural to them, and to me it was an effort. I felt 
 so nervous that now and then I burst into laughter, and they were 
 deceived, but I was almost shedding tears. 
 
 Supper was over at last, and I remained alone with Marguerite. 
 
 She sat down, as she was accustomed to do, upon the hearthrug, and 
 gazed sadly into the fire. 
 
 She was thinking ; I do not know of what. I gazed upon her with 
 a heart full of love, and was almost terrified whilst reflecting on what I 
 was ready to suffer for her. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 115 
 
 " Do you know what I have been thinking about ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Of a plan that I have formed." 
 
 " And what is that plan ? " 
 
 "I cannot teU it you yet; but I can let you know what will be 
 its result. Its result will be, to set me free in a month from this 
 time ; then I shall no longer owe anything, and we will go and spend 
 together the summer in the country." 
 
 " And you cannot teU me by what means you expect to succeed ? " 
 
 " No, the only thing you have to do is to love me as I love you, 
 and all will go well." 
 
 " Have you thought of this plan by yourself? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you intend to carry it out by yourself? " 
 ' " I, alone, wiU have all the trouble," said Marguerite, with a smile 
 I shall never forget ; " but we will share the profits." 
 
 I blushed involuntarily at the word "profits," for it reminded me 
 of Manon Lescaut spending with Desgrieux the money of Monsieur 
 de B 
 
 I replied rather sternly, rising at the same time. 
 
 "You will permit me, my dear Marguerite, to refuse to share in 
 the profits of any enterprise which I have not planned and executed 
 myself." 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ? " 
 
 "It means that I strongly suspect that the Count de G. . . . will 
 become your partner in this ominous undertaking, and I will accept 
 neither its responsibility nor its profits." 
 
 " You are very childish. I thought that you loved me, but I am 
 deceived. It serves me right." 
 
 Whilst saying these words, she rose, opened the piano and began to 
 
 play " The Invitation to the Waltz " up to the famous passage in the 
 
 major key, which she never could master. 
 
 Was it from mere habit, or to remind me of the day when we 
 
 p 2 
 
ii6 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 became first acquainted ? I cannot say ; but I know that when I heard 
 this melody my thoughts reverted to that time, and approaching her, 
 I took hold of her head and embraced her. 
 
 " You forgive me ? " I said. 
 
 "You see that I do," she replied; "but pray observe that this is 
 only our second day's acquaintance, and that I already have something 
 to forgive you. You do not keep very weU your promise of blind 
 obedience." 
 
 "I cannot help it. Marguerite; I love you too much, and I am 
 jealous of your slightest thoughts. What you proposed to me just now 
 drove me wild with joy ; but I felt a pang at my heart when I thought 
 how mysteriously you intended to carry out your project." 
 
 "Let us reason together," said she, taking both my hands, and 
 looking at me with that charming smile which it was impossible to 
 resist ; " you love me, do you not ? and you would be happy to pass three 
 or four months with me alone in the country ? I also should be happy 
 to be alone with you, and not only should I feel happy, but I need it 
 for the sake of my health. I cannot leave Paris for so long a time with- 
 out putting my affairs in order, and the affairs of a person like myself 
 are always in an awful mess. Well ! I have discovered the means of 
 arranging everything : my own affairs as well as my love for you. Yes, 
 for you ! you need not laugh ! I am foolish enough to love you, and 
 yet you assume grand airs and use big words to me. You are childish, 
 and worse than childish ! only recollect that I love you, and do not 
 worry yourself about anything else. Will that suit you ? Tell me ! " 
 
 " You know that whatever you wish will suit me." 
 
 "Then before a month is over we shall be in some village, wander- 
 ing by the water-side and drinking milk. How odd that I should 
 speak thus, I, Marguerite Gautier ; but it is because this Paris life 
 which seems to make me so happy wearies me, when it does not 
 consume me ; moreover, I feel sudden aspirations towards a calmer 
 existence, which may recall my childhood. Every one has had a child- 
 hood, whatever one may have become -afterwards. But do not make 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 117 
 
 yourself uneasy, I am not going to tell you that I am a retired 
 colonel's daughter and that I was educated at Saint-Denis. I am a 
 poor country-girl, and could not write my name six years ago. Now 
 you are a little more collected, are you not ? Why do I first address 
 myself to you to share that happiness I so anxiously desire 1 Doubt- 
 less because I recognise that you love me for myself, and not selfishly, 
 while others have never loved me except for their own sake. 
 
 " I have often been in the country, but never as I should like to go. 
 I count upon you for enjoying a happiness which is not difficult to 
 procure. Therefore do not be ill-natured, but grant me what I ask. 
 Say to yourseK, ' she will not live very long, and one day or other I 
 may regret not having granted the first request she ever made, and one, 
 too, that was so easy to grant.' " 
 
 What could I reply to language like this ; especially with the remem- 
 brance of a first night of love, and in the expectation of a second ? 
 
 An hour later Marguerite was in my arms, and had she asked me 
 to commit a crime I should have obeyed her. 
 
 At six o'clock in the morning I left, and before going I said to her : 
 
 " Till this evening." 
 
 She clasped me in her arms, but did not reply. 
 
 During the day I received a letter, which was as follows : 
 
 " My dear child, I am not very well, and the doctor orders me to 
 take some rest. I will go to bed early this evening, and shall not 
 expect you; but to recompense you, I hope to see you to-morrow 
 morning at twelve. With best love." 
 
 My first thoughts were, " She is deceiving me." 
 
 A cold perspiration covered my brow, for I already loved this 
 woman too deeply not to be upset by such a suspicion. 
 
 And, nevertheless, I might have expected almost daily such an 
 occurrence ; and the same thing had often happened to me with other 
 women without my thinking much about it. Whence then the mastery 
 Marguerite exercised over my feelings ? 
 
ii8 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 Then it occurred to me to pay her a visit as usual, as I had the 
 key of her room, and thus quickly to learn the truth. I had made 
 up my mind that if there was a man at Marguerite's, I would box 
 his ears. 
 
 In the meanwhile I went to the Champs-Elysees and remained 
 there four hours ; but she did not make her appearance. 
 
 In the evening I visited aU the theatres to which she was in the 
 habit of going, but she was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 At eleven o'clock I went to the Eue d'Antin. 
 
 There was no light in Marguerite's windows, but, nevertheless, I 
 rang the bell. 
 
 The " portier " asked me where I was going. 
 
 " To Mademoiselle Gautier," I replied. 
 
 " She has not yet come in." 
 
 " I will go up and wait for her." 
 
 " There is no one at home." 
 
 This man evidently obeyed an order that was given him, and I could 
 certainly have done without his permission, as I had the key, but I 
 feared to make myself ridiculous, and went away. 
 
 However, I did not go home, for I could not leave the street and 
 lose sight of Marguerite's rooms. It seemed to me that I had still 
 something to learn, or at least that my suspicions were about to be 
 confirmed. 
 
 Towards midnight a brougham I knew well stopped at No. 9. 
 
 The Count de G . . , . got out of it, and went into the house, 
 after having dismissed his carriage. 
 
 For a moment I hoped that, like myself, he would be told that 
 Marguerite was not at home, and that I should see him come out again, 
 but at four o'clock in the morning I was stiU waiting. 
 
 I have suffered a good deal during the last three weeks, but nothing 
 in comparison, I believe, with what I suffered during that night. 
 

 111 ^'^^44 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 When I reached home, I 
 began to cry like a child. There 
 does not exist a man who has not 
 been deceived at least once in his 
 life, and does not know what one 
 suffers on such an occasion. 
 
 Feverishly agitated, I resolved 
 
120 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 to break off at once this connection ; for a man always believes to have 
 enough strength of will to keep such a resolution. Therefore, I im- 
 patiently awaited the break of day, for then I would go and engage 
 my seat in the stage coach, and return to my father and sister, of 
 whose affection I felt certain, and on whom I could rely. 
 
 However, I did not like to leave without Marguerite knowing why 
 I left. Only a man who really no longer loves his mistress leaves 
 her without writing to her. 
 
 I planned a score of letters. 
 
 She was, after all, a girl like other demireps, and I had ideal- 
 ised her a great deal too much; she had treated me as a schoolboy, 
 and it was clear that in order to deceive me she had played me a trick 
 which was insulting in its very simplicity. My vanity was hurt, and I 
 intended to leave this woman without giving her the satisfaction of 
 knowing what pangs this rupture caused me. Here is what I wrote her 
 in my neatest handwriting, whilst tears of rage and grief came into 
 my eyes. 
 
 " My dear Marguerite, — I trust that your indisposition of yesterday 
 may not have been of much importance. Last night at eleven o'clock 
 I called to ask how you were, and they told me that you had not 
 yet returned. Monsieur de G . . . . was more fortunate than 1 had 
 been, for he presented himself a few minutes after me, and was still 
 in your rooms at four o'clock in the morning. 
 
 " Pardon me the few tedious hours I have inflicted on you, 
 and be assured that I shall never forget the happy moments I owe 
 you. 
 
 " I would have called to-day, but am about to return to my 
 father's. 
 
 " Adieu, my dear Marguerite ; I am neither rich enough to love 
 you as I should like to, nor poor enough to love you as you would 
 like. Forget, then, a man who must be almost indifferent to you, 
 and I will forget a happiness which is no longer possible for me. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 121 
 
 '• I return you your key, which I never used, and which may be of 
 some service to you, if you are often as ill as you were yesterday." 
 
 You see I could not finish this letter without being impertinent and 
 sarcastic, and this showed that I was still in love. 
 
 I read over this letter about ten times, and the thought that it would 
 cause some pain to Marguerite soothed me a little. I endeavoured to 
 impregnate myself with the feelings expressed in it ; and at eight 
 o'clock, when my servant came into the room, I gave it him and 
 told him to deliver it immediately. 
 
 " Must I wait for an answer ? " asked Joseph, for, of course, my 
 servant's name was Joseph, as all male servants bear that name. 
 
 " If any one asks you if you have to wait for an answer, say that you 
 do not know, but wait." 
 
 I clung to the hope that she would answer me. 
 
 What poor and weak creatures we men are ! 
 
 Whilst my servant was away, I felt very excited. Now, recalling 
 how Marguerite had given herseK up to me, I asked myself by what 
 right I wrote her an impertinent letter, as she could answer me that 
 it was not Monsieur de G . . . . who deceived me, but I who had 
 deceived Monsieur de G . . . . ; an argument which allows many women 
 to have several lovers. Again, recalling the protestations of this girl, I 
 wished to convince myself that my letter was still too moderate, and con- 
 tained no expressions strong enough to stigmatise a woinan who laughed 
 at an affection, as sincere as mine. I also said to myself that it would 
 have been better if I had not written, but had gone to see her during 
 the day ; for then I should have enjoyed the tears which I would have 
 caused her to shed. 
 
 At last, I asked myself what answer she was going to send me, and 
 was already prepared to accept any excuse she might make. 
 
 Joseph returned. 
 
 "Well?" I said to him. 
 
 " Sir," he replied, "the lady was stiU in bed and asleep, but as soon 
 
 Q 
 
122 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 as she awakes they will give her your letter ; and if there is an answer 
 they will send it." 
 
 She was sleeping 1 
 
 Twenty times I was on the point of sending my servant to fetch the 
 letter back, but I always said to myself : 
 
 " Perhaps they have already given it to her, and it would look as if 
 I were sorry for having sent it." 
 
 The shorter the time became when I could have expected her 
 answer, the more I regretted having sent my letter. 
 
 Ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock had struck. 
 
 At twelve, I thought of going to call upon her as if nothing had 
 happened. In short I did not know what to imagine in order to free 
 myself from the iron band I felt tightening around me. 
 
 Then, I thought, with that superstition of people who are waiting 
 for something, that if I were to go out for a short time I might find an 
 answer on my return. Answers impatiently expected always arrive 
 when one is not at home. 
 
 I went out under the pretext of going to breakfast. 
 
 Instead of breakfasting at the Cafd Foy at the corner of the Boule- 
 vard, as I usually did, I preferred to pass through the Kue d'Antin, 
 and to breakfast in the Palais Eoyal. Whenever I saw a woman 
 in the distance I thought it was Nanine bringing me an answer ; but I 
 went through the whole of that street and did not even meet a com- 
 missionaire. In the Palais Royal I went to breakfast at Vary's, and 
 the waiter made me eat, or rather served me with whatever he chose, 
 for I did not eat anything. 
 
 In spite of myself I kept looking at the clock to see what time it was. 
 
 I returned home convinced that I was about to find an answer 
 from Marguerite. 
 
 The " portier " had received nothing. I still hoped my servant might 
 have got a note, but the latter had not seen a soul since I went out. 
 
 If Marguerite had intended to answer, she would have done so 
 long ago. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 123 
 
 Then I began to regret the terms of my letter. I should have 
 remained perfectly silent ; this would doubtless have made her uneasy 
 and induce her to take some steps to find out why I had not come to 
 see her at the appointed time ; she would have asked for the reasons of 
 my absence, and then only ought I to have given them to her. Had I 
 acted thus, she could not have done anything else than exculpate her- 
 self, and what I wanted was that she should do so. I already felt 
 that whatever reasons she might have given me I should have believed 
 them, and that I would have preferred anything to my not seeing her 
 any more. 
 
 I persuaded myself that she would come to my rooms ; but the 
 time did not stand stiU, and yet she came not. 
 
 Decidedly Marguerite was not like other women, for very few would 
 have received such a letter as I had just written and not have sent back 
 some answer or other. 
 
 At five o'clock I hastened to the Champs-Elysdes. 
 
 If I meet her, I thought, I will assume an air of indifi'erence and 
 she will be convinced I already no longer think of her. 
 
 At the comer of the Rue Eoyale I saw her pass in her carriage. 
 The meeting was so sudden that I turned pale. I do not know if she 
 perceived my emotion ; but as for me, I was so disturbed that I saw 
 nothing else but her carriage. 
 
 I did not walk any longer in the Champs-Elysdes^ I looked at the 
 play-bills, for there might still be a chance of seeing her. 
 
 A new play was going to be brought out that night at the " Palais 
 Royal," and Marguerite was sure to be present. 
 
 I went to the theatre at seven o'clock. 
 
 All the boxes became fiUed, but Marguerite did not appear. 
 
 Then I left the " Palais Royal " and visited the theatres she usually 
 frequented, the " Vaudeville," the " Varidt^s," and the " Op^ra 
 Comique." 
 
 She was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 Either my letter had caused her too much pain to allow her to care 
 
124 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 about the theatre, or she dreaded to meet me and wished to avoid an 
 explanation. 
 
 That is what my vanity whispered to me, until I met Gaston on the 
 Boulevard, who asked me where I had been. 
 
 " I was at the ' Palais Eoyal.' " 
 
 " And I at the * Op^ra,' " he said. " I even thought I should see you 
 there." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because Marguerite was there." 
 
 " Oh ! was she there ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 " No, with one of her female friends." 
 
 "With nobody else?" 
 
 " The Count de G. . . . came for a moment into her box, but she 
 went away with the Duke. I expected to see you every minute. 
 There was a stall next to me which remained empty the whole evening, 
 and I was sure that you had taken it." 
 
 " But why should I go wherever Marguerite goes ? " 
 
 " Because you are her lover." 
 
 " Who told you so ? " 
 
 " Prudence, whom I met yesterday. I congratulate you, my dear 
 feUow ; she is a very pretty mistress, and rather select in her choice. 
 Don't get rid of her ; she will be a credit to you." 
 
 This simple reflection of Gaston showed me how ridiculous had 
 been my susceptibility. 
 
 If I had met him the day before, and if he had spoken to me then, 
 I certainly should not have written the silly letter I sent oflF in the 
 morning. 
 
 I was hesitating for a moment whether to call on Prudence and 
 to ask her to let Marguerite know that I wished to speak to her ; but 
 I feared that out of spite she would refuse to receive me, and I went 
 home after having passed through the Rue d'Antin. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 125 
 
 I again asked my " portier " if there was a letter for me. 
 
 He had received nothing. 
 
 " Most likely she wiU wait to see if I am going to take any further 
 steps and repudiate the letter I sent to-day," I said to myself on going 
 to bed ; " but she wiU perceive that I have not written to her and write 
 to me to-morrow." 
 
 That night, especially, I repented of what I had done. I was 
 alone in my room and not able to sleep, tortured by an uneasy mind 
 and by jealousy ; whilst, if I had only let things follow their course, I 
 might have been with Marguerite, listening to the charming words I had 
 heard but twice, and which still burned in tiiy ears whilst alone. 
 
 The worst of my position was, that on arguing with myself, I felt I 
 was wholly wrong. In fact everything convinced me that Marguerite 
 loved me. To begin with, this plan of passing the summer with me in 
 the country ; then, the certainty that nothing compelled her to become 
 my mistress, as my income was too small for her necessities, and even 
 for her caprices. She expected, therefore, nothing from me but a 
 sincere affection, in which she could seek repose from the mercenary 
 amours amongst which she lived. Though I had only known her a 
 couple of days I had annihilated her expectation, and repaid with bitter 
 irony the love I had accepted for two nights. My behaviour was, there- 
 fore, more than ridiculous ; it was indelicate. I had not even paid her, 
 and I claimed the right of censuring her way of living ! Leaving her 
 on the second day of our acquaintance made me look like a parasite 
 of love afraid of having to pay for his meal. What ! I had known 
 Marguerite for thirty-six hours, I had been her lover for twenty-four, 
 and I took offence ! Instead of being too happy that she devoted to me 
 part of her time, I wished to have her all to myself, and compel her to 
 break off abruptly those connections which she had made during her 
 past career, and which were a guarantee to her for the future. What 
 reproaches had I a right to make because she wrote to me that she was 
 indisposed, when she might have told me plainly, with the hideous 
 frankness of certain women, that she had to receive her lover ? Why, 
 
126 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 instead of believing what she stated in her letter, instead of taking a 
 walk through the streets of Paris and of avoiding the Eue d'Antin ; 
 instead of passing the evening with some of my friends, and presenting 
 myself the next day at the time appointed, did I act like Othello, play 
 the spy, and did I think to punish her by seeing her no more ? On the 
 contrary, she must have been delighted with this separation, and have 
 considered me extremely silly. And if she did not answer me, it was 
 not because she bore malice, but because she despised me. 
 
 I ought to have made a present to Marguerite which would not 
 have left her in doubt as to my generosity, and would have allowed 
 me, whilst treating her as a demirep, to consider myself no longer in 
 her debt; but I was afraid of offending by the slightest remuneration, 
 not the love she had for me, but the love I felt for her ; and as this 
 love was so pure that it admitted no partners, I could not repay by a 
 present, no matter how costly, the happiness she had given me, how- 
 ever short-lived that happiness may have been. 
 
 All these arguments I repeated to myself during the night, and I 
 was ready at any moment to go and tell them to Marguerite. 
 
 When day dawned, I had not yet closed my eyes; I was very 
 feverish, and it was impossible for me to think of anything else but 
 of Marguerite. 
 
 You can well understand that it was necessary for me to take some 
 decisive step, and either to break for ever with this woman, or with my 
 scruples, if she would still consent to receive me. 
 
 But you know one always delays taking a decided step ; therefore, 
 not being able to stay at home, and not daring to present myself at 
 Marguerite's, I tried some means of seeing her, which my vanity might 
 attribute to chance, in case I should succeed. 
 
 At nine o'clock I hastened to go to Prudence, who asked me why 
 I visited her so early. 
 
 I did not dare to tell her frankly the reason of my coming to her ; 
 but replied that I had gone out early to engage a seat in the coach 
 starting for C where my father lived. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 127 
 
 " You are very fortunate in being able to leave Paris whilst we have 
 such fine weather." 
 
 I stared at Prudence, and asked myself if she was making fun of me. 
 
 But she looked very serious. 
 
 " Are you going to say good-bye to Marguerite ? " she said, still in a 
 serious tone, 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " You are quite right." 
 
 "Do you think so r' 
 
 " Of course I do. As you have quarrelled with her what is the good 
 of seeing her again 1 " 
 
 " You know then that we have quarrelled ? " 
 
 " She showed me your letter." 
 
 " And what did she say to you ? " 
 
 " She remarked : — ' My dear Prudence, your protege is not polite. 
 A man may imagine such letters, but he does not write them.' " 
 
 " Was she very emphatic when she said this ? " 
 
 " No, she was laughing, and she added ' he has twice taken supper 
 with me and has not even favoured me with a call.' " 
 
 This was the effect my letter and my jealousy had produced. I felt 
 deeply humiliated both in my vanity and my love. 
 
 " What did she do last evening 1 " 
 
 " She went to the ' Opdra.' " 
 
 " I know that ; and what next ? " 
 
 " She took supper at home." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "With the Count de G I believe." 
 
 Thus my quarrel had produced no change in Marguerite's habits. 
 
 When such incidents happen, a certain class of people will tell you : 
 
 "You should think no more of this woman, for she did not love you." 
 
 " Well, I am very glad to hear Marguerite does not make herself 
 miserable on my account," I said, trying to smile. 
 
 " You are quite right ; you have done what you ought. You had 
 
128 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 more common sense than she had, for that girl was in love with you ; 
 she did nothing but talk about you, and would have been capable of 
 committing any folly for your sake." 
 
 "Why has she not answered me then if she loves me ? " 
 
 " Because she is now aware that it was wrong to love you. More- 
 over, women allow themselves, now and then, to be deceived in love, 
 but never their self-love to be wounded ; and a man always wounds the 
 self-love of a woman when he leaves her two days after he has become 
 her lover, whatever the cause of the rupture may be. I know Mar- 
 guerite ; she would die rather than answer you." 
 
 " What do you advise me to do ? " 
 
 "Nothing. She will forget you, you will forget her; and both of 
 you will have nothing to reproach yourselves with." 
 
 " But if I were to write her to ask her pardon ? " 
 
 " Do nothing of the kind ; she would pardon you." 
 
 I was on the point of embracing Prudence. 
 
 A quarter of an hour afterwards I was in my rooms, and vprote to 
 Marguerite : 
 
 " Some one who repents of a letter he wrote yesterday, and who wiU 
 leave town to-morrow if you do not pardon him, wishes to know at 
 what o'clock he can lay his repentance at your feet. 
 
 "When will he find you alone; for you are aware that confessions 
 should be made without witnesses ? " 
 
 I folded up this sort of a madrigal in prose, and handed it to Joseph, 
 who delivered the letter to Marguerite herself. She told him that she 
 would answer it by and by. 
 
 I went out for a few minutes to take some dinner, and at eleven 
 o'clock at night I had not yet received an answer. 
 
 I then resolved not to suffer any longer, but to leave town next 
 
 morning. 
 
 Having taken this resolution, and being convinced that even if I 
 
 went to bed I should not be able to close my eyes, I began to pack up. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Joseph and I had been occupied for about an hour in packing, 
 when some one violently rang the bell. 
 
 " Shall I open the door ? " asked Joseph. 
 
 " Yes," said I, wondering who could call at such an hour, and not 
 daring to hope that it was Marguerite. 
 
 " Sir," said Joseph, coming again into the room ; " two ladies want 
 to see you." 
 
 " We have come to see you, Armand," said a voice which I recog- 
 nised as Prudence's. 
 
130 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 I came out of my bedroom. 
 
 Prudence was in my sitting-room examining some curiosities, whilst 
 Marguerite, seated on the couch, was buried in thought. 
 
 I ran up to her, knelt down at her feet, took both her hands in mine, 
 and, in a voice trembling with emotion, asked her to forgive me. 
 
 She kissed me on the forehead, and said : 
 
 " This is already the third time that I have pardoned you." 
 
 " I was about to leave town to-morrow." 
 
 "How can my paying you a visit change your intention? I did 
 not come to prevent you from leaving Paris, but because I had no time 
 during the day to answer your letter, and did not like to let you think 
 that I was stiU angry with you. Prudence, however, did not wish me 
 to come, for she said that I might perhaps disturb you." 
 
 " You disturb me, Marguerite ? You ! And how ? " 
 
 " You might have a lady with you," replied Prudence, " and it would 
 not have been very pleasant for her to see two others arrive." 
 
 Whilst Prudence made these remarks. Marguerite looked at me 
 attentively. 
 
 " My dear Prudence," I replied, " you do not know what you are 
 saying." 
 
 "Your rooms look very nice," replied Prudence; "may I look at 
 your bedroom?" 
 
 Prudence went into my bedroom, less to examine it than to make 
 amends for the foolish remark she had just made, and to leave Mar- 
 guerite alone with me. 
 
 " Why did you bring Prudence ? " I asked her. 
 
 "Because she has been with me to the theatre ; and also because I 
 wished to have some one to accompany me on leaving this house." 
 
 " Could I not accompany you? " 
 
 " Yes, but I did not like to disturb you ; moreover, I was quite 
 certain that if you saw me home, you would ask me to allow you to 
 come in ; and, as I could not permit this, I preferred you should leave 
 town without having the right of blaming me for refusing to admit you." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 131 
 
 " And why could you not receive me ? " 
 
 " Because I am closely watched, and the slightest suspicion might 
 do me a serious injury." 
 
 " Is that your only reason ? " 
 
 " I would tell you if there were any other ; we know one another so 
 well that there ought to be no longer any secrets between us." 
 
 " Come, Marguerite, I like to go straight to the point : tell me 
 frankly, do you love me ? " 
 
 "Very much." 
 
 " Then, why have you been false to me 1 " 
 
 " My dear friend, if I were some duchess, or if I had a yearly in- 
 come of two hundred thousand francs, and if then I were your mistress 
 and had another lover, you might have a right to ask me such a ques- 
 tion ; but I am Marguerite Gautier ; I owe forty thousand francs, I am 
 not worth a penny, and I spend a hundred thousand francs a year. Your 
 question is, therefore, unnecessary, and my answer would be useless." 
 
 " It is true," I said, letting my head drop on Marguerite's knees ; 
 " but I am madly in love with you." 
 
 " Then, my friend, you should love me a little less, or understand 
 me a little better. Your letter has pained me deeply ; for, to begin 
 with, if I had been free I should not have received the Count the day 
 before yesterday ; or, having received him, I would have come to ask 
 you to forgive me, as you have asked me just now, and in future should 
 have had no other lover but you. I believed for a moment that I might 
 have enjoyed such a happiness for six months ; but you objected to it ; 
 you insisted upon knowing by what means I could realise my plan. Good 
 Heavens ! it was not very difficult to find out these means ; and I would 
 have made a greater sacrifice for you than you can imagine. I might 
 have told you that I was in want of twenty thousand francs, and as you 
 are in love with me, you would have found the money, and, later on, re- 
 proached me with having asked you for it. I should have preferred to 
 owe you nothing, but you did not understand this sentiment of delicacy, 
 for it really was one. Girls like we are, when we have still a little feeling 
 
 R 2 
 
132 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 left, give to words and things a meaning and an expression unknown 
 to other women ; therefore, I repeat to you that for Marguerite Gautier 
 to have found the means of paying her debts without asking you for any 
 money, was a delicacy of which you ought to have taken advantage 
 without making any remarks. If our acquaintance had only begun to- 
 day you would have been but too happy to accept my proposals, and 
 would not have asked me what I had done two days ago. We are some- 
 times forced to purchase a gratification of our feelings at the expense 
 of our bodies, and we suffer far more when, after all, our promised 
 gratification escapes us." 
 
 I listened to these words and gazed upon Marguerite with admira- 
 tion, and when I reflected that this lovely creature whose feet I should 
 have been delighted to kiss but a short time ago, was willing to 
 think of me now and then, to let me share her Hfe, and that I was not 
 yet satisfied with what she granted me, I could not but ask myself if 
 man's desires have any limits, for even when they are gratified as 
 quickly as mine had been, he still demands something more. 
 
 " It is true," she observed, " we creatures of chance, we are fantastic 
 in our desires, and fall in love without knowing why. We give our 
 love sometimes for one thing, and sometimes for another. There 
 are men who ruin themselves for our sake and yet obtain no favour 
 at our hands ; while others win us with a bouquet. We have our 
 caprices, which are our sole amusement, and our only excuse. I swear 
 to you that I gave myself to you sooner than ever I did to any other 
 man ; and why 1 Because, when you saw me spit blood you took my 
 hand and shed tears ; because you are the only human being who 
 condescended to pity me. I am going to tell you something very 
 foolish : formerly I had a little dog that i:(sed to look at me quite 
 sadly when I was coughing, and it is the only living being I ever 
 loved. 
 
 " When it died, I wept more than ever I did at my mother's death, 
 but then she had beaten me for about twelve years of her life ! Well, 
 I suddenly loved you as much as I had ever loved my dog. If men only 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 133 
 
 knew what they might obtain by shedding a few tears, they would be 
 more beloved and we should be less inclined to ruin them. 
 
 " Your letter has shown you in your true character, and proved to 
 me that your feelings were not as delicate as I thought ; it has injured 
 my love for you more than anything else you could have done. It is 
 true it proved that you were jealous, but also that you were sarcastic 
 and impertinent. I was already sad when your letter arrived; I 
 expected to see you at noon and to lunch with you ; to efface, in 
 fact, a thought which haunted me, but which had not troubled me 
 before I knew you. 
 
 "Moreover," continued Marguerite, "you were the only person 
 before whom I imagined intuitively that I could think and speak freely. 
 All those people who are the companions of girls like I am have an 
 interest in discovering a meaning in every word that is said, and draw 
 conclusions from the most insignificant actions. Naturally enough, 
 we have no friends. We have lovers who are selfish, and spend their 
 fortune, not for our sakes, as they tell us, but to gratify their own 
 vanity. 
 
 " For such persons we must be merry when they are ; in good 
 health when they wish to take supper ; and be sceptical because they 
 are so. We are forbidden to have feelings of our own, unless we 
 wish to be made fun of and to lose our influence. 
 
 " We do not belong to ourselves ; we are no longer human beings, 
 but things. We occupy the first place in our admirers' self-love, but 
 the last in their esteem. We have friends, but they are friends like 
 Prudence ; women who formerly were demireps, but stiU retain a taste 
 for spending money which they can no longer gain, on account of their 
 age. Then they become our friends, or rather our pensioners. They 
 often are servile, but never unselfish. They wiU never advise you 
 unless it brings them in something. Little do they care if we have 
 ten lovers, provided they can get dresses or a bracelet, occasionally can 
 take a drive in our carriage and have a seat in our box at the theatre. 
 They use our bouquets of the day before, and borrow our cashmere 
 
134 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 shawls. They never render us any service, however trifling, without 
 making us pay double or treble what it is worth. You yourself saw 
 that the very evening Prudence brought me six thousand francs, for 
 which I sent her to the Duke's, she borrowed five hundred, which 
 she never will repay, or for which she will give me bonnets I shall 
 never wear. 
 
 " We, or rather I, can therefore only have one happiness, for I am 
 sometimes sad and feel always ill, namely, to find a man sufficiently 
 high-minded not to demand an account of my past life, and to be the 
 lover of my imagination rather than of my person. The Duke is such 
 a man, but he is old, and age neither protects nor consoles. I 
 fancied I could have led the life he wished me to lead ; but I was 
 dying of ennui, and if one has to die, it is just as well to throw oneself 
 into a fire as to be suff"ocated by charcoal-fumes. 
 
 " Then I met you, young, ardent and happy ; and I thought I had 
 found in you the man I longed to meet in my solitude, where I am 
 never at rest. What I loved in you was not the man you are, but the 
 one you were going to be. You do not consent to play this part ; 
 you reject it as unworthy of you ; you are a commonplace lover. Do 
 as others have done ; pay me and let us say no more about it." 
 
 Marguerite, fatigued by this lengthy confession, threw herself back 
 on the sofa, and to check a slight attack of coughing, pressed her 
 handkerchief to her lips, and even to her eyes. 
 
 " Forgive me, forgive me," I murmured ; " I already understood all 
 this, but I wished to hear you say it, my adored Marguerite ! Let us 
 forget the rest and only remember one thing : that we belong to each 
 other, that we are young, and that we love each other. 
 
 " Do with me whatever you please, Marguerite ; I am your slave, 
 your dog, but for Heaven's sake tear up the letter I wrote to you, and 
 don't let me go away to-morrow, for I should die." 
 
 Marguerite took my letter from her bosom, and handing it to me, 
 said, with a gentle and sweet smile : 
 
 " Here it is ; I brought it back to you." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 13S 
 
 I tore up the letter, and whilst shedding tears kissed the hand 
 which had given it back to me. 
 
 That very moment Prudence returned to the sitting-room. 
 
 " I say, Prudence, do you know what he asks ? " said Marguerite. 
 
 " He asks you to forgive him." 
 
 "That's it." 
 
 " And you forgive him." 
 
 " I cannot help it ; but he wants something more." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " He wants to come and take supper with us." 
 
 " And you consent? " 
 
 "What do you say]" 
 
 " I say that you are a couple of children, and that neither of you 
 has any common sense. But I also say that I am very hungry, and 
 the sooner you consent the sooner we shall get something to eat." 
 
 " Let us go," said Marguerite ; " my carriage will hold three. By- 
 the-by," she added, turning towards me, "Nanine will be in bed, so 
 you must open the door. Take my key, and try not to lose it again." 
 
 I smothered Marguerite with kisses. 
 
 Joseph entered at this moment. 
 
 " Sir," said he with the air of a man who is quite satisfied with 
 himself, " your trunks are packed." 
 
 " Every one of them ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Very well. Then go and unpack them again. I am not leaving 
 town." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 I MIGHT have told you the history of this 
 r" liaison" in a few words, continued Armand, but I 
 wanted to show to you how I accidentally and gradually consented 
 to do whatever Marguerite desired, whilst she was unable to live any 
 longer without me. 
 
138 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 The very next day after her visit to me I sent her " Manon Lescaut." 
 
 From that moment, as I could not change Marguerite's way of 
 living, I changed my own. Above all, I was anxious not to allow 
 myself any time to reflect upon the character I had accepted; for, 
 in spite of myself, I would have felt deeply grieved. Thus my life, 
 usually so calm, suddenly assumed an appearance of unrest and dis- 
 order. Do not imagine that, however unselfish the love of such a 
 woman may be, it costs nothing. Nothing is so expensive as to pay 
 for ever so many caprices, flowers, boxes at various theatres, suppers, 
 and visits to the country ; and these things a man can never refuse to 
 his mistress. 
 
 I told you already that I am not a rich man. My father, who was 
 
 then, and is still, Keceiver-General at G has a high reputation for 
 
 integrity, and through it was enabled to raise the necessary guaran- 
 tee-money before entering upon his duties. This post brings him in 
 forty thousand francs a year ; he has occupied it these ten years, has 
 repaid the money advanced, and has laid by a dowry for my sister. 
 My father is the most honourable man in the world. My mother at 
 her death left an income of six thousand francs, which he divided 
 between my sister and me on the very day he obtained his appointment. 
 In addition to this, he said when I became of age that he would allow me 
 another five thousand francs, assuring me that with eight thousand francs 
 a year I might live very well in Paris, and create for myself a position 
 either at the bar or in medicine. I came, therefore, to town, studied 
 law, passed as a barrister, and, like many other young men, put my 
 diploma in my pocket, and abandoned myself more or less to the easy- 
 going life of Paris. My expenses were very moderate; it only took 
 me eight months to spend my year's income, whilst during the summer 
 months I stayed at my father's house, which gave me practically an 
 income of twelve thousand francs, and the reputation of being a dutiful 
 son. And what is more, I was not a penny in debt. 
 
 Such were my circumstances when I made Marguerite's acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 139 
 
 You can easily understand that my expenses increased in spite 
 of myself. Marguerite was very capricious, and one of those women 
 who never consider expensive the many little amusements of which 
 their life is made up. Hence, whenever she wished to stay as 
 long as possible with me, she would write in the morning that 
 she intended to dine with me, not at her own rooms, but at some 
 restaurant either in town or in the country. I would go and fetch 
 her ; then we would dine together, go to the theatre, and very often 
 afterwards take some supper, so that before the day was over T had 
 spent four or five louis, which is from two thousand five hundred to 
 three thousand francs a month ; and thus my yearly income only was 
 sufficient for about three months and a half. This left me no choice 
 but to run into debt or to leave Marguerite. 
 
 I would have done anything rather than adopt this latter alter- 
 native. 
 
 Forgive me for troubling you with all these details, but you will 
 see that they were the primary causes of events which happened later. 
 I am teUing you a story that has reaUy happened, in all its simplicity, 
 without any additions of my own, and quite natural in its development. 
 
 I therefore felt that, as nothing on earth could make me abandon 
 my mistress, I would be obliged to find some means of providing the 
 money I had to spend. Moreover, this passion absorbed me so com- 
 pletely that the moments I passed away from Marguerite seemed years 
 to me ; and I felt the necessity of ridding myself of those moments 
 by nourishing some other passion, and by living so fast that I should 
 not perceive the flight of time. 
 
 I commenced by borrowing five or six thousand francs upon the 
 security of my small capital, and I began to play; for since public 
 gambling-houses have been closed, people gamble everywhere. For- 
 merly, when a man entered Frascati, there was a chance of his making 
 a fortune ; he played against ready cash, and if he lost he had at least 
 the consolation of knowing that he might have won; whilst now, 
 
 except in clubs, where certain strict rules still are enforced about 
 
 s 2 
 
140 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 the payment of debts of honour, a man is almost certain, if he wins a 
 sum of any importance, never to receive it. The reason is easy to 
 understand. 
 
 Play is only resorted to by young men whose income is not 
 sufficient for their wants, and who lack the fortune requisite to main- 
 tain the sort of life they are leading. They play, therefore, and the 
 natural result is either that they win, and then the losers furnish them 
 with money for their horses and mistresses, which is far from agreeable ; 
 or they begin to run into debt. Friendships commenced around the 
 green-cloth end in quarrels, in which reputation and life are always 
 more or less damaged ; and many an honest man often is ruined by 
 very worthy young fellows, with no other faults except not possessing 
 incomes of two hundred thousand francs. 
 
 I need not speak of the men who cheat at play, and of whom we 
 hear some day or other that they have been obliged to leave the country, 
 or have been caught in the act and brought before the magistrate. 
 
 I plunged therefore into this fast, tumultuous, and volcanic mode 
 of living, of which formerly the mere thought would have frightened 
 me, but which was the inevitable consequence of my love for Mar- 
 guerite. What else could I do ? 
 
 If I did not pass the night in the Kue d'Antin, I never stayed in 
 my rooms, for I could not have slept. Jealousy would have kept me 
 awake, and have excited thoughts and feelings that almost drove me 
 distracted ; whilst play for a moment diverted the feverish passion which 
 was consuming me, and made me take in it an interest which fasci- 
 nated me in spite of myself, until the hour when I was about to visit 
 my mistress. When that moment arrived, and by this I perceived 
 how much I loved her, I left the gambling table without any hesitation, 
 whether I was winning or losing, whilst pitying those who remained 
 there, and who could not, like me, find happiness in leaving it. 
 
 For some persons play is a passion ; for me it was a remedy. 
 
 If I could have been cured of Marguerite I should have been 
 cured of gambling. 
 
Champollaon sc 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 141 
 
 Thus, in the midst of all this excitement, I kept pretty cool ; I lost 
 no more than I could pay, and won no more than I could afford to lose. 
 
 Moreover, chance favoured me ; I did not get into debt, and yet I 
 spent three times as much money as before I began to play. It vras 
 not easy to v^^ithdraw from a life which, without inconveniencing me, 
 gave me the means of satisfying the many caprices of Marguerite. 
 As for her, she continued to love me as much as ever, and even 
 taore. 
 
 As I told you, I began by being received only at midnight and 
 remained till six in the morning ; then I was admitted occasionally to 
 her box, and sometimes she would come and dine with me ; one morn- 
 ing I did not leave her until eight o'clock, and one day I did not depart 
 till noon. 
 
 Meanwhile a moral as well as a physical change had taken place 
 in Marguerite. I had undertaken to cure her, and the poor girl, 
 who guessed what I wanted, obeyed me, to prove her gratitude. I 
 succeeded with some difficulty, and not too abruptly, in ridding her 
 almost completely of her former habits. My doctor,'whom I induced to 
 visit her, told me that nothing but repose and quiet could preserve her 
 health. Instead of suppers, and nights passed without going to bed, I 
 at last persuaded her to follow a healthy system of diet, and to keep 
 regular hours. In spite of herself. Marguerite got accustomed to this 
 new existence, which she felt did her a great deal of good. She began 
 already to pass some evenings at home, or if the weather were fine she 
 would wrap herself up in her shawl, cover her face with a veil, and like 
 two children we would wander about at night-time in the shady walks 
 of the Champs-Elysdes. She came home, tired out, and after a light 
 supper, would play a little music or read a short time, a thing which 
 she had never done before, and then retire. The cough, which every 
 time I heard it seemed to rend my own chest, had almost entirely 
 disappeared. 
 
 At the end of six weeks there was no longer any discussion 
 about the Count, for he was sacrificed to me. The Duke, alone,, 
 
142 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 made it necessary for me to conceal my " liaison " with Marguerite ; 
 and even he had been often sent away whilst I was in her rooms, under 
 the pretext that she was lying down, and had forbidden any one to 
 wake her. 
 
 As Marguerite had acquired the habit, and even felt the necessity 
 of being in my company, I frequently left the gambling table at the 
 precise moment an experienced gambler would have quitted it. On 
 making up my accounts, I found I had won ten thousand francs, which 
 seemed to me an inexhaustible sum. 
 
 The time when I was in the habit of visiting my father and sister 
 had arrived, and yet I did not go. I began to receive frequent letters 
 from them begging me to come home. 
 
 To all these requests I replied as weU as I could, and constantly 
 wrote to them that I was in very good health and did not want any 
 money : two things which I thought would console my father somewhat 
 for the delay of my annual visit. 
 
 It happened one morning that Marguerite, being awakened by a 
 brilliant sunshine, jumped out of bed, and asked me to take her that 
 very day into the country. 
 
 We sent for Prudence, and we all three went off, but not before 
 Marguerite had recommended Nanine to tell the Duke that she had 
 taken advantage of such a lovely day, and gone into the country with 
 Madame Duvernoy. 
 
 It was necessary for Prudence to be present, to set the old Duke's 
 mind at rest ; she was, moreover, one of those persons who seem to be 
 expressly created for such rural excursions. With her invariable good 
 temper and her continual appetite, no one in her company could for 
 a moment feel dull ; she also understood perfectly how to order eggs, 
 cherries, milk, stewed rabbit, and the various dishes which form the 
 traditional breakfast in the environs of Paris. 
 
 It only remained for us to decide where we were going. 
 
 It was. Prudence, again, who came to our aid. 
 
 " Do you want to see some real rustic scenery ? " she asked. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 143 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Very well, then ; let us go to Bougival, to the ' Break o' Day,' 
 kept by the widow Arnould. Armand, go and fetch a carriage." 
 
 An hour and a half later we were at the widow Arnould's. 
 
 You perhaps know this tavern, an hotel during the week, and a 
 pleasure-garden on Sundays. There is a magnificent view from the 
 garden, which is on the same height as a first floor usually is. On the 
 left, the aqueduct of Marly bounds the horizon ; on the right, a large 
 number of hills are visible. The river, almost without current at this 
 spot, rolls like a large white watered-silk riband between the plain of 
 Gabillons and the Isle of Croissy, for ever cradled amidst trembling 
 poplars and whispering willows. 
 
 In the background, lit up by the rays of the sun, rise numerous 
 little white houses with red roofs, and factories which, losing in the 
 distance their inartistic and commercial character, charmingly complete 
 the landscape. 
 
 Paris was a long way off, shrouded in a haze. 
 
 We found that Prudence had told us the truth ; this was real rural 
 scenery, and I must also confess that we ate a real breakfast. 
 
 It is not because I have been happy in this spot, but in spite of its 
 name I maintain that Bougival is one of the prettiest places imaginable. 
 I have travelled a great deal, and have seen many grand sights, but 
 never one more charming than this little village, airily nestling at the 
 bottom of the hill that shelters it. 
 
 Madame Arnould asked us if we should like to take a boat and go 
 for a row, and Marguerite and Prudence gladly accepted her offer. 
 
 Love and the country are always associated, and rightly so : 
 nothing so appropriately sets off the woman we love as a blue sky, 
 sweet odours, flowers, a gentle breeze, and the glorious solitude of the 
 woods or fields. However sincerely a man may love a woman, how- 
 ever absolute may be his confidence in her, whatever certainty for 
 the future he may derive from her past, he is always more or less 
 jealous. If you have ever been seriously in love, you must have 
 
144 * THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 experienced this craving for isolating the being whom you desire to live 
 solely for yourself. Hov^ever indiflferent she may be to her surround- 
 ings, the beloved object appears to lose something of her perfume and 
 entity, by merely being brought in contact with men and things. I 
 felt this especially. My love was not an ordinary passion. I was as 
 much in love as any human being could be, but it was with Marguerite 
 Gautier; and in Paris I might jostle at every step some man who had 
 been her lover or might become so the very next day ; whilst in 
 the country, among people we had never seen, and who did not 
 trouble themselves about us, in the midst of nature decked out in vernal 
 splendour, and away from the noisy town, I could hide my beloved from 
 every one, and love without shame or apprehension. 
 
 The courtesan disappeared by degrees, and by my side was a young 
 and beautiful giii, whom I loved, who loved me, and whose name was 
 Marguerite. The past no longer existed for me, the future was no 
 longer clouded. The sun shone upon my mistress as if she had been 
 the chastest of brides. We wandered together amid those charming 
 scenes, which appear to have been created on purpose to recall the 
 poems of Lamartine or to re-echo the melodies of Scudo. Mar- 
 guerite, dressed in white, was walking arm-in-arm with me, and 
 repeated at night, beneath a starry sky, the words she had uttered 
 on the previous day, whilst the distant world went its daily round, 
 without darkening by its shadow the smiling picture of our youth 
 
 and love. 
 
 Such was my dream on that day, amidst the burning rays of the 
 sun shining through the leaves ; whilst I, reclining at full length upon 
 the turf of the little island where we had landed, allowed my thoughts, 
 free from all human ties which ere this had restrained them, to wander 
 at will and try to realise every expectation. 
 
 Add to this, that from the spot where I was reclining, I perceived 
 by the river-side a charming cottage, two stories high, enclosed by a 
 semi-circular railing, and through the railing a lawn smooth as velvet ; 
 and behind the house a little wood full of hidden nooks carpeted with 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. ' i45 
 
 a virgin moss, in which the footsteps of the evening would have dis- 
 appeared by the following morning. 
 
 Creepers covered the porch of this house, where no one dwelt, 
 and climbed up to the windows of the first floor. 
 
 I gazed so long at this cottage, that finally I became convinced 
 that it was mine, so exactly did it adapt itself to the dream in which 
 I had been indulging. I seemed to see Marguerite and myself during 
 the day, in the wood which covered the slope, and at night seated upon 
 the lawn ; and I asked myself if human beings could ever be happier 
 than we should have been. 
 
 " What a sweet cottage ! " observed Marguerite, who followed the 
 direction of my glance, and perhaps also of my thoughts. 
 
 " Where ? " asked Prudence. 
 
 " Over yonder," and Marguerite pointed to the cottage I had been 
 looking at. 
 
 " Oh, lovely ! " exclaimed Prudence ; " do you like it." 
 
 "Very much," 
 
 " Well, tell the Duke to hire it for you ; he will do so, I am 
 certain ; I will undertake to bring it about, if you wish." 
 
 Marguerite looked at me as if to ask my opinion about this sugges- 
 tion. 
 
 My dream vanished with the last words of Prudence, and pre- 
 cipitated me so rudely into reality that I was still stunned by 
 the faU. 
 
 " That is indeed a capital idea," I stammered without knowing 
 what I said. 
 
 " Very well ; I think I can manage it," said Marguerite, pressing 
 my hand, and interpreting my words according to her own wishes. 
 " We will go at once and see if it is to be let." 
 
 The cottage was empty, and its rent was two thousand francs a 
 year. 
 
 ** Will you be happy here ? " asked Marguerite. 
 
 " Am I quite certain of coming here ? " 
 
146 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 "For whom else should I bury myself in such a spot, if not for your 
 sake ] " 
 
 " Then let me take this house for you." 
 
 "Are you mad? It would not only be useless but dangerous. You 
 know that only one man has a right to bestow such favours on me. 
 Leave me to manage it, you booby, and hold your peace." 
 
 " Whenever I shall have a couple of days to call my own, I will 
 come and spend them with you," observed Prudence. 
 
 We left the house, and the carriage drove back to Paris while we 
 were discussing the new plan. I held Marguerite in my arms, so that 
 by the time we arrived at her rooms I had already began to look upon 
 the scheme in a much less scrupulous spirit than I had done at first. 
 
if M 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The next day Marguerite dismissed me early, telling me that 
 the Duke was coming soon, and promising to write to me as soon as 
 he should have left, to let me know, as usual, where to meet her in 
 the evening. 
 
 During the day I received the following message : 
 
 " I am going to Bougival with the Duke. Be at Prudence's rooms 
 this evening at eight o'clock." 
 
 Marguerite had returned by that time, and came to meet me at 
 Madame Duvernoy's. 
 
 T 2 
 
148 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " Well, everything is arranged," she said as she entered. 
 
 " Is the house taken? " asked Prudence. 
 
 " Yes, he did not hesitate for a moment." 
 
 I did not know the Duke, but I was ashamed of deceiving him as 
 I was doing. 
 
 " Oh, that's not all," continued Marguerite. 
 
 " Is there anything else ? " 
 
 " I have been thinking about lodgings for Armand." 
 
 " In the same house ? " asked Prudence, laughing. 
 
 " No, but at the ' Break o' Day,' where the Duke and I breakfasted. 
 Whilst he was looking at the view, I asked Madame Arnould — I think 
 that is her name — if she had some nice rooms to let. Just now a 
 sitting-room, an ante-room, and a bedroom were at liberty. I thought 
 that was all you wanted, and as the price was sixty francs a month, and 
 as they are furnished in a style to make a man laugh who has a fit of 
 the ' blues,' I took the rooms. Have I done right ? " 
 
 I clasped Marguerite in my arms. 
 
 " It will be charming," she continued. " You will have a key 
 of the little door, and I have promised the Duke a key of the gate, 
 which he is sure to refuse, for he only pays visits in the daytime. 
 I believe, between ourselves, that he is delighted with my idea of 
 leaving Paris for some time, for this will silence his relatives. How- 
 ever, he asked me how I, who loved Paris so much, could make up my 
 mind to go and bury myself in the country ; and I replied that I was 
 far from well and needed some rest. He seemed not quite to believe 
 me, for the poor old man is always suspicious. Therefore, my dear 
 Armand, we must take a good many precautions, for he wiU have 
 me watched ; and he must not only take this house for me but will 
 also have to pay my debts, and unfortunately I have plenty of them. 
 Does that suit you ? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied, striving to stifle the scruples which the idea of 
 this mode of life from time to time stirred within me. 
 
 " We went all over the house, and it will suit us very well. The 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. i49 
 
 Duke has looked into everything. Oh, my dear," added the madcap 
 girl, embracing me, " you are a lucky fellow ; you have a millionaire 
 to arrange things for you." 
 
 " When are you going to move ? " asked Prudence. 
 
 " As soon as possible." 
 
 " Are you going to take your carriage and horses with you 1 " 
 
 " I shall take all my servants with me, and you will have to look 
 after my rooms whilst I am away." 
 
 Eight days afterwards Marguerite had taken possession of her 
 country house, whilst I had lodgings at the " Break o' Day." 
 
 Then commenced an existence which I find it very difficult to 
 describe to you. 
 
 In the beginning of her stay at Bougival, Marguerite found it almost 
 impossible altogether to break off her old habits ; and, as she always kept 
 open house, several of her female friends came to see her. For a whole 
 month not a single day passed without Marguerite having eight or ten 
 people to dine with her. Prudence, on her side, brought also all the 
 people she knew, and did them the honours of the house just as if it 
 were her own. 
 
 The Duke's money paid for all this, as you can well imagine ; 
 nevertheless occasionally Prudence came and asked me to let her have 
 a thousand francs, professedly in Marguerite's name. You know I had 
 made some money at the gambling table, and, therefore, was anxious 
 to give to Prudence whatever Marguerite wanted ; and for fear that 
 she might need more than I actually possessed, I went to Paris 
 and borrowed the same amount as before, which I had punctually 
 repaid. 
 
 I thus, again, became the possessor of about ten thousand francs, 
 without counting my yearly allowance. 
 
 However, the pleasure which Marguerite felt in receiving her 
 friends diminished somewhat when she came to consider the expenses, 
 and also because she occasionally was obliged to ask me for money. 
 The Duke, who had taken this cottage so that Marguerite might be 
 
15° THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 quiet, no longer made his appearance, for fear of meeting a merry party 
 of her friends by whom he did not wish to be seen. His reason for 
 not coming was that, one day when intending to dine with -Marguerite, 
 he stumbled on more than a dozen persons who had been breakfast- 
 ing, and had not yet finished when he thought of dining. As he 
 did not know anything about this breakfast he opened the door of the 
 dining-room, and was received with a loud burst of laughter, so that he 
 was compelled to retire suddenly before the impertinent merriment of 
 the female guests. 
 
 Marguerite rose from the table and went into the next room to 
 see the Duke, to endeavour, as much as possible, to make him for- 
 get this incident ; but the old man, wounded in his self-love, would 
 not be appeased ; he cruelly told the poor girl that he was tired of 
 paying for the follies of a woman who allowed him to be insulted 
 even in her own house, and he went away in high dudgeon. 
 
 From that day nothing more was heard of him. Marguerite sent 
 away her guests and changed her habits ; but, in spite of this, there 
 came no tidings from the Duke. Through this incident my mistress 
 belonged to me more than ever, and my dream became at length 
 realised. Marguerite could no longer do without me. Without caring 
 as to what might be the result, she no longer concealed our " liaison," 
 and eventually I went to live with her. The servants called me " sir," 
 and looked upon me as their master. 
 
 It is true that Prudence argued and preached about the life we were 
 leading, but Marguerite replied that she loved me and could not live 
 without me ; and that, whatever might happen, she would not renounce 
 the happiness of having me always with her; adding at the same 
 time that aU those who did not like it were at perfect liberty to stay 
 away. 
 
 I overheard this one day when Prudence told Marguerite that she 
 had something very important to communicate to her, and when I was 
 listening at the door of the room in which they were closeted. 
 
 A little while after Prudence came again to Bougival. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 151 
 
 I was at the bottom of the garden when she entered the house, and 
 she did not see me. I fancied from Marguerite's reception of her that 
 a conversation like the one I had already overheard, was again about to 
 take place; and I was anxious to listen to it, as I had done to the other. 
 
 The two women shut themselves up in the boudoir, and I put my 
 ear to the door. 
 
 " Well ? " asked Marguerite. 
 
 "Well ! I have seen the Duke." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 " That he was quite willing to pardon you what had taken place, but 
 that he had heard you were living openly with Monsieur Armand Duval, 
 and this he could not forgive. He said to me : ' Let Marguerite leave 
 this young man ; and I will give her, as I used to do, whatever she 
 wants, but if not, it wiU be useless to apply to me for anything.' " 
 
 " And what answer did you make ? " 
 
 " That I would let you know his decision ; I also promised to try to 
 induce you to listen to reason. My dear girl, think seriously of the 
 position you lose, and which Armand can never give you back. He 
 loves you most ardently, but his means are not large enough to supply 
 your wants ; and, some day or other he will be obliged to leave you, 
 when it will be too late, and when the Duke will do nothing more for 
 you. Shall I speak to Armand 1 " 
 
 Marguerite seemed to reflect, for she did not answer. I was greatly 
 agitated whilst awaiting her reply. 
 
 "No," she said, "I will not leave Armand; I shall not hide 
 myself in order to live with him. It is, perhaps, a folly, but I love 
 him; I cannot help it. Moreover, he has become accustomed to love 
 me without let or hindrance ; he would suffer too much in being obliged 
 to leave me, were it only for an hour a day. Besides, I have not such a 
 long time to live ! Why, then, should I make myself unhappy, and do 
 whatever an old man wishes, whose very sight ages me ? Let him 
 keep his money ! I shall do without it." 
 
 " But what wiU you do ? " 
 
152 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 Prudence was doubtless about to say something, but I entered 
 suddenly, threw myself at Marguerite's feet, and bedewed her hands 
 with the tears which the joy of being thus loved made me shed. 
 
 " My life is yours, Marguerite ; you no longer need that man, for 
 I shall take his place, and never abandon you. How can I ever 
 repay you for the happiness which you give me? Let there be no 
 more restraint, my own Marguerite ; we love one another ; what does 
 anything else matter to us ? " 
 
 " Yes, I love you, my own Armand," she murmured, throwing her 
 arms around my neck ; " I love you as I never believed I could love. 
 We will be happy, we will live quietly, and I shall for ever abandon a 
 life for which I now blush. But you will never reproach me with my 
 past career?" 
 
 My tears prevented me from answering ; I could only reply by 
 pressing Marguerite to my heart. 
 
 "Now," she said, turning to Prudence, and in a voice full of 
 emotion ; " you may go and tell the Duke what you have seen, and you 
 will add that we no longer need him." 
 
 From that day the Duke's name was no longer mentioned. Mar- 
 guerite ceased to be the girl I had known. She avoided everything 
 that could have recalled those scenes amongst which I had met her. 
 Never did a wife or a sister show to a husband or a brother a greater 
 affection or more care. Her morbid temperament took quickly 
 every impression and was susceptible of every feeling. She had 
 broken with her friends, and no longer had the same habits, used the 
 same language, and spent as much money as formerly. People who 
 saw us leave the house to go on the river in the charming little boat I 
 had bought, would never have believed that this woman, dressed in 
 white, wearing a large straw hat, and carrying on her arm a plain 
 silk jacket to protect her against the cold and damp air, was the same 
 Marguerite Gautier who only four months ago had been notorious for 
 her extravagance and riotous way of living. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 153 
 
 Alas ! we made haste to be happy, as if we foresaw that it would 
 not last long. 
 
 For two months we did not even visit Paris. No one came to see 
 us except Prudence and this Julie Duprat, whose name I already have 
 mentioned to you, and to whom Marguerite intrusted the touching 
 diary, now in my possession. 
 
 I spent whole days at the feet of my mistress. We opened the 
 windows which looked out on the garden ; and while the sunny summer 
 made the flowers bud, even underneath the trees, we stood side by 
 side and inhaled a breath of that real life which neither Marguerite 
 nor myself had understood till then. 
 
 This young woman displayed a childish astonishment at the 
 smallest trifles, and on certain days would run about the garden like 
 a girl of ten, chasing a butterfly or a dragonfly. This courtesan, on 
 whose bouquets more money had been spent than could have easily 
 supported a whole family, would sometimes sit down on the grass 
 examining for a whole hour the simple flower whose name she bore. 
 
 About this time she often read "Manon Lescaut." I surprised 
 her many times annotating this book ; and she always observed 
 to me, that when a woman loves, she cannot do what Manon 
 Lescaut did. 
 
 The Duke sent her two or three letters ; but she recognised the 
 handwriting and handed them to me without reading them. 
 
 Sometimes the contents of these letters caused tears to come to 
 my eyes. 
 
 By not allowing Marguerite any more money, the Duke thought 
 he would compel her to come back ; but when he saw how useless 
 his plan was, he could no longer hold out, wrote to her and asked 
 permission to visit her as before, on whatever conditions she might 
 propose. 
 
 I read these letters, so full of entreaty, which always told the same 
 thing. I tore them up without letting Marguerite know their contents, 
 
 and without advising her to see again the old man, although a feeling 
 
 u 
 
1 54 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 of pity for his sorrows inclined me to do so ; but I feared she might 
 consider this advice as a suggestion that the Duke, when visiting her 
 as formerly, should also defray her household expenses. I dreaded, 
 above aU, that she would think me capable of declining the reponsi- 
 bility of her life, and all the consequences into which her love for 
 me might lead me. 
 
 The Duke, not receiving any answer, ceased to write to Mar- 
 guerite, and we continued to live together without troubling ourselves 
 about the future. 
 
"^V 1,1 
 2^% ^=^\m ! w 
 
 c ^'••^ 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 1 O describe our new 
 manner of living in detail 
 would be a very difficult 
 matter. It consisted of a 
 series of childish actions, 
 charming for us, but in- 
 significant to others. 
 You knoAv what 
 it is to love, 
 you know 
 
 '^'>/' " .^ ^ ^~~~^-~^^ . the days pass, 
 
 and with what ena- 
 moured indolence a man allows one day to flow into another. You 
 
 u 2 
 
rS6 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 are not ignorant of that forgetfulness of all things which springs from 
 a passionate, unsuspecting, and mutual affection. Every human being, 
 except the loved one, seems superfluous in creation. You regret having 
 formerly frittered avpay portions of your heart upon other women, and 
 you do not believe that you can ever press another hand than the one 
 you now clasp. Neither labour nor reflection disturb the brain ; 
 nothing, in fact, can chase away the only thought which constantly 
 pervades the mind. Each day the lover discovers in his mistress a 
 fresh charm, an unknown attraction. 
 
 Existence becomes merely a repetition of the realisation of a 
 continuous desire ; the soul is merely a vestal virgin who has to keep 
 alive the sacred flame of love. 
 
 We frequently went and sat down in the little wood which over- 
 looked our cottage. There we both listened to the joyful melodies of 
 the evening, whilst thinking of the approaching hour which was to lock 
 us in each other's arms till the morrow. Sometimes we remained in 
 bed all day, without even allowing the rays of the sun to penetrate our 
 room. The curtains were drawn quite close, and for us there existed 
 no outer world. Only Nanine was allowed to enter our room, and to 
 bring us our meals, which we took without rising, interrupting them 
 constantly by laughter and merriment. Then, we went to sleep for a 
 few moments ; for, wholly possessed by our passion, we were like two 
 stubborn divers who only appear above the water to take breath. 
 
 Nevertheless, now and then, I observed Marguerite looking very 
 sad, and even weeping ; I asked her the cause of this sudden grief, and 
 she replied : 
 
 "My dear Armand, our love is not an ordinary passion; you love 
 me as if I had never belonged to any one else, and I tremble lest, later 
 on, you should repent of your love, reproach me with my past life, and 
 compel me to resume that way of living from which you rescued me. 
 Consider that now I have tasted the charms of another existence, I 
 should die if I were to go back to my old career. Tell me again that 
 you will never leave me." 
 
 " I swear it to you ! " 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 157 
 
 At these words she looked at me, as if to read in my eyes if I was 
 sincere in taking this oath ; then she threw herself into my arms, and, 
 hiding her face on my hreast, said : 
 
 "You do not know how much I love you." 
 
 One evening we were leaning on the balcony of our window, looking 
 at the moon, which seemed to have some difficulty in piercing the 
 clouds, and listening at the wind rustling in the trees. We held 
 each other's hands, and, for perhaps a quarter of an hour, did not say a 
 word ; then Marguerite observed to me : 
 
 " Winter will soon be here. Shall we leave this ? " 
 
 " Where shall we go to 1 " 
 
 "To Italy." 
 
 " Are you tired of this place ? " 
 
 " I dread the winter, and, above all, our return to Paris." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " For many reasons." 
 
 And she added abruptly, without giving any grounds for her fears : 
 
 " WiU you go 1 I shall sell everything I possess and we wiU go 
 and live in Italy. Nothing will remain then of my former career, and 
 no one will know who I am. Should you like to go ? " 
 
 " Let us go away if it pleases you, Marguerite," I said ; " but why 
 need you sell those things which you will be glad to find again on your 
 return ? My fortune is not large enough to accept such a sacrifice ; yet 
 I have sufficient money to allow us to travel in good style for five or six 
 months, if this will give you any pleasure." 
 
 " After all, we'd better not go," she continued, leaving the window 
 and seating herself upon the couch at the further end of the room. 
 " What is the use of spending money in travelling ? I cost you quite 
 enough here." 
 
 " To teU me so. Marguerite, is not generous on your part." 
 
 " Forgive me, my friend," she replied, offering me her hand ; " this 
 oppressive weather affects my nerves. My words do not express what 
 I meant to say." 
 
 And, after embracing me, she feU into a profound reverie. 
 
158 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 Such scenes were not rare, and, though I was unaware of their cause, 
 I nevertheless detected in Marguerite feelings of anxiety about the 
 future. She could not doubt my love, for it increased every day, and 
 yet I often found her sad ; she always attributed this sadness to 
 some physical cause, without giving any other reason for it. 
 
 Fearing that she might become weary of too monotonous a life, I 
 proposed that we should return to Paris ; but she invariably rejected 
 this proposal, and assured me she could nowhere else be so happy 
 as in the country. 
 
 Prudence did not come often, but to make up for it wrote many 
 letters, which I never asked to see, though Marguerite was always 
 buried in thought after receiving them ; I could not tell why. 
 
 One day Marguerite kept her room. When I entered, I found her 
 writing. 
 
 " To whom are you writing ? " I asked. 
 
 " To Prudence. Should you like to read what I have written ? " 
 
 I dreaded anything that might appear suspicious, and I therefore 
 replied to Marguerite that I did not wish to know what she had 
 been writing ; but, nevertheless, I felt quite certain that this letter 
 would have told me the real cause of her sadness. 
 
 Next day, the weather was very fine. Marguerite proposed that we 
 should take a boat and visit the Isle of Croissy. She seemed in good 
 spirits, and we did not return till five o'clock. 
 
 "Madame Duvemoy has been here," said Nanine, as soon as we 
 returned. 
 
 " Has she left ? " asked Marguerite. 
 
 " Yes, she left in your carriage, Madame ; she said you knew all 
 about it." 
 
 " That will do," replied Marguerite, quickly. " Let us have dinner." 
 
 Two days afterwards Prudence sent a letter, and during the next 
 fortnight Marguerite seemed not to sufier from any of those mysteri- 
 ous fits of melancholy for which she never ceased to apologise, now 
 that she was no longer attacked by them. 
 
 The carriage was never sent back, however. 
 
CliampcUion, ; 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 159 
 
 " Why does Prudence not send back your brougham ? " I asked one 
 day. 
 
 " One of the horses is ill, and the carriage wants repairing, which 
 can better be done whilst we are still here and need no carriage, 
 instead of waiting till we return to Paris." 
 
 Prudence paid us a visit a few days afterwards, and confirmed all 
 that Marguerite had told me. 
 
 The two ladies walked by themselves in the garden, and when I 
 joined them they changed their conversation. 
 
 Prudence went away in the evening, and as she said she felt cold, 
 she asked Marguerite to lend her a cashmere shawl. 
 
 Another month passed, and during that time Marguerite was in a 
 better temper and more affectionate than ever. 
 
 But the carriage did not come back, neither was the cashmere 
 shawl returned, and this puzzled me. As I knew where Marguerite 
 kept Prudence's letters, I took advantage of a moment when she was 
 at the bottom of the garden to go to her drawer and endeavour to open 
 it ; but it was in vain, for it was locked. 
 
 I then looked in the drawers where she kept her jewelry and her 
 diamonds, and I opened them without any difiiculty ; but neither the 
 jewel-cases, nor, of course, the jewels, were there. 
 
 A poignant feeling of anxiety throbbed through my heart. 
 
 I would have asked Marguerite what had become of all these 
 things, but she certainly would not have told me the truth. 
 
 " My dear Marguerite," I said to her, " I want you to allow me to go 
 to Paris. My servant does not know where I am, and I am almost sure 
 to find some of my father's letters at my rooms ; for he is, no doubt, 
 uneasy about me, and I had better answer them." 
 
 " Go, my friend," she replied ; " but come back as soon as you can." 
 
 I went. 
 
 I immediately hastened to Prudence's house. 
 
 "Now," I said, without any preliminaries, "answer me frankly. 
 Where are Marguerite's horses ? " 
 
 "They are sold." 
 
i6o THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " And the cashmere shawl ? " 
 
 " Sold." 
 
 "And the diamonds?" 
 
 " Pledged." 
 
 " And who has sold and pledged all these things ? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " Why did you not let me know this before ? " 
 
 " Marguerite told me not to do so." 
 
 " Why did you not ask me for money ? " 
 
 " Because she would not allow it." 
 
 " What has become of aU the money 1 " 
 
 " Paid away." 
 
 " Does she owe a great deal ? " 
 
 "About thirty thousand francs stiU. Ah, my dear fellow, I told 
 you so, but you would not believe me. I hope that now you are con- 
 vinced. The upholsterer, whom the Duke had promised to pay, was 
 shown the door when he called to see him, and next day received 
 ^ letter telling him that the Duke would not pay anything for 
 Mademoiselle Gautier. The man insisted upon having his money, and 
 we gave him, on account, the few thousand francs I borrowed from 
 you; but some kind friends informed him that Marguerite was no 
 longer with the Duke, and was living with a penniless young man. 
 The other creditors were told the same thing. They insisted upon 
 having their money, and seized the furniture. Marguerite wished to sell 
 everything, but she could no longer do so ; and, besides, I would have 
 objected to it. She had, however, to pay ; and as she did not like to 
 ask you for any money, she sold her horses, her cashmere-shawls, and 
 pledged her jewels. Should you like to see the receipts and the pawn- 
 tickets ? " 
 
 And Prudence, opening a drawer, showed them to me. 
 
 " You fancy," she continued with the persistency of a woman who 
 feels that she was quite right in her argument, " you fancy that a young 
 man and woman have nothing else to do than to be in love with one 
 another, and go and lead a pastoral and dreamy life in the country. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. i6i 
 
 No, my friend, no ; there is a material as well as an ideal life, and 
 the purest intentions are kept down by ridiculously thin but very 
 strong threads, not easily broken. If Marguerite has not deceived you 
 a score of times, it is because she is quite an exception to the general 
 rule. I advised her often to do so, for it pained me to see the poor 
 girl strip herself of everything, but she would not hear of it, always 
 replied that she loved you, and would not deceive you for anything in 
 the world. All this is very pretty and very poetical, but she cannot 
 pay her creditors with such coin ; and now she does not know what 
 to do unless she can lay her hand on about thirty thousand francs," 
 " Then I will give her that sum." 
 "You win have to borrow it." 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That will be a very nice business ! You wiU quarrel with your 
 father, and cripple your resources; and, moreover, one does not find 
 thirty thousand francs in a day. Listen to me, my dear Armand ; I 
 know women better than you do ; be reasonable, and do not commit 
 a foUy which you wiU one day repent. I do not tell you to leave 
 Marguerite, but to live with her as you did at the beginning of the 
 summer. Let her find means to escape from her difficulties. The 
 
 Duke wiU gradually come back to her ; the Count de N who has 
 
 an income of two hundred thousand francs, only told me yesterday 
 that, if she accepts him, he will pay all her debts, and give her four 
 or five thousand francs a month. That would be a position for her ; 
 while it is certain that you wiU have to leave her one day or other. 
 What is the use of waiting till you are ruined ? Besides, the Count 
 de N, , . . is a noodle, and nothing prevents you from still remaining 
 Marguerite's lover. She will weep a little to begin with ; but she will 
 get accustomed to this mode of life and thank you one day for what 
 you have done. You have only to imagine that Marguerite is a married 
 woman, and that you are deceiving her husband ; that is all. 
 
 " I told you aU this before, but then I merely advised you ; now it 
 has almost become a necessity." 
 
 Prudence was merciless ; but she was right. 
 
i62 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " You see," she continued, putting away the papers she had shown 
 me, " demireps always foresee that they will be loved, but never that they 
 themselves will love ; or, otherwise, they would lay by money, and, 
 when they are thirty, could aflford themselves the luxury of having a 
 lover who does not pay them. If I had only known formerly what I do 
 now ! One bit of advice more ; say nothing to Marguerite, but take 
 her back to Paris. You have lived five or six months with her, and 
 you have no reason to complain. Only shut your eyes ; that is aU you 
 have to do. In a fortnight she will accept the offer of the Count de 
 
 N lay by some money this winter, and next summer you can 
 
 begin again. That is the way to manage such things, my dear feUow." 
 
 And Prudence seemed quite delighted to have given me this advice, 
 which I rejected with indignation. 
 
 Not only would neither my love nor my dignity permit me to adopt 
 such a course, but I was quite certain that Marguerite, as she felt 
 then, would sooner die than consent to such a partition. 
 
 "You have been joking long enough," I said to Prudence, "tell me 
 how much Marguerite reaUy needs." 
 
 " I have told you. About thirty thousand francs." 
 
 " And when wiU she require that sum 1 " 
 
 " Within two months." 
 
 " She shaU have it." 
 
 Prudence shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I will give you the money," I continued, " but you must pledge 
 me your word not to tell Marguerite that it comes from me." 
 
 " Make yourself easy on that score." 
 
 " Let me also know if she sends anything more to be sold or 
 pledged." 
 
 " There is no danger of that. She has nothing more left." 
 
 I then went to my rooms to see if there were any letters from my 
 father. 
 
 There were four. 
 
I'x-.-z 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 In the first 
 three letters, my 
 father expressed un- 
 easiness at my 
 silence, and asked the 
 reason of it ; in his last 
 he hinted that people had 
 told him of my present way 
 of living, and informed me that 
 he would very shortly come to Paris. 
 I always felt a great respect and sincere 
 affection for my father ; I replied to him, therefore, that I had not 
 answered his letters because I had been taking a little excursion, and 
 I begged him to let me know what day he intended to come, in order 
 that I might go and meet him. 
 
 I gave my servant my address in the country, and told him to bring 
 me any letter that should arrive with the postmark of my native town ; 
 then I started immediately for Bougival. 
 
 I found Marguerite waiting for me at the garden-gate. 
 Her countenance betrayed anxiety. She threw her arms around my 
 neck, and could not refrain from asking : 
 
 X 2 
 
i64 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " Have you seen Prudence 1 " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You have been a long time in Paris." 
 
 " I had to answer some of my father's letters which I found at my 
 rooms." 
 
 A few minutes afterwards, Nanine entered quite out of breath; 
 Marguerite rose and whispered something to her. 
 
 When Nanine was gone, Marguerite seated herself again close to 
 me, took my hand, and said : 
 
 " Why did you deceive me ? You have seen Prudence." 
 
 " Who told you 1 " 
 
 "Nanine." . 
 
 " And how does she know ? " 
 
 " She foUowed you." 
 
 " You told her, then, to follow me 1 " 
 
 "Yes, I did. I thought there must be some powerful motive to 
 induce you to go to Paris ; you, who never left me once for four 
 months. I was afraid that some misfortune had happened to you, or 
 that, perhaps, you went to see another woman." 
 
 " How childish you are ! " 
 
 " I am now no longer uneasy ; I know what you have done, but I 
 do not know what Prudence has told you." 
 
 I showed Marguerite my father's letters. 
 
 " That is not what I ask you. What I want to know is why did 
 you caU on Prudence ? " 
 
 " To see her." 
 
 " You do not speak the truth, my friend." 
 
 " Well ! I went to ask her if your horse was getting better, and if she 
 had any further need of your cashmere shawls and your jewels." 
 
 Marguerite blushed, but made no reply. 
 
 " She told me," I continued, " what you have done with your horses, 
 your shawls, and your diamonds." 
 " Are you angry with me ? " 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 165 
 
 " I am angry, because you never thought of asking me for what you 
 wanted." 
 
 " If a woman, in a ' liaison ' like ours, has still a little self-respect 
 left, she ought to submit to every possible sacrifice rather than ask 
 money from her lover and appear to be mercenary. You love me, I 
 am sure, but you do not know how fragile is the tie which secures 
 an affection for girls like I am. Perhaps some day, when you are 
 short of money or feel very duU, you may possibly imagine that our 
 ' liaison ' was an artfully arranged calculation on my part ! Prudence 
 cannot keep a secret. What do I want with horses ? I can very well 
 do without them, and shall have nothing more to spend for their keep ; 
 so I save money by their being sold. All that I ask of you is to 
 love me, and you will love me just as well without my having any 
 horses, shawls, or diamonds." 
 
 All this was said so unaffectedly, that the tears came into my eyes 
 whilst listening to her. 
 
 "But, sweet Marguerite," I replied, as I affectionately pressed her 
 hands, "you must have known that, one day or other, I should hear 
 what sacrifice you were making, and that, as soon as I knew of it, I 
 would not permit it." 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because, my dear girl, I do not intend that the affection which you 
 are good enough to entertain for me should deprive you even of a 
 single trinket. I also do not wish that some day when you are in want 
 of money or feel very dull, you might imagine that if you had been 
 living with another man such things would not have happened, and that 
 you should repent, if but for a single moment, ever to have known me. 
 In a few days your horses, your jewels, and your cashmere shawls will 
 be restored to you. They are as necessary to you as the air you 
 breathe ; and, although what I am about to say may appear ridiculous 
 I love you better splendidly dressed than simply attired." 
 "Then you love me no longer ? " 
 " How foolish you are ! " 
 
1 66 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " If you love me, you would allow me to love you as I want to ; but, 
 on the contrary, you continue to see in me only a girl to whom appear- 
 ances are indispensable, and whom you still imagine you are obliged 
 to pay. You are ashamed to accept any proofs of my love. In spite 
 of yourself, you think you might leave me one day ; and therefore, your 
 delicate feelings of honour must be kept beyond aU suspicion. You 
 are right, my friend, but I expected something better from you." 
 
 Marguerite made a movement to rise from her seat, but I prevented 
 her, saying : 
 
 "I wish you to be happy and to have nothing to reproach me 
 with." 
 
 " And we are about to part ! " 
 
 " Why, Marguerite, who can separate us ? " I exclaimed. 
 
 " You, who will not allow me to understand your position and are 
 vain enough to keep me in mine ; you, who in keeping up the splendour 
 in which I have lived, wish to preserve the moral distance which 
 separates us ; you, in short, who do not believe suflSiciently in the 
 disinterestedness of my affection to share with me your income with 
 which we could live happily together ; but who prefer to ruin yourself 
 in obedience to a ridiculous prejudice. Do you suppose then that 
 there is a comparison between a carriage or trinkets and your love ? 
 Do you imagine that my happiness consists in the vanities which 
 satisfy us when we love nothing, but which become of no value when 
 we really do love ? You will pay my debts ; you will borrow money on 
 the security of your capital ; you will, in fact, keep me ! How long 
 will this last ! Two or three months, and then it will be too late to 
 adopt the life I propose to you ; for then you will have to accept 
 everything from me, and a man of honour cannot do that. Now, you 
 have still an income of eight or ten thousand francs, and with this 
 we can live. I will sell all that I do not want, and can realise from 
 this sale sufficient to bring me in about two thousand francs a year. 
 We will take a pretty little suite of rooms where we can live together. 
 In the summer we will go to the country ; not in a house like this. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 167 
 
 but in a little cottage large enough for two persons. You are inde- 
 pendent ; I am free ; we are young. For Heaven's sake, Armand, do 
 not throw me back into the life I was formerly compelled to lead ! " 
 
 I could make no reply ; tears of gratitude and love fiUed my eyes, 
 and I threw myself into Marguerite's arms. 
 
 " I wish," she resumed, " everything could have been arranged with- 
 out your knowing about it ; and that I could have paid my debts and 
 got my new rooms into order. We should then have gone to Paris in 
 October, and all would have been settled ; but, as Prudence has told you 
 everything, you will have to accept my proposal now, instead of after- 
 wards. Do you love me sufficiently to do so ? " 
 
 It was impossible to resist such magnanimity. I kissed Marguerite's 
 hand repeatedly, and replied : 
 
 " I wiU do whatever you wish." 
 
 It was, therefore, agreed that she should do as she liked. 
 
 Then she became wild with joy; she danced, she sang, she was 
 delighted at the idea of the quiet new rooms she was going to have, 
 and began to consult me already as to their arrangement, and in what 
 neighbourhood I would like them to be. 
 
 I saw that she was happy and proud to have taken this resolution, 
 which it seemed was going to unite us more closely. 
 
 I did not wish to be less generous than she had shown herself. 
 
 That very moment I settled what my future was going to be. I 
 calculated what money I had, and determined to make over to 
 Marguerite the income my mother had left me, which seemed to me 
 barely sufficient to recompense her for the sacrifice I accepted. 
 
 Then there would remain to me the five thousand francs my father 
 allowed me yearly, and which was enough to live upon whatever 
 might happen. 
 
 I did not teU Marguerite what I had resolved to do, for I was 
 convinced she would refuse my gift. 
 
 My mother had left me a sum of sixty thousand francs, which 
 was put out on mortgage on a house I had never even seen. All I 
 
i68 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 knew was that each quarter-day an old friend of our family, who was 
 also my father's lawyer, handed me seven hundred and fifty francs, for 
 which I gave him a receipt. 
 
 The very day Marguerite and I went to Paris to look for rooms, I 
 paid a visit to this lawyer, and asked him what I would have to do to 
 transfer this income to another person. 
 
 The worthy man supposed me to be ruined, and questioned me why 
 I wanted to do this. As sooner or later it would have been necessary 
 to tell him to whom I wanted to transfer the money, I preferred to let 
 him know the whole truth at once. He made none of those objections 
 which his position as a lawyer and a friend might have authorised, 
 and assured me that he would arrange it aU as well as he could. 
 
 I, of course, recommended him not to say a word about this trans- 
 action to my father ; and I went to meet Marguerite, who was waiting 
 for me at Julie Duprat's, where she preferred stopping rather than 
 to go and listen to Prudence preaching to her. 
 
 We commenced to hunt for apartments. Marguerite found every 
 suite of rooms we looked at too expensive, and I thought they were too 
 mean. Nevertheless, we agreed at last ; and determined to take a 
 small detached cottage standing in its own grounds, in one of the most 
 quiet neighbourhoods of Paris. 
 
 Behind this small detached cottage was a beautiful garden, sur- 
 rounded by walls sufficiently high to separate us from our neighbours 
 and low enough to allow us to look at what was going on. 
 
 It was much better than we had any right to expect. 
 
 Whilst I went to my own rooms to give notice of my leaving. 
 Marguerite hastened to call on some agent, who, according to her, had 
 arranged for one of her friends what she was going to ask him to do 
 for herself. 
 
 I waited for her in my rooms, and she came back delighted. This 
 agent had promised her to pay aU her debts, to hand her the receipts 
 for them, and moreover to give her twenty thousand francs, provided 
 she gave up to him all her furniture. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 169 
 
 You know by the amount the sale realised, that this honest man 
 would have made more than thirty thousand francs out of his 
 customer. 
 
 We went back to Bougival in the best of tempers, and continued 
 to discuss our plans for the future, which, thanks to our want of 
 experience, and especially to our mutual love, we beheld in the most 
 glowing colours. 
 
 A week afterwards, whilst we were at breakfast, Nanine told me 
 that my servant wanted to see me. 
 
 He was shown in. 
 
 "Sir," said he, "your father has arrived in town, and begs you to 
 come at once to your apartments, where he awaits you." 
 
 This news was the simplest in the world, but on hearing it, Mar- 
 guerite and I looked at each other. 
 
 We had a foreboding of some misfortune which was going to happen 
 to us. 
 
 Though she did not mention to me the impression this message 
 had made upon her, as well as on me, I said, as I took her hand — 
 
 " Fear nothing." 
 
 "Eetum as soon as you can," Marguerite murmured, embracing 
 me. " I shall watch for you at the window." 
 
 I sent Joseph to say I was coming. 
 
 Two hours afterwards I was in the Rue de Provence. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 I FOUND my father, in his dressing-gown, engaged in writing in 
 my sitting-room. 
 
 I perceived at once by the way in which he looked at me, as I came 
 in, that he had something important to say to me. 
 
 However, as if his countenance had not betrayed him, I went up 
 to him and embraced him. 
 
 " When did you arrive, father ? " 
 
 Y 2 
 
172 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " Last evening." 
 
 " You came directly here, as usual ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I very much regret that I was not here to meet you." 
 
 I expected to receive at once the lecture v^hich the stem counte- 
 nance of my father foreshadowed, but he made no reply, sealed the 
 letter he had just written, and gave it to Joseph to take to the post. 
 
 When we were alone, my father rose, and leaning against the 
 mantel-piece, said : 
 
 " My dear Armand, I want to talk to you about something very 
 important." 
 
 " I am listening, father." 
 
 " Will you promise me to be candid ? " 
 
 " I always am." 
 
 "Is it true that you are living with a woman named Marguerite 
 Gautier?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you know what this woman has been ? " 
 
 " A demirep." 
 
 "Is it for her sake that this year you have neglected to come and 
 pay a visit to your sister and to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, father, I confess it." 
 
 " You love this woman, then, very much ? " 
 
 "The proof that I do so, father, is that it has made me neglect a 
 sacred duty, for which I humbly ask your pardon." 
 
 My father evidently had not expected to receive such explicit 
 replies, for he seemed to reflect for a moment, and then said : 
 
 " You do not suppose that you can always live thus ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot, father, but I did suppose it." 
 
 "You must also have been aware," continued my father, in a 
 somewhat sterner tone, " that I should not permit such conduct." 
 
 "As long as I do nothing to injure your fair name, and the 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 173 
 
 traditional honour of the family, I thought I could live as I like ; and 
 this idea has somewhat allayed my fear." 
 
 Passion enables a man to withstand sentiment. I was prepared for 
 any struggle, even against my father, so as not to lose Marguerite. 
 
 " Now the time has come for you to lead a different life." 
 
 "Why, father 1" 
 
 " Because you are on the point of doing certain things which are 
 contrary to the respect which you profess for your family." 
 
 " I do not understand what you mean." 
 
 " I will explain. That you have a mistress may be all very well ; 
 that you pay, as a gentleman, for the favours of such a girl, is also 
 quite right ; but that you neglect the most sacred duties for her 
 sake, that you permit the report of your disgraceful conduct to reach 
 even the provincial town where I dwell, and to cast a dark stain on 
 the honourable name which I have given you, I cannot and will not 
 allow." 
 
 " Permit me to say, father, that those who have spread such reports 
 about me are iU-informed. It is quite true that I am the lover of 
 Mademoiselle Gautier and live with her; but I do not allow her to 
 pass under your name and mine. The money I spend on her does not 
 exceed my means ; I have not incurred a single debt, nor, in short, do 
 I find myself in such a dilemma as to authorise a father to say to his 
 son what you just now said to me." 
 
 " A father is always authorised to turn his son away from the evil 
 ways on which he is about to enter. You have not yet done any harm, 
 but you are about to do so." 
 " Father ! " 
 
 " Sir, I know life better than you do. Only pure and modest women 
 can have chaste feelings. Every Manon can make a Desgrieux, and 
 times and manners have changed. It would be useless for the world 
 to grow older if it did not also become better. You will give up your 
 mistress." 
 
174 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 "I regret I shall have to disobey you, father; but that is im- 
 possible." 
 
 " I shall compel you to do so." 
 
 " Unhappily, father, there are no longer any Isles Sainte-Marguerite 
 to which they can transport courtesans ; and even if now there were 
 any, I would accompany Mademoiselle Gautier if you sent her thither. 
 I cannot help it ; I may be wrong, but I cannot be happy except by 
 remaining the lover of this girl." 
 
 " Come, Armand, open your eyes ; recognise your father, who has 
 always loved you, and only desires your happiness. Is it creditable for 
 you to live with a girl who has been everybody's love ? " 
 
 " What does it matter, father, provided she is now no longer any- 
 body's ■? What does it matter, provided this girl loves me, and through 
 her love for me, and the love I have for her, becomes regenerated ? In 
 short, what does it matter, as long as she has become converted ! " 
 
 " Do you think then, sir, that it is the mission of a man of honour 
 to convert courtesans ? Do you think Providence has sent us into the 
 world for such an absurd purpose, and that we should feel no other 
 enthusiasm ? What wiU be the conclusion of this marvellous cure, and 
 what will you think, when you are forty, of what you have just now 
 been saying ? You wiU laugh at your love, if you still can laugh, and 
 if it has not left too deep a mark on your past career. What would 
 you be now, if your father had had the same ideas, and had abandoned 
 himself to every breath of passion, instead of settling his career firmly 
 on a basis of honour and honesty? Keflect, Armand, and utter no 
 more such absurdities. Come, you will leave this woman. Your 
 father entreats you ! " 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 "Armand," continued my father, "in the name of your sainted 
 mother, I beg you to abandon this mode of living which is whoUy 
 impracticable in theory, but to which you are fettered, and which you 
 will forget sooner than you imagine. You are twenty -four ; think of 
 your future ; you cannot always love this woman, who, on the other 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 175 
 
 hand, will not always love you. You both exaggerate your love. You 
 shut yourself out from every career. If you take one step more, you 
 will no longer be able to quit the path you now tread, and for the rest 
 of your life the remorse of your lost youth will haunt you. Leave 
 Paris and spend a month or two with your sister. Best, and the care 
 and affection of your family will soon cure you of this fitful fever, for it 
 is nothing else. 
 
 "In the meanwhile your mistress will console herself and take 
 another lover. Then, when you wiU have discovered for whose sake 
 you have nearly quarrelled with your father and lost his affection, you 
 wiU tell me that I did quite right to come and take you away, and 
 you wiU thank me for having done so. 
 
 " I trust therefore, Armand, that you will leave town with me." 
 I felt that my father was right, as far as most women were concerned, 
 but I was convinced that he was wrong with regard to Marguerite. 
 StiU he had uttered his last words in such a gentle and pitiful tone of 
 voice that I dared not reply. 
 
 " Well ? " he said, in a tone full of emotion. 
 
 " WeU, father, I can promise you nothing," I replied at last ; " what- 
 you ask is beyond my power. Believe me," I continued, on seeing 
 him make a gesture of impatience, " you exaggerate the result of this 
 ' liaison.' Marguerite is not so bad as you think her. This love, instead 
 of leading me wrong, is, on the contrary, capable of developing in me 
 the most honourable sentiments. True love always makes a man better, 
 whatever may be the woman who inspires it. If you knew Marguerite, 
 you would admit that I am in no danger, for she is as noble-minded as 
 the noblest of women. Other women of her class are very grasping, 
 but she is disinterestedness itself." 
 
 " Which does not prevent her accepting your entire fortune, for the 
 sixty thousand francs you inherited from your mother, and which you 
 wish to settle on her, are your entire fortune, I repeat; so let those 
 words sink into your mind." 
 
176 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 My father probably kept this peroration and threat to the last. 
 
 I could much better resist his threats than his entreaties. 
 
 "Who told you I was about to settle this money on her?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " My lawyer. Do you think that an honest man would have done 
 such a thing without letting me know ? I came here to prevent your 
 ruining yourself for this girl. When your mother died she left you 
 enough to live honourably, but not enough to squander it on your 
 mistresses." 
 
 "I assure you, father, that Marguerite was not aware of my 
 intentions." 
 
 " Then why do you want to settle this sum on her ? " 
 
 " Because this woman whom you calumniate, and whom you wish 
 me to abandon, has sacrificed everything she had in the world to go 
 and live with me." 
 
 " And you accept such a sacrifice ! Are you not ashamed, sir, to 
 permit such a woman as Marguerite Gautier to sacrifice anything for 
 you? Come, this is enough. You must leave this woman. A few 
 minutes ago I entreated you, now I command you. I will not allow 
 such a disgraceful behaviour in my family. Order your things to be 
 packed, and prepare to leave town with me." 
 
 " Pardon me, father, but I wiU not go." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because I am of an age when I am no longer bound to obey a 
 command." 
 
 My father turned pale at this reply. 
 
 " Very good, sir ; I know now what I have to do." 
 
 He rang the bell. 
 
 Joseph made his appearance. 
 
 " Take my luggage to the Hotel de Paris," he said to my servant. 
 Then he entered my bedroom and dressed himself. 
 
 When he came out I went up to him, and said : 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. i77 
 
 " Promise me, father, not to do anything that will pain Mar- 
 guerite ? " 
 
 My father stopped, cast on me a contemptuous glance, and merely 
 replied : 
 
 " I believe you are insane." 
 
 He went out, slamming the door with all his might. 
 
 I then left my rooms, took a cab, and drove to Bougival. 
 
 Marguerite was waiting for me at the window. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A.T length," she cried, embracing me. " How pale you are ! " 
 I then related to her the scene between me and my father. 
 " Good Heavens ! I thought as much," she replied. " When Joseph 
 came to tell us your father had arrived, I started as if I had heard that 
 some misfortune was going to happen. Poor friend ! and it is I who 
 am the cause of all this grief. Perhaps you would have done better to 
 abandon me than to quarrel with your father. Still I have done him 
 no harm. We are living very quietly ; we will live still more so. He 
 knows well enough that you will have a mistress, and he ought to be 
 glad that it is me, because I love you, and wish for nothing but what 
 you can afford. Did you tell him how we had planned the future ? " 
 
 " Yes, and that made him more angry than anything else, for in 
 this determination he saw the proof of our mutual love," 
 
 Z 2 
 
i8o THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " What is to be done then ? " 
 
 "We must remain together, my darhng Marguerite, and let the 
 storm pass over." 
 
 " But will it pass over ? " 
 
 " It must." 
 
 " But will your father remain quiet ? " 
 
 " What do you suppose he wiU do ? " 
 
 " How should I know 1 Everything a father can do to make a son 
 obey him. He will remind you of my past life, and perhaps do me 
 the honour of inventing some fresh story about me, that you may 
 abandon me." 
 
 " You know that I love you." 
 
 " Yes ; but I also know that sooner or later you wiU have to 
 obey your father, and, perhaps, you will finally allow him to con- 
 vince you." 
 
 " No, Marguerite ; it is I who will convince him. He is now very 
 angry because a few of his friends have been telling some stories about 
 me ; but he is kind, just, and will abandon his first impression. 
 Besides, after all, what does it matter to me ? " 
 
 " Don't say that, Armand ; I would much prefer not to have it said 
 that I had been the cause of your quarrelling with your family. Kemain 
 here to-day, and return to-morrow to Paris. Your father wiU have 
 reflected, and so will you ; and perhaps both of you will come to a better 
 understanding. Don't shock his principles ; pretend to make some 
 concessions to him ; make it appear that you do not care so very much 
 for me, and he will leave things as they are. Don't be despondent, my 
 friend, and be quite certain of one thing, that, happen what may, your 
 Marguerite will never abandon you." 
 
 " You swear it." 
 
 " Need I swear it ? " 
 
 How pleasant it is to allow one's self to be convinced by the voice 
 of the woman we love ! Marguerite and I passed the whole day in 
 talking over our projects, as if we were aware of the necessity of 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. i8i 
 
 realising them as soon as possible. Every moment we expected some- 
 thing to happen, but luckily the day passed without any new incident. 
 
 The next day I left at ten o'clock, and about twelve arrived at the 
 hotel. 
 
 My father had already gone out. 
 
 I went to my rooms, where I thought I might possibly find him. No 
 one had been there ; I called upon the lawyer, but he was not there. ! 
 
 I returned to the hotel, and waited till six o'clock, but Monsieur 
 Duval did not make his appearance. 
 
 I started back to Bougival. 
 
 I found Marguerite, not waiting for me as she had done the day be- 
 fore, but seated near the fire, which had been lit, as it was already chilly. 
 
 She was so absorbed in thought that I came quite close to her 
 chair without her hearing me or turning round. When I kissed her 
 on the forehead, she started as if this kiss had suddenly awakened her. 
 
 " You frightened me," she said. " Have you seen your father ? " 
 
 " I have not. I do not know what it means ; for he was neither 
 at his hotel nor at any of the places where I could possibly have 
 met him." 
 
 " Then you had better try again and see him to-morrow." 
 
 " I have a great mind to wait until he sends for me. I have done 
 all that can be expected of me." 
 
 " No, my friend, you have not done enough ; go and try again to 
 see your father, especially to-morrow." 
 
 " Why to-morrow more than any other day ? " 
 
 " Because," said Marguerite, who appeared to blush a little at this 
 question, " because this perseverance on your part will produce a better 
 impression, and we may be pardoned sooner." 
 
 During the remainder of the day, Marguerite was preoccupied, 
 absent-minded, and sad. I was obliged to repeat more than once what 
 I had to say to her before I could get any answer. She attributed this 
 preoccupation to her anxiety for the future, an anxiety caused by the 
 events of the last two days. 
 
i82 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 I spent the night in trying to reassure her ; but she urged me to start 
 the next morning, and was so restless that I could not account for it. 
 
 My father was again absent that day as he had been the day before ; 
 but he had left the following letter for me : 
 
 " If you call on me to-day, wait till four o'clock ; if I have not 
 returned then, come and dine with me to-morrow ; I wish to speak 
 to you." 
 
 I waited till four o'clock ; but as my father had not made his 
 appearance I went away. 
 
 The day before Marguerite had been sad, but to-day I perceived 
 that she was feverish and agitated. On seeing me enter, she flung her 
 arms around my neck, and remained for some time in my embrace 
 weeping. 
 
 I asked what was the cause of this sudden grief, of which the 
 paroxysm alarmed me. She did not give me any sensible reason for it, 
 but brought forward everything a woman can invent when she does 
 not wish to speak the truth. 
 
 After she had become a little more quiet, I related to her the results 
 of my journey, and showed her my father's letter, whilst observing that 
 our prospects were looking brighter. 
 
 At the sight of this letter, and on hearing my observations, the tears 
 began again to flow so fast that, dreading a nervous attack, I had to 
 call Nanine, and we carried to bed the poor girl, who all the time was 
 crying without saying a single word, but was holding my hands and 
 kissing them every moment. 
 
 I asked Nanine if her mistress had received any letter or visit during 
 my absence that could account for the state I found her in, but she 
 replied that no one had called, and no letter had come. I felt almost 
 sure that the day before something must have happened, and this 
 surmise made me the more uneasy as Marguerite concealed from me 
 what it was. 
 
 She appeared a little more collected in the evening, and making 
 me sit by her side, assured me again and again that she loved me. She 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 183 
 
 then smiled on me, but with an effort, for in spite of herself her eyes 
 filled with tears. 
 
 In vain were aU my endeavours to induce her to let me know the 
 real cause of her grief; she persisted in giving me the same vague 
 reasons I have already mentioned. 
 
 She finally fell asleep in my arms, but it was a sleep exhausting the 
 body instead of recruiting it. From time to time she uttered a cry, 
 awoke with a start, and when she saw that I was with her, made me 
 swear to love her always. 
 
 I was greatly perplexed by those intermittent paroxysms of grief, 
 which lasted until morning. Then Marguerite fell into a doze ; she 
 had not slept for two nights. 
 
 Her rest did not last long. 
 
 About eleven o'clock Marguerite awoke, and seeing me rise from 
 my chair, looked around her and exclaimed : 
 
 " Are you going already ? " 
 
 " No," I said, taking her hands, " but I did not wish to disturb your 
 rest. It is early yet." 
 
 " At what o'clock are you going to Paris ? " 
 
 " At four o'clock." 
 
 " So soon ! You will remain with me till then, won't you ? " 
 
 " Of course. Don't I usually do so ? " 
 
 "I feel so happy! " 
 
 " Shall we have breakfast ? " she asked in an absent manner. 
 
 " Just as you like." 
 
 " And you wiU give me many kisses until you are going 1 " 
 
 " Yes, and I wiU come back as soon as possible." 
 
 " You wiU come back ? " she said, looking at me with haggard eyes. 
 
 « Of course." 
 
 " That is all right ! You will come back to-night, and I shall wait 
 for you as usual, and you will love me, and we shall be as happy as we 
 ever have been since we knew each other." 
 
 Every word she said was uttered in such an hysterical manner, that 
 
1 84 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 it seemed to conceal some painful idea, over which she had been 
 brooding a long time, and I trembled each moment to see Marguerite 
 become delirious. 
 
 " Listen," I said to her, " you are ill ; I cannot leave you thus ; I 
 wiU write to my father, and teU him not to expect me." 
 
 " No ! no ! " she exclaimed suddenly. " Don't do that. Your father 
 would again accuse me of preventing your going to him when he 
 wishes to see you. No, no, you must go ! you must go ! Besides, I 
 am not iU ; I am quite well ; I have only had a bad dream, and I was 
 not quite awake." 
 
 From that moment Marguerite tried to appear more cheerful, and 
 wept no longer. 
 
 When it was time for me to go, I embraced her, and asked her if 
 she would like to accompany me to the railway station. I fancied that 
 the walk might benefit her, and that the air would do her good. 
 
 I was especially anxious to remain with her as long as possible. 
 
 She accepted my offer, put on her cloak, and accompanied me with 
 Nanine, so that she might not return alone. 
 
 Twenty times I was on the point of staying with her. But the 
 expectation of returning soon, and the fear of once more making my 
 father angry, urged me to go, and I left by the train. 
 
 " I wiU see you again to-night," I said to Marguerite on bidding her 
 good-bye. She made no reply. 
 
 Once before she had not answered me when I used the same words, 
 and perhaps you may remember that the Count de G . . . . had stopped 
 with her that night. But this happened so long ago that it seemed 
 blotted out from my memory ; and if I feared anything, it certainly 
 was not that Marguerite would deceive me. 
 
 I arrived in Paris, and hastened to Prudence, in order to beg her to 
 go to Bougival, hoping that her good temper and liveliness would 
 drive away Marguerite's fit of melancholy. 
 
 I entered her rooms without being announced, and found Prudence 
 dressing. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 185 
 
 " Hallo ! '* she said to me, with some uneasiness, " is Marguerite 
 not with you?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "How is she?" 
 
 " She is not very well." 
 
 " Is she not coming ? " 
 
 " Did you expect her ? " 
 
 Madame Duvemoy blushed, and replied, with some hesitation : 
 
 "I want to know if she will not come and meet you here, as 
 you are in Paris ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 I looked at Prudence ; she cast down her eyes, and I thought I read 
 on her countenance that she was afraid I should stop for any length 
 of time. 
 
 "I even came to ask you, my dear Prudence, to go and see 
 Marguerite this afternoon if you have nothing else to do. You will 
 keep her company, and you might stop to-night at Bougival. I never 
 saw her in such a state as she is in to-day, and I dread her falling ill." 
 
 "I am dining out to-day," replied Prudence; "it is, therefore, 
 impossible for me to go and see Marguerite this evening ; but I will 
 call on her to-morrow." 
 
 I took leave of Madame Duvemoy, who seemed to me almost as 
 preoccupied as Marguerite had been, and I went to call on my father, 
 who looked at me very attentively. 
 
 He held out his hand. 
 
 " Your two visits have pleased me, Armand ; they have encouraged 
 me to hope that you have reflected on your side as I have reflected 
 on mine." 
 
 " May I be allowed to ask you, father, what has been the result of 
 your reflections ? " 
 
 " My dear son, to speak the truth I find that things are not as bad 
 as they have been reported to me, and I have promised myself to be 
 less severe." 
 
 2 A 
 
1 86 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " What do you say, father ? " I exclaimed, quite delighted. 
 
 " I say, my dear boy, that as every young man has a mistress, and 
 after what has been lately told me, I would rather you were the lover 
 of Mademoiselle Gautier than of any other woman." 
 
 " My dear father, you make me very happy ! " 
 
 "We conversed thus for a few moments, and then sat down to 
 dinner. My father was in a delightful temper during the whole of 
 dinner-time. 
 
 I was in a hurry to return to Bougival to let Marguerite know this 
 happy turn of affairs. I looked every moment at the clock. 
 
 " You are looking to see what time it is," said my father ; " you are 
 impatient to leave me. Young men will always sacrifice sincere affec- 
 tions to doubtful ones ! " 
 
 " Don't say that, father ! I am sure that Marguerite loves me." 
 
 My father made no reply. He appeared neither to doubt nor to 
 believe me. 
 
 He strongly insisted on my passing nearly the whole evening with 
 him, and urged me not to return to Bougival tiU next morning ; but 
 I told him that I had left Marguerite very ill, and asked his permission 
 to go back to her early, promising to come and see him the next day. 
 
 The weather was very fine, and my father accompanied me to the 
 station. I had never been so happy. The future appeared to me as I 
 had long wished to behold it. 
 
 I loved my father more than ever. 
 
 When I was about to leave him, he again begged me to remain in 
 town. I refused. 
 
 " Are you then so much in love with her 1 " he asked. 
 
 " I love her to distraction." 
 
 " Go, then ! " and he drew his hand across his brow as if to drive 
 away some thoughts ; he then opened his lips as if about to say some- 
 thing, but he only shook my hand and left me abruptly, saying — 
 
 " Let me see you to-morrow." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 1 me it seemed that the train did not move. 
 I reached Bougival at eleven o'clock. 
 
 Not a light vpas to be seen in any of the windows of the cottage, and 
 I rang the beU, but no one came. 
 
 It was the first time that such a thing had happened. 
 
 At length the gardener appeared, and I entered. 
 
 Nanine came to me with a light. I went to Marguerite's room. 
 
 " Where is your mistress ? " 
 
 2 A 2 
 
i88 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " She has gone to Paris," replied Nanine. 
 
 " To Paris ! " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " An hour after you went away." 
 
 " Has she left anything for me 1 " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 Nanine left the room. 
 
 She may have imagined, I thought, that the visit to my father, 
 which I told her of, was only an excuse for getting a day's liberty, and 
 may have gone to Paris to find out if I had spoke the truth. 
 
 " Perhaps Prudence has written to her on some important business," 
 I said to myself; but I had seen Prudence in town, and she told me 
 nothing to lead me to suppose that she wrote to Marguerite. 
 
 Suddenly I remembered that Madame Duvemoy had asked me if 
 Marguerite was not coming to town, when I had told her that she 
 was ill. I recollected at the same time how perplexed Prudence 
 looked after asking this question, which seemed to hint at some appoint- 
 ment. I also remembered the tears which Marguerite had shed the 
 whole day — tears which the kind reception of my father had partly 
 obliterated from my memory. 
 
 From that moment, all that had happened during the day increased 
 my suspicions, and settled them so firmly in my mind that everything, 
 even my father's leniency, confirmed them. 
 
 Marguerite had insisted upon my going to Paris, and pretended to 
 be quite collected when I proposed to remain with her. Had I fallen 
 into a snare 1 Was Marguerite deceiving me ? Had she calculated on 
 being back in time, so that I would not have noticed her absence, or 
 had chance delayed her ? Why had she said nothing to Nanine, and 
 why had she not left a note for me ? What was the meaning of those 
 tears, of this absence, of this mystery ? 
 
 That is what I asked myself, appalled in the midst of that empty 
 room, and my eyes glued to the time-piece which, at midnight, 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 189 
 
 seemed to tell me that it was too late for me to expect my mistress to 
 come back. 
 
 However, after the arrangements we had just made, after the 
 sacrifice which she had proposed and I had accepted, was it likely that 
 she would deceive me ? No ! I endeavoured to discard my suspicions. 
 
 " The poor girl has found some one to buy her furniture and has 
 gone to Paris to see about it. She did not like to tell me this 
 beforehand, for she knows that though I no longer object to the 
 sale of her goods, so necessary to our future happiness, it is still painful 
 to me ; and she may have been afraid of wounding my pride and my 
 delicacy by mentioning it. She prefers to come back when everything 
 is concluded. Prudence evidently expected her, but could not keep 
 her countenance : Marguerite has not been able to finish her arrange- 
 ments, and is staying with her, or she may even yet come ; for she can 
 very well imagine how unhappy I must feel, and certainly would not 
 leave me in such a state of anxiety, 
 
 " But then, why those tears ? ■ No doubt, in spite of her love for me, 
 the poor girl cannot help shedding tears at the thought of giving up all 
 that splendour amidst which she has hitherto lived, and which made 
 her happy and envied." 
 
 I bore no ill-will to Marguerite for these regrets ; I waited for her 
 impatiently, and intended to tell her, whilst loading her with kisses, 
 that I had found out the cause of her mysterious absence. 
 
 Still the night wore away and Marguerite did not arrive ! 
 
 I grew gradually more uneasy, and felt my head and heart throb 
 with anxiety. Perhaps something had happened to her! Perhaps 
 she had been hurt, or was iU, or dead ! Perhaps a messenger would 
 come to tell me that she had met with some severe accident ! Perhaps 
 dawn would find me in the same uncertainty, and tortured by the 
 same fears ! 
 
 The idea that Marguerite was deceiving me at the moment I was 
 expecting her, and was quite frightened by her absence, no longer 
 haunted me. Not by her own free wiU, but through some cause or 
 
190 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 other, beyond her control, she was kept away. The more I thought 
 of it, the more I was convinced that this cause was nothing else than 
 some unforeseen accident. Oh, vanity of man ! you appear under 
 every form. 
 
 One o'clock had just struck. I said to myself I would wait another 
 hour, but that at two o'clock I would start for Paris if Marguerite had 
 not come back. 
 
 Meanwhile I looked for a book, for I dared not think. 
 
 " Manon Lescaut " lay open on the table. It seemed to me that 
 tears had been shed on some of its pages. After turning over its 
 leaves I shut the book, and as my suspicions had not been allayed, the 
 characters described in it appeared to me unreal. 
 
 Time moved slowly. The sky was overcast, an autumn rain pelted 
 against the windows. The empty bed seemed to me at times to look 
 like a tomb. I began to feel afraid, 
 
 I opened the door, listened, and heard nothing but the sound of the 
 wind rustling through the trees. Not a carriage was passing. The 
 half-hour struck mournfully from the church tower. 
 
 I was in such a state that I feared some one might enter. It seemed 
 to me that only tidings of an accident could reach me at such an hour, 
 and in such gloomy weather. 
 
 Two o'clock struck. I stiU waited for a short time. Only the tick- 
 ing of the clock disturbed the silence with its monotonous regular click. 
 
 At length I left the room, in which the most trifling objects had 
 assumed that sad aspect which the restless loneliness of the heart 
 imparts to all its surroundings. 
 
 In the adjoining room Nanine had fallen asleep over her work. 
 When I opened the door she awoke, and asked if her mistress had 
 returned. 
 
 " No ; but if she returns, tell her that I was very uneasy about her, 
 and have gone to Paris." 
 
 " Are you going at this hour ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 191 
 
 " But how ? You won't be able to get a carriage." 
 
 " I will go on foot." 
 
 "But it rains." 
 
 " That does not matter." 
 
 " My mistress will return ; or if she does not, it wiU be quite time 
 enough to go and see what has kept her when it is daylight. You will 
 be murdered on the road." 
 
 " No fear of that, my dear Nanine. I shall be back to-morrow." 
 
 The kind-hearted girl brought me my cloak, threw it over my 
 shoulders, and offered to go to Madame Arnould to see if it were 
 possible to get a carriage ; but I would not hear of such a thing, as I 
 was convinced that her errand most likely would be bootless, and that 
 I should thus lose more time than half the journey would take. 
 
 Moreover, I required fresh air and bodily fatigue, so as to overcome 
 the excitement under which I laboured. 
 
 I took the key of the rooms in the Rue d'Antin. Nanine went 
 with me as far as the gate, and after having bade her good-bye I 
 departed. 
 
 At first I ran, but as the ground was very damp, as it had been 
 raining, I fatigued myself more than was necessary, and after half- 
 an-hour's run I was obliged to stop, for I was all in a perspiration. I 
 then took breath, and continued my journey. It was so dark that I 
 dreaded every moment to run against one of the trees by the roadside, 
 which, appearing suddenly before my eyes, looked like tall phantoms 
 advancing towards me. 
 
 I overtook one or two carrier's carts which I soon left behind me. 
 
 A carriage was going at a very smart rate towards Bougival. At 
 the moment it passed, the thought suddenly struck me that Marguerite 
 might be in it. 
 
 I stopped and shouted " Marguerite ! Marguerite ! " 
 
 But no one replied, and the carriage pursued its way. I looked 
 after it tiU it had disappeared, and then resumed my journey. 
 
 It took me two hours to reach the " barri^re de I'Etoile." 
 
192 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 When I cauglit a glimpse of Paris I regained my strength, and ran 
 down hill through those long Champs-Elys^es I had so often traversed. 
 That night there was not a soul to be seen. 
 It seemed as if I were walking through a city of the dead. 
 Daylight was just appearing. 
 
 On reaching the Eue d'Antin, the great metropolis was already 
 beginning to stir, but was not yet quite awake. 
 
 The clock of the church of Saint Koch just struck five when I 
 entered Marguerite's house. 
 
 I gave my name to the " portier," who had received enough money 
 from me to know that I had a right to visit Mademoiselle Gautier at 
 five o'clock in the morning. 
 
 He let me in without any difficulty. 
 
 If I had asked if Marguerite was at home, he might have replied 
 
 that she was not; I therefore preferred remaining in doubt a few 
 
 minutes longer, for all hope was not lost so long as I was stiU in doubt. 
 
 I put my ear to the door of her rooms, but I could not hear any 
 
 noise nor anybody stirring. 
 
 Everything was as silent as if I were still in the country. 
 I opened the door and entered. 
 The curtains were drawn quite close. 
 
 I pulled open the dining-room curtains, and then bent my steps 
 towards the bedroom, of which I pushed the door. 
 
 I rushed to the window, and violently drew the curtains apart. 
 I hastened towards the bed, but the dim light hardly permitted me 
 to see anything. 
 
 The bed was empty ! 
 
 I opened the doors one after another, and I searched every room. 
 No one was there. 
 It nearly drove me mad. 
 
 I entered the dressing-room, of which I opened the window, and 
 called Prudence several times. 
 
 Madame Duvemoy's window remained closed. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 193 
 
 Then I went down to the " portier," of whom I inquired if Made- 
 moiselle Gautier had called during the day. 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "she was with Madame Duvernoy." 
 
 " Did she leave any message for me 1 " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Do you know where they have gone to ? " 
 
 " They went away in a carriage." 
 
 " What sort of a carriage ? " 
 
 "A private carriage." 
 
 What did aU this mean ? 
 
 I rung the bell at the next house. 
 
 "Whom do you want to see, sir?" asked the "concierge," after 
 letting me in. 
 
 "Madame Duvernoy." 
 
 " She is not at home." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, for she has not yet received this letter, which came last 
 night." 
 
 And the " portier " showed me a letter on which I involuntarily cast 
 my eyes. 
 
 I recognised Marguerite's writing. 
 
 I took the letter. 
 
 On the outside were written these words : 
 
 "To Madame Duvernoy to be given to Monsieur Duval." 
 
 " This letter is for me," I said to the " portier," and showed him the 
 direction. 
 
 " Are you Monsieur Duval ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Ah ! I recognise you now. You often call on Madame Duvernoy." 
 
 Directly I was in the street I opened it. 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen at my feet, I could not have been more 
 shocked than I was at its contents : 
 
 2 B 
 
194 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " When you read this letter, Arraand, I shall already be the mistress 
 of another man. All is therefore at an end between us. 
 
 " Go back to your father, my friend ; go back to your sister, that 
 young girl so pure, and who ignores even our wretched existence, in 
 whose society you will soon forget what that lost girl. Marguerite 
 Gautier, has made you suffer. You have been kind enough to love 
 Marguerite for a short time, and she is indebted to you for the only 
 happy hours of her life, which she now hopes wiU not be a long one." 
 
 When I read these last words I thought I was becoming mad. 
 
 For a moment I really was afraid I should fall to the ground. A 
 mist came over my eyes, and the blood rushed to my head. 
 
 At length I recovered myself a little. I looked around me, quite 
 astonished to see that mankind was still moving without stopping to 
 gaze at my misfortune. 
 
 I was not strong enough to bear alone the blow which Marguerite 
 had dealt me. 
 
 Then I remembered that my father was in the same town as myself, 
 that in ten minutes I might be with him, and that he would sympathise 
 with my sorrows, whatever might have been the cause of them. 
 
 I ran like a madman to the H6tel de Paris, saw that the key of the 
 door of my father's room was outside, and entered. 
 
 He was reading. 
 
 He seemed not to be very much astonished on seeing me. One 
 might have thought that he expected me. 
 
 I threw myself into his arms without saying a word, gave him 
 Marguerite's letter, and falling on his bed, burst into a flood of tears. 
 
CHAP. XXIII. 
 Everything 
 
 in life went on as 
 
 usual, and yet I 
 
 could not believe 
 
 that the day now 
 
 commencing would 
 
 not be like those 
 
 that had preceded it. There were moments when I fancied that some 
 
 circumstances which I did not remember had made me pass the night 
 
196 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELIJAS. 
 
 away from Marguerite ; but that, if I returned to Bougival, I should 
 find her as uneasy in her mind as I had been, and that she would 
 ask me what had kept me away from her. 
 
 When a man has once become accustomed to a love like hers, it 
 seems impossible that this habit can be broken without breaking at the 
 same time all the other mainsprings of life. 
 
 I was therefore compelled, from time to time, to read over Mar- 
 guerite's letter to convince myself that I had not been dreaming. 
 
 Giving way beneath the moral shock, I was incapable of any move- 
 ment. My anxiety, the walk during the night, and the morning's news, 
 had exhausted me. My father took advantage of this complete pros- 
 tration of my strength to ask me to leave Paris with him, and I 
 pledged myself to do so. 
 
 I promised everything he wished. I was incapable of discussing 
 anything, and, after what had just taken place, longed for a sincere 
 affection to enable me to live. 
 
 I was only too happy that my father sympathised with me in my 
 sorrows. 
 
 All that I remember is, that about five o'clock that very day he 
 and I started off in a post-chaise. Without saying anything to me, 
 he had had my trunks packed, strapped behind the carriage, and 
 carried me off. 
 
 I knew not what I did, until we had left the town behind us, when 
 the solitude of the road recalled to me the void of my heart. 
 
 Then I again shed tears. 
 
 My father was aware that words, even from him, would not console 
 me, and he allowed me to weep without uttering a syllable, contenting 
 himself at times with pressing my hand, as if to remind me that I was 
 not without a friend. 
 
 At night I slept a little and was dreaming of Marguerite. 
 
 I suddenly awoke, and could not make out why I was in a carriage. 
 
 Then I remembered what had happened, and my head sank on my 
 breast. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 197 
 
 I dared not converse with my father, still fearing he might say 
 to me : 
 
 " You see I was right when I told you that this woman could not 
 love." 
 
 But he did not take advantage of his position, and we arrived at 
 C . . . . without his having alluded to the event which had been the 
 cause of my departure. 
 
 When I embraced my sister, I remembered what Marguerite's 
 letter said about her ; but I soon felt that, kind as she was, my sister 
 could not make me forget my love. 
 
 The game season was not yet over, and as my father thought it 
 might divert my thoughts, he arranged some shooting parties with his 
 friends and neighbours. I accompanied them without any dislike, 
 and without any enthusiasm ; but with that sort of apathy which 
 characterised all my actions since I left Paris. 
 
 We had beaters, and they gave me a certain place. I did not 
 load my gun, but put it against a tree, and then buried myself in 
 thought. 
 
 I looked at the clouds as they passed, allowed my thoughts to 
 wander over the solitary plains, and from time to time heard myself 
 called by some sportsman who was quite near, and held up a hare to 
 show me. 
 
 None of these details escaped my father, who did not allow himself 
 to be deceived by my apparent calmness. He well understood that, 
 however dejected I might be now, there would some day or other be a 
 terrible and perhaps dangerous reaction. He avoided even the appear- 
 ance of consoling me, but did his utmost to divert my thoughts. 
 
 My sister was, of course, not acquainted with what had happened, 
 and therefore could not understand why I, who formerly was so merry, 
 had suddenly become so thoughtful and sad. 
 
 At times, surprised in the midst of my melancholy by the uneasy 
 looks of my father, I held out my hand to him and clasped his, as if 
 tacitly to ask his pardon for the pain I gave him in spite of myself. 
 
198 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 A month passed, and then I could bear it no longer. 
 
 The remembrance of Marguerite continually haunted me. She 
 could not have become suddenly indifferent to me, for I had too deeply 
 loved this woman, and was still loving her too much. I had to love or 
 to hate her. Above all, and whatever my feelings for her were, I felt 
 I must see her again, and that immediately. 
 
 This desire haunted me perpetually, a proof that at length my will 
 had resumed its former power in a body which had remained inert for 
 so long a time. 
 
 It was not on a future day, in a month, in a week, that I felt I must 
 see Marguerite ; it was on the very next day after the idea had struck 
 me. I told my father that I was about to leave him on some business 
 that called me to Paris, and that I would be back soon. 
 
 No doubt he guessed my motive for leaving, for he urged me to 
 remain ; but as he saw that I was very irritable, and that any delay 
 might produce fatal consequences, he embraced me and begged me, 
 almost with tears in his eyes, to come back soon. 
 
 I did not close my eyes all the time I travelled until I arrived in 
 Paris. 
 
 I did not know what I was going to do when once I should be there ; 
 but above all I would have to find out what had become of Marguerite. 
 
 I went to my rooms to dress, and as the weather was fine, and as it 
 was not yet too late, I walked to the Champs-Elys^es. 
 
 In about haK an hour I saw in the distance, from the " rond point " 
 of the " Place de la Concorde," Marguerite's carriage appear. 
 
 She had got back her horses, and her carriage was the same she 
 formerly had, but it was empty. 
 
 Scarcely had I observed her absence, when looking around me I saw 
 Marguerite on foot, walking with a female friend whom I had never 
 seen before. 
 
 On passing me she turned pale, and a nervous smile contracted her 
 lips. As for me, my heart beat so violently that my breast heaved; 
 but I contrived to appear cool and collected, and I coldly bowed to my 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 199 
 
 former mistress, who almost immediately rejoined her carriage, which 
 she entered, accompanied by her friend. 
 
 I knew Marguerite. Our sudden meeting must have upset her. 
 No doubt, she had heard of my departure, and this made her no 
 longer dread the consequences of her having broken with me ; but 
 when she saw I had returned, found herself face to face with me, and 
 observed how pale I looked, she perfectly understood that I had come 
 back for some purpose, and would ask herself what I was going to do. 
 
 If I had found Marguerite unhappy, if I could have revenged myself 
 by coming to her assistance, I might, perhaps, have pardoned her, and 
 certainly would never have thought of doing her any harm ; but I found 
 her happy, at least in appearance ; another man had given her all the 
 comforts I could no longer give her; and hence her breaking with 
 me was brought about by the lowest motives of self-interest. I was, 
 therefore, humbled in my pride as weU as in my love, and she would 
 naturally have to suffer for what she had made me suffer. 
 
 I could not be indifferent to this woman's actions, hence my 
 indifference would annoy her most ; therefore, I had to pretend not to 
 care for her, not only in her presence, but in that of others. 
 
 I endeavoured to assume a smiling countenance, and went to 
 Prudence. 
 
 The maid gave in my name, and begged me to wait a few minutes 
 in the sitting-room. 
 
 Madame Duvemoy at length appeared, and took me into her boudoir. 
 Just as I was sitting down, I heard the door of the sitting-room open, 
 and a light step creak on the floor; a minute after the door of the 
 landing was violently shut. 
 
 " Do I disturb you ? " I asked Prudence. 
 
 " Not at all. Marguerite was here. When she heard your name 
 she hurried off, and has just gone." 
 
 " I frighten her then now." 
 
 " No ; but she fears it would not be pleasant for you to see her again." 
 
 "Why not?" I said, making an effort to breathe freely, for my 
 
200 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 emotion was choking me ; " the poor girl has left me to get back 
 her carriage, her horses and her diamonds. She was quite right, and 
 I ought not to be angry with her. I met her to-day," I observed 
 carelessly. 
 
 " Where ? " said Prudence, who looked at me and appeared to ask 
 herself if this was reaUy the same man whom she had formerly known 
 so deeply in love. 
 
 " In the Champs-Elys^es. She was with another very pretty woman. 
 Who is she ? " 
 
 " What did she look like ? " 
 
 " She was fair, rather thin, and wore ringlets ; she has blue eyes, 
 and was very elegantly dressed." 
 
 " Oh ! that is Olympe. She is really a very pretty girl." 
 
 " With whom does she live ? " 
 
 " With no one ; with every one." 
 
 " What is her address ? " 
 
 " Rue Tronchet, No. 20. Ah ! I see you want to make love to 
 her." 
 
 " One does not know what may happen." 
 
 " And Marguerite ? " 
 
 " If I were to tell you that I no longer think of her it would be a 
 falsehood ; but I am one of those men who care a good deal about 
 the way in which a 'liaison' is broken off. Now, Marguerite dis- 
 missed me in such an off-hand fashion that I felt I was a great fool for 
 having been so smitten with her ; for I was really very much in love 
 with that girl." 
 
 You can imagine how carelessly I endeavoured to say these words, 
 but my forehead was all in a perspiration. 
 
 " She loved you very much, you may be sure of that ; and she loves 
 you still. The proof of it is that after having met you to-day she 
 directly came here to tell me she had seen you. When she arrived, 
 she was trembling all over and almost fainting." 
 
 " Well, what did she say to you ? " 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 201 
 
 " She told me that, no doubt, you would come and see me, and 
 begged me to implore you to forgive her." 
 
 " I have forgiven her ; you can tell her so. Marguerite is a very 
 good girl, but stiU she is a demirep, and I might have expected what 
 she has done. I am even very much obliged to her for the resolution 
 she has tak^jj, for now I ask myself what would have been the conse- 
 quences of our living together. It was sheer madness." 
 
 " She will be very glad to hear that you have come to the conclusion 
 that she was obliged to do what she has done. It was high time for 
 you to leave her, my friend. That scoundrelly agent, to whom she 
 intended to sell her furniture, went to all her creditors to find out 
 how mwch she owed them ; so they took fright, and they were going 
 to sell her up in a couple of days." 
 " Is everything paid now ? " 
 " Almost." 
 
 " And who found the money ? " 
 
 " The Count de N . . . . Ah ! my dear friend, some men are made 
 on purpose for this sort of thing. To be brief: he gave her twenty 
 thousand francs, but he achieved his object. He is aware that Mar- 
 guerite does not love him, but that does not prevent him from being 
 very kind to her. You know that he has already bought back her 
 horses, redeemed her diamonds, and given her as much money as 
 the Duke gave her. If Marguerite wiU live quietly he will remain a 
 long time with her." 
 
 " What is she doing ? Does she now live in Paris 1 " 
 " She would never return to Bougival after you left it. It was I 
 who went to fetch her things, and yours too ; I have made a parcel of 
 the latter, for which you can send here. Everything you left is in that 
 parcel, except a small portfolio with your initials on it, which Mar- 
 guerite would take, and keeps in her room ; but if you don't like to 
 lose it, I will ask her to let you have it again." 
 
 " She can keep it," I stammered ; for my heart was fuU, and I was 
 
 almost crying when I thought of the village where we had been so 
 
 2 c 
 
202 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 happy, and also of Marguerite caring to keep a trifle which had be- 
 longed to me, and reminded her of me. 
 
 If she had come in just then I would have abandoned my idea 
 of being revenged, and should have knelt at her feet, 
 
 " Let me also tell you," resumed Prudence, " that I have never seen 
 her as she is now. She scarcely sleeps at aU ; she goes to every ball, 
 and to every supper, and even gets intoxicated. Not very long ago, 
 after a supper, she remained a whole week in bed, and when the doctor 
 allowed her to get up, she began again her former way of living, at 
 the risk of killing herself. Shall you go and see her 1 " 
 
 "What wiU be the use of that? I came to see you, because you 
 always behaved very well to me, and because I knew you before I 
 knew Marguerite. I owe it to you that I have been her lover, and I 
 owe it to you that I am no longer so." 
 
 " To speak the truth, I have done my very best to induce her to 
 leave you, and I think that, later on, you wiU not think the worse 
 of me for it." 
 
 " I owe you a double debt of gratitude," I said, rising, for I felt 
 disgusted with this woman, on perceiving that she believed all I told 
 her. 
 
 "Are you going? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 I knew quite enough. 
 
 " When shaU I see you again ? " 
 
 " Soon. Adieu ! " 
 
 " Adieu ! " 
 
 Prudence saw me as far as the door, and I returned to my rooms, 
 with tears of rage in my eyes, and a feeling of revenge in my heart. 
 
 Marguerite was decidedly a creature like other women of her 
 class ; and that great love which she felt for me had not been able to 
 withstand a craving to resume her former life, and the necessity of 
 having a carriage and indulging in revelry. 
 
 Thus I argued with myself during my sleepless nights, whereas had 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 203 
 
 I been as cool as I pretended to be, I should have seen in Marguerite's 
 new and restless mode of living an attempt to silence within her a 
 continuous thought, an incessant remembrance. 
 
 Unfortunately evil passions predominated, and I only sought for 
 the means of torturing this poor creature. 
 
 Oh ! man is very petty and vile when one of his shallow passions 
 is offended. 
 
 This Oljrmpe, with whom I had seen Marguerite, was evidently her 
 friend, at any rate, the woman with whom she most associated since 
 her return to Paris. Olympe was about to give a ball, and as I supposed 
 Marguerite would be there, I endeavoured to get an invitation, in which 
 I succeeded. 
 
 Painful emotions beset me when I arrived at the ball, which was 
 then already very animated. People were dancing, and even shouting ; 
 and in one of the quadriUes I perceived Marguerite dancing with 
 the Count de N . . . ., who seemed very proud of exhibiting her, 
 and appeared to say : 
 
 " This woman belongs to me." 
 
 I stood with my back to the mantel-piece, just opposite Marguerite, 
 and looked at her as she danced. Scarcely had she seen me when she 
 became agitated ; but I glanced at her carelessly, and made her a slight 
 token of recognition with my hand. 
 
 When I thought that after the ball she would no longer go home 
 with me, but with that wealthy imbecile ; when I represented to myself 
 what would most likely follow, the blood rushed to my head, and I felt 
 a craving to disturb their amours. 
 
 After the quadrille, I went to pay my respects to the mistress of the 
 house, who displayed before her guests a pair of magnificent shoulders, 
 and half of a finely developed bosom. 
 
 That girl was beautiful, and her figure was more plastically handsome 
 than Marguerite's. I discovered this from certain looks which the 
 latter cast on Olympe whilst I was conversing with her. Any man 
 
 who became the lover of such a woman might be as proud of her as 
 
 2 c 2 
 
204 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 Monsieur de N . . . . was of his mistress ; and she was beautiful enough 
 to inspire a passion such as Marguerite had inspired in me. 
 
 She was without a lover at that time, and it would not be difficult 
 to fill this place. The one thing needful was to offer her gold enough. 
 
 I began to pay my court to Olympe by dancing with her. 
 
 Half an hour later, Marguerite, pale as death, put on her cloak and 
 left the ball-room. 
 
my 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 This was already something, but it was not enough. I felt the 
 power I had over this woman, and I took a cowardly advantage of it. 
 
 When I reflect that she is now dead, I ask myself if Heaven will 
 ever pardon me the harm I have done her. 
 
 After supper, which was very noisy, play commenced. 
 
 I sat down next to Olympe, and staked my money so boldly, that 
 she could not help remarking it. In a very short time I had won from 
 one hundred and fifty to two hundred louis, which I laid before me, 
 and on which she gazed with ardent looks. 
 
2o6 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 I was the only person whose mind was not wholly absorbed by 
 gambling, and who paid her some attention. The whole night I con- 
 tinued to win, and it was I who gave her some money to play with, 
 for she had lost all she had staked, and probably aU that she possessed. 
 
 At five o'clock in the morning the party broke up. 
 
 I had won three hundred louis. 
 
 All the gamblers had already gone downstairs; I alone remained 
 behind without being noticed, for I was not intimate with any of these 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Olympe, herself, showed me a light, and I was about to leave as 
 the others had done, when, turning back, I said : 
 
 " I want to speak to you." 
 
 " Call to-morrow," she replied. 
 
 " No, now." 
 
 " What can you have to say to me ? " 
 
 " You will soon find out." 
 
 And I re-entered her room. 
 
 "You have lost a good deal of money," I remarked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "All you had in the house." 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 " Be frank." 
 
 " WeU, it is true." 
 
 " I have won three hundred louis which are yours if you will keep 
 me here." 
 
 Whilst saying these words I threw the gold on the table. 
 
 " Why do you make me this proposal ? " 
 
 "Because I love you." 
 
 " No, but because you are in love with Marguerite, and wish to be 
 revenged on her by becoming my lover. You cannot deceive a woman 
 like me, my dear fellow. Unfortunately I am still too young and too 
 pretty to play the part you propose." 
 
 " So you refuse ? " 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 207 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Perhaps you would prefer me to love you for nothing, but I could 
 not accept that. Eeflect, my dear Oljrmpe ; I might have sent some 
 other person to offer you these three hundred louis in my name, and 
 then you would have accepted them, and my conditions as well ; but I 
 chose to treat directly with you. Accept, without trying to discover any 
 reasons for my acting thus ; and say to yourself that you are beautiful, 
 and that there is nothing astonishing in my falling in love with you." 
 
 Marguerite was a courtesan like Olympe, yet I should never have 
 dared to say to her, when I saw her for the first time, what I had just 
 said to this woman. For I loved Marguerite; I had divined in her 
 some traits of character which were wanting in this other creature, 
 who, though she was very beautiful, disgusted me the very moment I 
 proposed, and was about to conclude the bargain. 
 
 She accepted, of course, and at noon the next day I left her rooms as 
 her lover ; but I quitted her couch without carrying away with me the 
 remembrance of the caresses and expressions of affection which she 
 had thought obliged to lavish on me for the six thousand francs I had 
 given her. 
 
 And yet there were men who had ruined themselves for this woman ! 
 
 From this day I subjected Marguerite to one continuous persecu- 
 tion. She and Olympe ceased to visit each other ; and you can easily 
 imagine why. I gave my new mistress a carriage and jewelry; I 
 gambled ; in fact I committed all the foUies which a man in love with 
 such a woman as Olympe would be likely to commit. The news that 
 I had again fallen in love soon spread about. 
 
 Prudence herself was misled, and thought that I had completely 
 forgotten Marguerite. The latter, whether she had divined my motive, 
 or was deceived like others, remained outwardly very dignified, though I 
 offended her every day. But she seemed to suffer, for whenever I met 
 her, I always found her looking paler and more sad. My love for her, 
 exalted to such a degree that it seemed turned to hatred, rejoiced at the 
 sight of her daily recurring pangs. Many a time, under circumstances 
 
2o8 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 in which I displayed infamous craelty, Marguerite looked at me so 
 entreatingly, that I blushed at the part I was playing, and was ready to 
 ask her pardon. 
 
 But this repentance only lasted as long as a flash of lightning, and 
 Olympe, who had abandoned all pretence of being loved for her own 
 sake, and felt that by hurting Marguerite she would obtain firom me all 
 she wished, constantly excited me against her, and insulted her every 
 time she found an opportunity, with the obstinate cowardice of a woman 
 encouraged by a man. 
 
 Marguerite, at length, no longer went to a ball nor to a theatre lest 
 she should meet Olympe and myself. Then anonymous letters succeeded 
 to direct insults; and there was not a disgraceful action I did not 
 induce my mistress to attribute to Marguerite, and which I myself did 
 not attribute to her. 
 
 I must have been mad to have done such things ; I was like a man 
 who, having got intoxicated on bad wine, is suffering from one of those 
 nervous attacks in which he can commit a crime without his being 
 aware of it. Amidst all this, I suffered martyrdom. The calmness 
 without disdain, the dignity without contempt, with which Marguerite 
 replied to all my attacks, made her superior to myself in my own 
 eyes, and irritated me still more against her. 
 
 One evening Olympe had gone I don't know where, and had 
 met Marguerite, who, this time, did not spare the stupid girl who 
 insulted her, so that the latter was compelled to give way. Olympe 
 came back in a towering rage, and Marguerite was carried off in a 
 swoon. 
 
 When Olympe saw me, she told me what had taken place, and 
 that Marguerite, on seeing her alone, resolved to avenge herself for her 
 being my mistress ; I ought, therefore, to write and tell her to respect 
 the woman I loved, whether I were present or not. 
 
 I need not tell you that I consented, and that all the bitter, base, 
 and cruel things I coxtld think of were inserted in my letter, which I 
 forwarded the same day to its address. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 209 
 
 This time I felt certain that the attack was too strong for the 
 unhappy girl to hear it silently, 
 
 I was quite sure that I should receive an' answer, and, therefore, 
 resolved not to stir out the whole day. 
 
 About two o'clock some one rang the bell, and Prudence entered. 
 
 I endeavoured to assume an indifferent air, and asked her to what 
 I was indebted for the honour of her visit ; but Madame Duvernoy was 
 not in a jovial mood, and in a tone which was really full of emotion, 
 told me, that since my return to town, for nearly three weeks, I had 
 never missed an opportunity of paining Marguerite, that she was ill 
 from it, and that last night's scene and my letter of this morning had 
 driven her to her bed. 
 
 In short, Marguerite, without reproaching me, had sent her to ask 
 me to cease my attacks, as she had neither any longer the moral or 
 physical strength to bear them. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Gautier," I replied to Prudence, "had a perfect 
 right to discard me ; but I wiU never permit her to insult a woman I 
 love, for no other reason but because this woman happens to be my 
 mistress." 
 
 "My friend," said Prudence, "you are under the influence of a girl 
 who has neither feelings nor intelligence ; it is true that you are in 
 love with her, but that is no reason why you should torture a woman 
 who cannot defend herself." 
 
 "Let Mademoiselle Gautier send me her Count de N and 
 
 then one man will meet another." 
 
 " You know that she will not do so ; therefore, my dear Armand, 
 leave her alone. If you could but see her, you would be ashamed of 
 the way in which you behave towards her. She is pale, she coughs 
 continually, and will now not last long." 
 
 And Prudence gave me her hand saying : 
 
 " Come and see her ; your visit will make her very happy." 
 
 " I do not wish to meet the Count de N . . . ." 
 
 " He is never with her. She cannot bear him." 
 
 2 D 
 
2IO THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 "If Marguerite wishes to see me, she knows where I live, and 
 can come here ; but as for me, I will never again call at the Rue 
 d'Antin. 
 
 " Will you receive her kindly ? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Well, I am sure she will come." 
 
 " Let her come." 
 
 " Are you going out to-day 1 " 
 
 " I shall be at home the whole evening." 
 
 " I wiU teU her so." 
 
 And Prudence departed. 
 
 I did not even write to Olympe that I could not come to see her. 
 I stood on no ceremony with that girl : I scarcely stayed once a week 
 with her ; but I believe she consoled herself for my neglect by visiting 
 some actor of a certain theatre on the Boulevard. 
 
 I left my rooms to go and take dinner, and returned almost 
 immediately. I had fires lighted everywhere, and dismissed Joseph for 
 the evening. 
 
 I cannot describe to you the various impressions that agitated me 
 whilst I was waiting for a whole hour ; but about nine o'clock I heard 
 the bell ring, and then my emotion became so intense that, on going to 
 open the door, I was forced to lean against the wall, so as not to fall on 
 the ground. 
 
 Luckily the ante-room was in partial darkness, so that the change of 
 my features was less perceptible. 
 
 Marguerite entered. 
 
 She was dressed wholly in black, and wore a veil. I could scarcely 
 see her face underneath the lace. 
 
 She went into my sitting-room and lifted her veil. 
 
 Her countenance was as white as marble. 
 
 " Here I am, Armand," she said ; " you wished to see me, and I 
 have come." 
 
 And lowering her head on her hands, she burst into tears. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 211 
 
 I drew near her. 
 
 " What is the matter 1 " I asked in a voice full of emotion. 
 
 She clasped my hand without giving me an answer, for her tears 
 still prevented her from saying anything ; but some moments afterwards, 
 when she was a little more collected, she said : 
 
 " You have done me a great deal of harm, Armand, but I never did 
 you any." 
 
 " Never ? " I replied, with a bitter smile. 
 
 " Never ! Only circumstances compelled me to act as I did." 
 
 I do not know whether in the course of your life you have ever felt, 
 or ever will feel, what I suffered at the sight of Marguerite. 
 
 The last time she had visited me at my rooms, she was seated in the 
 very place where she now sat ; only since then she had become the 
 mistress of another man ; other kisses than mine had pressed those 
 lips, which, in spite of myself, I longed to press ; and yet I felt that 
 I loved this woman as much, and perhaps more, than ever I had 
 loved her. 
 
 Still it was difficult for me to lead the conversation on the subject of 
 her visit. Marguerite, no doubt, understood this, for she resumed : 
 
 " I have come to weary you, Armand, for I have two things to 
 ask of you : your pardon for what I did yesterday to Mademoiselle 
 Olympe, and also to beg of you to cease attacking me, which, perhaps, 
 you are stUl prepared to continue. I do not know if you intended 
 it, but since your return, you have done me so much harm that I 
 am no longer able to bear one quarter of the emotions I have borne 
 until this morning. You wiU have pity on me ; will you not ? and you 
 will acknowledge, that for a man whose heart is in the right place, there 
 are nobler things to do than to revenge himself on a woman, as ill 
 and as sad as I am. There, feel my hand ; I am all in a fever ; I have 
 left my bed to come and ask you, not to be my friend, but to leave 
 me alone." 
 
 I took Marguerite's hand. It was burning hot, and the poor girl 
 shivered, though she wore a velvet cloak. 
 
212 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 I drew the chair on which she was sitting close to the fire, and replied : 
 
 "And can you not imagine what I must have suffered that 
 night, when, after waiting at Bougival, I came to look for you in 
 Paris, and only found there your letter, which nearly drove me mad 1 " 
 
 " How could you deceive me thus. Marguerite — I, who loved you 
 so much? " 
 
 "Let us not speak of that, Armand; I did not come to talk 
 about it. I no longer wished to consider you as an enemy, that is all ; 
 and I wanted to clasp your hand once more. You have a young and 
 pretty mistress, whom you love, so people say : be happy with her, aiid 
 forget me." 
 
 "And you are happy, no doubt?" 
 
 "Do I look like a happy woman, Armand? Do not mock my 
 grief. You ought to know better than any one, why, and how deeply 
 I feel it." 
 
 " It is your own fault if now you are unhappy, as you say you are, 
 and if you speak the truth." 
 
 "No, my friend, circumstances were stronger than my will. I was 
 swayed, not by my feelings as a demirep, as you seem to think, but by 
 serious and necessary motives, which one day you will know, and 
 which will make you pardon me." 
 
 " Why do you not tell me these motives to-day ? " 
 
 " Because even in telling them a reconciliation between us would 
 be impossible, and because they would probably separate you from 
 persons from whom you should not be separated." 
 
 " Who are these persons ? " 
 
 " I cannot give you their names." 
 
 "Then you tell me a lie." 
 
 Marguerite rose and went towards the door. 
 
 I could not witness this silent though expressive grief without 
 being deeply moved ; and inwardly compared this pale and weeping 
 woman to the merry girl who had made fun of me at the " Op^ra 
 Comique." 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS, 213 
 
 " You shall not go," I said, placing myself before the door. 
 
 "Why not 1" 
 
 " Because, in spite of what you have done to me, I still love you, 
 and will keep you here." 
 
 " To drive me away to-morrow. No ; it is impossible. Our lives 
 are apart. Let us not strive again to unite them. You will despise 
 me, perhaps, whereas now you can but hate me." 
 
 "No, Marguerite," I exclaimed, feeling all my love and all my 
 desires returning on beholding this woman; "no, I wiU forget 
 everything, and we shall be as happy as we promised ourselves to be." 
 
 Marguerite shook her head as if she doubted that this could ever 
 happen, and said : 
 
 " Am I not your slave, your dog 1 Do with me as you please. Take 
 me, I am yours." 
 
 And taking off her cloak and hat, she threw them on the sofa, and 
 hurriedly began to unfasten her dress ; for by one of those reactions 
 which occur in diseases like hers, the blood rushed from her heart to 
 her head, and almost choked her. 
 
 Then she began to cough, and her cough was dry and hollow. 
 
 " Send some one to my coachman," she resumed, " and tell him to 
 take back my carriage." 
 
 I myself went down to dismiss this man. 
 
 When I came back, Marguerite was lying before the fire, and her 
 teeth chattered with cold. 
 
 I took her in my arms, undressed her, without a movement on her 
 part, and carried her as cold as ice to my bed. 
 
 I then sat down near her, and endeavoured to warm her with my 
 caresses. She did not say a word to me, but smiled. 
 
 The night we spent together was an extraordinary one ! Mar- 
 guerite's whole life seemed to have passed into the kisses with which 
 she loaded me, and I loved her so much, that amidst the transports of 
 my feverish passion, I asked myself if it were not better to kiU her, so 
 that she might never belong to another. 
 
214 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 If a man were to pass a month amidst such a passion, he would 
 become a corpse, physically as well as mentally. 
 Daylight found us both awake. 
 
 Marguerite was livid. She did not utter a word. Big tears coursed 
 at intervals from her eyes, and rested on her cheeks, as brilliant as 
 diamonds. Her inert arms, from time to time, attempted to clasp me, 
 and then fell powerless on the bed. 
 
 For a moment I thought I could forget what had happened since 
 my departure from Bougival, and I said to Marguerite : 
 
 " Shall we go away and leave Paris ? " 
 
 " No, no," she said almost with terror, " we should be too unhappy. 
 I can no longer contribute to your happiness ; but as long as breath 
 remains in me, I will be the slave of your caprices. At whatever hour 
 of the day or night you may wish for me, come and I shall be yours ; 
 but do not unite again your lot to mine. You would be too unhappy, 
 and make me too wretched. 
 
 " I expect to remain pretty for some time yet ; make the most of it, 
 but ask me for nothing more." 
 
 She went away, and I felt terrified by the solitude around me. Two 
 hours after her departure I was stiU seated on the bed she had left, 
 looking at the piUow that retained the impression of her head, and 
 asking myself what my future would be between my love and my 
 jealousy. 
 
 At five o'clock, without even knowing why I called, I went to the 
 Rue d'Antin. 
 
 Nanine opened the door. 
 
 " My mistress cannot receive you," she said with some embarrassment. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because the Count de N . . . . is with her, and I have orders to 
 allow no one to enter." 
 
 "That's quite right," I stammered, "I had forgotten." 
 
 I returned home like a man intoxicated. Do you know what I did 
 during that moment of jealous madness, which lasted, however, long 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 215 
 
 enough for me to commit an action of which I feel heartily ashamed ? 
 Do you know what I did ? I said to myself that this woman had been 
 making a fool of me ; and I represented her to myself alone with the 
 Count, repeating the same words she had uttered to me during the night. 
 Then, taking a bank-note of five hundred francs, I sent it to her with 
 the following words : 
 
 " You left so hurriedly this morning that I forgot to pay you. 
 " I enclose your remuneration for last night." 
 
 When that letter had gone, I went out as if to escape from the 
 remorse I instantly felt at having committed such an infamous deed. 
 
 I went to Olympe's rooms, whom I found trying on some dresses, 
 and who, when we were alone, sang some indecent songs to divert my 
 thoughts. 
 
 That girl was undoubtedly, for me at least, the tjrpe of a courtesan 
 without shame, without feelings, and without intelligence ; and yet 
 perhaps some man had dreamt to pass with her the same life I had 
 hoped to spend with Marguerite. 
 
 She asked me for money, which I gave her ; and then, free to 
 depart, I returned home. 
 
 Marguerite had not replied. 
 
 You can understand in what agitation I passed the rest of the day. 
 
 At half-past six, a commissionaire brought me an envelope contain- 
 ing my letter, and the five hundred franc note, without a single word. 
 
 " Who gave you this ? " I asked the man. 
 
 "A lady who was leaving with her maid in the Boulogne stage- 
 coach, and who told me not to take it to you till the coach had gone." 
 
 I hastened to Marguerite's house. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Gautier went to England this evening at six o'clock," 
 said the " portier," 
 
 There was nothing to detain me any longer in Paris, neither love 
 nor hatred. I was completely worn out by these various emotions. One 
 of my friends was about to set out for the East, and I told my father 
 
2i6 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 that I should like to accompany him. He gave me money, some letters 
 of introduction, and eight or ten days afterwards I took ship at 
 Marseilles. 
 
 From an attach^ at the embassy in Alexandria, whom I occa- 
 sionally met at Marguerite's house, I heard that the poor girl was 
 very ill. 
 
 I then vsTote the letter to which she sent the reply you have read, 
 and which I received at Toulon. 
 
 I started immediately for Paris, and you know the rest. 
 
 It now remains for you to read the few pages Julie Duprat gave me, 
 and which are indispensable to complete the story I have told you. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ArMAND, fatigued 
 with this long story, often 
 interrupted by his tears, 
 handed to me the diary Mar- 
 guerite had written; and then placed his hands on his forehead and 
 closed his eyes, either to think or to endeavour to sleep. 
 
 A few moments afterwards Armand's breathing became a little more 
 
 2 £ 
 
2i8 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 rapid than usual, which convinced me that he was asleep, but so 
 lightly that the least noise might wake him. 
 
 I read what follows, and I have copied it without adding or effacing 
 one word. 
 
 "To-day is the 15th of December. I have been suffering for 
 the last three or four days. This morning I took to my bed. The 
 weather is gloomy and I am sad. No one is near ; and I am thinking 
 of you, Armand, Where are you at the moment I am writing these 
 lines ? Far from Paris, very far, so I have heard, and perhaps you have 
 already forgotten Marguerite. However, may you be happy, you to 
 whom I owe the only happy moments of my life ! 
 
 " I could not withstand the desire of giving you an explanation of 
 my conduct, and I had written you a letter ; but such a letter, written by 
 a girl like me, might be regarded as a falsehood, unless death should put 
 its seal on it, so that instead of a letter it would become a confession. 
 
 " I am ill to-day ; I may die of this illness ; for I have always had 
 a presentiment that I should die young. My mother died of consump- 
 tion, and the manner in which I have lived until now could but 
 increase the disease, the only inheritance that was left me ; but I will 
 not die without letting you know the truth about my conduct, if indeed 
 when you return you stiU care for the poor girl whom you loved before 
 your departure. 
 
 "The letter I intended to send to you was as follows, and I am 
 glad to write it again as it gives me fresh proofs to exculpate myself: 
 
 "You remember, Armand, how astonished we were at Bougival 
 when we heard that your father was in Paris; you may recall how 
 I coiJd not help feeling terrified at the news of his arrival, and also 
 at what took place between you and him, for you told it to me 
 that same evening. 
 
 " The next day you went to Paris, and whilst you were waiting for 
 your father, who did not return, some messenger called at the cottage, 
 and gave me a letter from Monsieur Duval. 
 
 " That letter, which I enclose, begged me in the most earnest manner 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 219 
 
 to find some excuse or other to send you out of the way the next day, 
 and to receive your father, who wished to speak to me. Above 
 all, he recommended me not to mention his request to you, 
 
 " You may remember that when you came home I advised and urged 
 you to go to Paris the next day. 
 
 "You were scarcely gone an hour, when your father presented 
 himself. I will spare you the impression which his stem counte- 
 nance produced on me. Your father was imbued with the old opinions 
 that every courtesan is a being without any feelings and without 
 common sense ; a kind of machine for taking gold, always ready, 
 like iron machines, to crush the hand that feeds it, and to destroy 
 mercilessly, and without discernment, the man who keeps it going and 
 sets it in motion. 
 
 " Your father had written me an unexceptionable letter asking me to 
 receive him ; but he did not present himself in quite as nice a manner 
 as he had written. The first words he uttered were so haughty, so 
 impertinent, and so threatening, that I gave him to understand I was 
 in my own house, and that I was under no obligation to account to him 
 for my manner of living, but for the sincere afiection I felt for his son. 
 
 "Monsieur Duval calmed down a little, but nevertheless told me 
 that he could no longer permit his son to ruin himself and me ; that 
 I was undeniably very handsome, but that, however handsome I might 
 be, I ought not to make use of my beauty to destroy the future of a 
 young man by my extravagant way of living. 
 
 " To this you will admit that there was but one answer to make, 
 and this was to prove to him, that since I had been your mistress, 
 no sacrifice on my part had been too great to remain faithful to you 
 without asking you for more money than you could afibrd to give me. 
 I showed him my pawn-tickets, the receipts of the persons to whom 
 I had sold those articles which I had been unable to pledge ; I told 
 your father of my resolution to get rid of my furniture to pay my 
 debts, and to live with you without becoming too heavy a burden 
 on you ; I recounted to him our happiness, the vista you had opened 
 
 2 E 2 
 
220 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 up for me of a more tranquil and happy life, and lie finally became 
 convinced, shook hands with me, and asked my pardon for the way in 
 which he had at first addressed me. 
 
 " He then said to me : 
 
 " 'Then, Madame, it is no longer by expostulations and threats, but 
 by entreaties, that I' shall endeavour to obtain from you a sacrifice 
 greater than aU those you have hitherto made for my son.' 
 
 " I trembled when I heard him speak thus. 
 
 " Your father drew near to me, took both my hands into his, and 
 continued in an affectionate tone : 
 
 " ' My child, do not misunderstand what I am about to say to you. 
 We sometimes are obliged to do certain things in this life which wound 
 our feelings, but to which we have to submit. You are kind-hearted 
 and so disinterested that many women — who perhaps despise you, and 
 are not half as good as you are — cannot understand you. But reflect 
 that besides the mistress, there exist family ties ; that besides love, there 
 are duties ; that an age when passion sways us is succeeded by an age 
 when a man, to be respected, needs to have firmly established himself in 
 a good position. My son has no fortune and yet he is ready to abandon 
 to you the inheritance which his mother left him. If he accepted the 
 sacrifice which you are about to make for him, he would neither be an 
 honourable man, nor a gentleman, if he did not reward you for what 
 you gave up for him, and if he did not make for you that provision 
 which would for ever place you in comparatively comfortable circum- 
 stances. But he cannot accept your sacrifice because the world, which 
 does not know you, would attribute a dishonest motive to his accepting 
 it, and such an accusation ought not to sully the name we bear. It 
 wiU not consider if Armand loves you, or if you love him, or if this 
 mutual love is a happiness for him and a rehabilitation for yourself; it 
 wiU see but one thing, namely, that Armand allows a demirep — pardon 
 me, my child, for what I am compelled to say — to sell for his sake 
 all she possesses. Moreover, you may be sure there will come a day 
 when reproaches and regrets will be interchanged, for such a day has 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 221 
 
 come to other women ; and both of you will bear fetters you are unable 
 to break. What will you do then? Your youth will be gone, the 
 future of my son will be destroyed, and I, his father, shall only be 
 comforted by one child instead of two. 
 
 " ' You are young, you are handsome ; there is consolation for you 
 in the future ; you are noble-minded, and the remembrance of a good 
 action will redeem many a past deed. During the six months Armand 
 has known you, he has forgotten me. Four times I wrote to him with- 
 out his once replying ; I might even have died without his knowing it. 
 
 " ' You may be resolved to lead another life than the one you have 
 hitherto led; but Armand, who loves you, will not consent to the seclusion 
 to which his small fortune condemns you, and in which it was never 
 intended to conceal your beauty. Who knows what he will do then ? 
 I am aware that he gambled without mentioning it to you ; I know 
 that he does so still ; he might, in a moment of madness, have lost part 
 of the sum I have laid by for many years to give a dowry to my daughter, 
 to leave something to himself, and to insure the tranquillity of my old 
 age. What might have happened may happen still. 
 
 " ' Moreover, are you certain that the life you abandon for his sake 
 wiU not again attract you ? Are you certain, you who have loved him, 
 that you will never love another; and, finally, will you not feel that 
 your ' liaison ' has been an obstacle in the career of your lover, for 
 which, perhaps, you will be unable to console him, if with increasing 
 age a feeling of ambition succeeds to dreams of love. Keflect on all 
 this, Madame. You love Armand; prove it by the only means that 
 still remains to you, by sacrificing your love to his future. No harm 
 is done as yet, but harm may come, and perhaps more serious than 
 what I foresee. Armand may become jealous of a man who has loved 
 you, and may challenge him; perhaps he will fight a duel and be 
 kiUed ; think what you would sufier then at the sight of a father who 
 would call you to account for his son's life. 
 
 " ' Lastly, my child, I must tell you everything, for I have not done 
 so yet ; the chief reason of my coming to Paris is that my daughter. 
 
222 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 whom I mentioned before, and who is young, handsome, and as pure 
 as an angel, is in love ; she also made of this love the dream of her 
 life. I wrote this to Armand, but, as he was wholly occupied with you, 
 he did not answer me. Well, my daughter is about to be married to 
 the man she loves, and to become a member of a respectable family, 
 who expects mine to be the same. The parents of my future son-in-law 
 have heard how Armand is living in Paris, and they have informed me 
 that this marriage cannot take place if my son continues his present 
 mode of life. The future of a girl who has done nothing to you, and 
 who has a right to reckon that there is a future before her, is in your 
 hands. 
 
 " ' Have you the right, and do you feel yourself strong enough to 
 destroy that future ? In the name of your repentance, Marguerite, 
 grant me the happiness of my daughter.' 
 
 " I wept silently, my friend, when I listened to all these observa- 
 tions, which I very often had made to myself, and which, in the mouth 
 of your father, sounded more earnest and true. I said to myself what 
 your father did not like to tell me, though it had risen a score of times 
 to his lips, that, after aU, I was only a demirep, and that whatever 
 reason I might give for our 'liaison,' it would always look as if my 
 motives were self-interested ; that my past life gave me no right to 
 hope for such a future, and that I had accepted responsibilities for 
 which my habits and my reputation gave no guarantee whatever. In 
 short, I loved you, Armand. The paternal way in which Monsieur Duval 
 spoke to me ; the chaste feeling which he called up in me ; the esteem 
 in which this grand old man was likely to hold me, and yours which 
 I was certain of obtaining later, aU this awoke in my heart noble 
 thoughts which exalted me in my own eyes, and aroused within me a 
 blessed pride such as I had never known before. When I thought that 
 some day this old man, who was imploring me not to thwart the future 
 of his son, would tell his daughter to remember me in her prayers, as 
 a mysterious friend, I became transformed and proud of myself. 
 
 "The exaltation of the moment exaggerated perhaps the truth of 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 223 
 
 these impressions; but that is what I felt, my friend, and these new 
 feelings silenced the thoughts inspired by the recollection of the happy 
 days passed with you. 
 
 " ' I have listened to you, sir,' I replied to your father, drying my 
 tears. 'Do you believe I love your son.' 
 
 " * Yes,' " answered Monsieur Duval, 
 
 " ' That my love is unselfish ? ' 
 
 "'Yes.' 
 
 '"Do you believe that I thought this love would have been the 
 hope, the dream, and the redemption of my life ? ' 
 
 " ' I am certain you thought so.' 
 
 " ' Well, sir, embrace me once as you would your daughter, and I 
 swear to you that such a kiss, the only chaste kiss I have ever received, 
 will enable me to withstand my own feelings, and that before a week 
 is over your son wiU have returned to you, perhaps unhappy for some 
 time, but cured for eVer.' 
 
 " ' You are magnanimous,' replied your father, kissing me on the 
 forehead, 'and Heaven wiU reward you for your attempt; but I fear 
 you will not succeed with my son.' 
 
 " ' Do not make yourself uneasy, sir, he will hate me.' 
 
 " An impassable barrier had to be raised between you and me. 
 
 "I wrote to Prudence that I accepted the proposals of the Count 
 de N . . . ., and told her to let him know that I would take supper with 
 him and her, 
 
 " I sealed the letter, and without telling your father its contents, I 
 asked him to have it delivered on his arrival in town. 
 
 " He, nevertheless, asked me what I had written. 
 
 " ' Something that concerns your son's happiness,' I replied. 
 
 " Your father embraced me for the last time, and shed some tears 
 of gratitude, which trickled on my brow, and were like a redemption 
 of my past faults. At the very moment I consented to give myself 
 to another man, I felt quite proud to think what I was redeeming by 
 committing this new sin. ' 
 
2 24 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " That was quite natural, Armand, for you had told me that your 
 father was the most honest man in the world, 
 
 "Monsieur Duval re-entered his carriage and departed. 
 
 " Nevertheless, woman-like, when I saw you again I could not refrain 
 shedding tears, but did not falter. 
 
 "Have I done right? That is what I ask myself now whilst I am 
 lying on a bed of sickness, which perhaps I shall never leave alive. 
 
 " You remember what I suffered when the hour for our inevitable 
 separation drew near ; your father was no longer there to support me, 
 and there was a moment when I was very near teUing you everything, 
 so horrified was I at the idea that you were about to hate and despise 
 me. 
 
 " One thing which you will perhaps not believe, Armand, is that I 
 prayed to Heaven to give me strength, and the proof that my sacrifice 
 was accepted is that the strength for which I prayed was granted 
 me. 
 
 " At that supper I still required assistance, for, I did; not dare to 
 reflect on what I was going to do, and I^ feared that my, courage would 
 fail me. 
 
 "Who would have thought that I, Marguerite Gautier, would have 
 suffered so much at the mere thought-of taking a new lover? 
 
 " I drank a good deal in order to drown memory, and when I awoke 
 the next day I found myself in bed with the Count. 
 
 " This is the whole truth, my friend : judge and pardon me, as I 
 have pardoned you all the harm you have done me since that day." 
 
2 26 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 day I met you in the Champs-Elys^es I felt agitated but was not 
 astonished. 
 
 " Then you commenced each day to heap a fresh insult on me ; and 
 I almost felt glad on receiving those insults, for they proved that you 
 still loved me, whilst it also appeared to me that the more you per- 
 secuted me the higher I should be raised in your estimation when 
 one day you would know the whole truth. 
 
 "Do not be astonished, Armand, that I suffered this martyrdom 
 cheerfully, for the love you once felt for me had inspired me with a 
 noble enthusiasm. 
 
 " However, I did not feel so strong-minded all at once. 
 
 " After I had sacrificed myself some time elapsed before you returned, 
 and meanwhile I had recourse to physical excitement, to prevent me 
 from becoming mad, and to harden myself for the life I had again 
 entered upon. Prudence, no doubt, has told you that I was present at 
 every fSte, at every baU, and at every orgie. 
 
 " I hoped to kill myself rapidly by these excesses, and I believe that 
 this expectation will ere long be realised. My health became naturally 
 worse, and the very day I sent Madame Duvernoy to you to ask your 
 pardon, I was exhausted both bodily and mentally. 
 
 " I will not remind you, Armand, how you repaid me for the last 
 proof of affection I gave you, neither of the outrage which drove from 
 Paris a woman who, though dying, had not been able to resist your 
 entreaty when you asked her to love you for a night, and who, like 
 an insane woman, believed for an instant that she could reunite the 
 past and the present. You had a right to behave as you did, Armand ; 
 people have not always paid me as much for a night ! 
 
 " I abandoned everything then ! Olympe took my place with the 
 Count de N . . . ., and I believe she undertook to let him know the 
 motive of my departure. The Count de G . . . . was in London. He 
 is one of those men who think that a ' liaison ' with girls like myself 
 has just importance enough to enable them to pass their time agree- 
 ably, who remain always the friends of the women they have knovm. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 227 
 
 and do not hate them, as they have never been jealous of them. He 
 is, in fact, one of those noblemen of high rank who open to us only 
 part of their heart, but the whole of their cash-box. I thought of 
 him directly, and went to him. He received me kindly ; but on the 
 other side of the water he was the lover of a lady in society, and afraid 
 of compromising himself by appearing in public with me. He intro- 
 duced me to his friends, and they gave me a supper, after which one 
 of them took me home with him. 
 
 " What else could I have done, my friend ? 
 
 "Kill myself? If I had done so your life, which ought to be a 
 happy one, would have been burdened by useless remorse. Moreover, 
 what is the use of killing one's self when death is so near ? 
 
 " I became a body without a soul, a thing without thought. I led 
 for some time a mechanical life ; then I returned to Paris and inquired 
 after you ; they told me that you had gone for a long voyage. Nothing 
 kept me up any longer. My existence again became what it was two 
 years before I knew you. I tried to get back the Duke, but I had 
 wounded his pride too deeply, and old men are not patient ; doubtless, 
 because they perceive that they do not last for ever. Day by day I 
 grew worse ; I was pale, sad, and became still thinner. Those men 
 who buy love examine the merchandise before delivery, and as there 
 were in Paris women in better health and stouter than I was, people 
 forgot me more or less. This was my past up till yesterday. 
 
 " Now I am quite ill. I have written to the Duke to ask him for 
 some money, for I have none, and my creditors keep calling and are 
 continually sending in their bills without any mercy. WiU the Duke 
 answer me 1 Why are you not in Paris, Armand ? You would come 
 to see me, and your visit would console me." 
 
 2 F 2 
 
2 28 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " December 20th. 
 
 " It is horrible weather. It snows. I am at home alone. For the 
 last three days I have had such an attack of fever that I was not able 
 to write a single word to you. There is no news, my friend. Each day 
 I vaguely hope to receive a letter from you, but none has come, and 
 perhaps never will come. Only men possess sufficient strength of mind 
 not to pardon. The Duke has not answered me. 
 
 " Prudence has recommenced her journeys to the pawnbrokers. 
 
 " I continually spit blood. Oh ! you would be pained if you were 
 to see me. You are very fortunate to dwell amidst sunny skies, and 
 not to have an icy winter weighing on your chest, as I have. To-day I 
 got up for a short time, and from behind my window-curtains beheld 
 that Parisian life with which I think I have broken for ever. A few 
 acquaintances passed quickly along the street with cheerftil and quite 
 indifferent looks, and not one raised his eyes to my windows. How- 
 ever, a few young men called to inquire after me. Once before I was 
 ill ; and then you, who did not know me, and to whom I had been very 
 impertinent the very first time I saw you, came every morning to inquire 
 how I was. Now I am ill again. During the six months we were 
 together, I felt for you as much love as the heart of a woman can con- 
 tain and bestow ; and now you are far away, heaping curses on me, 
 and not a word of consolation have I received from you. I am certain 
 that it is only by accident you forsake me, for if you were in Paris, 
 you would not leave my bedside nor my room." 
 
 " December 25th.. 
 
 " My doctor forbids me to write every day. In fact, thinking only 
 increases my illness ; but yesterday I received a letter which has done 
 me some good, more from the feelings which it expressed than for the 
 assistance which it brought. I can, therefore, write to you to-day. 
 This letter was sent to me by your father, and is as follows : — 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 229 
 
 " ' Madame, 
 
 " ' I have just learned that you are ill. If I were in Paris I would 
 myself call on you. If my son were here, I would tell him to go and 
 call on you, but I cannot leave C . . . ., and Armand is six or seven 
 hundred miles away. Permit me, therefore, Madame, to write to you 
 to tell you how sorry I am to hear of your iUness, and to express a 
 sincere wish for your prompt recovery. 
 
 " ' One of my intimate friends. Monsieur H . . . ., will come to 
 see you, and I beg you will be good enough to receive him. I 
 have asked him to be the bearer of a message of which I impatiently 
 wait the result. 
 
 " ' Accept, Madame, the assurance of my most distinguished senti- 
 ments.' 
 
 " This was the letter I received. Your father is magnanimous. Love 
 him with all your heart, Armand, for there are few men in the world 
 so worthy of being beloved. His handwriting has done me more good 
 than aU the remedies of my eminent physician. 
 
 "This morning Monsieur H . . . . called, and appeared to labour 
 under some embarrassment in delivering the difficult message of which 
 he was the bearer. He came simply to bring me five thousand francs 
 which your father sent me. At first I wished to refuse, but Monsieur 
 H . . . . told me that this refusal would offend Monsieur Duval, who 
 had authorised him to give me this sum for my present wants and to 
 supply me with all I might want afterwards. I accepted this service, 
 which, coming from your father, I could not consider as alms. If I 
 am dead when you return, show your father what I have written about 
 him, and teU him that in penning these lines, the poor girl to whom 
 he was kind enough to write such a consoling letter, shed tears of 
 gratitude, and has prayed Heaven to bless him." 
 
230 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 "January 4th. 
 
 " I have just passed several very painful days. I did not know that 
 physically one could suffer so much. Oh ! my past life ! I am now 
 paying doubly the penalty for it. 
 
 " People have been taking care of me every night. I could scarcely 
 breathe. I have been coughing nearly the whole time of my wretched 
 existence, and when not coughing was partly delirious. 
 
 "My dining-room is full of 'bonbons' and presents of aU kinds 
 which my friends have brought me. Among these there are no doubt 
 some men who hope that I riiay become their mistress later on. If they 
 could but see how illness has changed me, they would flee from me 
 quite horrified. 
 
 " Prudence gives away as her New- Year gifts the presents that were 
 sent to me. 
 
 " The weather is frosty, and the doctor teUs me I may go out in a 
 few days if it continues fine." 
 
 " January 8th. 
 
 " I drove out yesterday in my carriage. The weather was magni- 
 ficent; the Champs-Elysdes were crowded. It seemed like the first 
 smile of spring. Everything around me had a holiday appearance. I 
 never imagined that an hour of sunshine could bring as much joy, 
 pleasure, and consolation as I discovered in it yesterday. 
 
 "I met nearly all my acquaintances as merry as usual, and 
 caring for nothing but to be amused. How many people are happy 
 and know it not! Olympe passed me in an elegant carriage which 
 Monsieur de N . . . . had given her. She attempted to insult me by 
 her looks, but does not know that I no longer care for such 
 vanities. A good-natured young fellow whom I have known for a 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 231 
 
 long time asked me if I would come and have some supper with 
 him and one of his friends, who, he said, was very anxious to make 
 my acquaintance. 
 
 " I could but smile sadly, and held out to him my hand burning 
 with fever. 
 
 "I never saw a countenance express more astonishment than his. 
 
 " I came home at four o'clock and dined with some appetite. 
 
 " The drive has done me good. 
 
 " If I were to recover ! 
 
 " How the sight of life and happiness in others inspires with a 
 desire to live those who, the day before, felt quite lonely and oppressed 
 by the gloominess of the sick-room, and who hoped to die soon ! " 
 
232 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 "January loth. 
 
 " My expectation that I might recover has not been realised. I am 
 once more in my bed, and wholly covered with plasters that burn me. 
 I am sure that if I were now to offer this body, which at one time was 
 appraised so highly, I would not get much for it ! 
 
 " Either we must have done a great deal of harm before we were 
 born, or we are to enjoy great happiness after our death ; for Heaven 
 permits us to suffer in this existence all the tortures of expiation, and 
 all the pangs of an ordeal." 
 
 "January 12th. 
 
 "I continue to suffer. 
 
 " Count de N . . . . sent me some money yesterday, but I refused to 
 take it. I want nothing from that man. If it were not for him you 
 would now be with me. 
 
 " Oh ! where are now our happy days of Bougival ? 
 
 " If ever I should leave this room alive, I will make a pilgrimage 
 to the house where we lived together; but I shall never leave it 
 except as a corpse. 
 
 " Who knows if I shall be able to write to you to-morrow] " 
 
 "January 2Sth. 
 
 " I have not closed my eyes these eleven nights ; I almost was 
 suffocated, and thought every moment I was about to die. The doctor 
 wiU not let me touch a pen ; but Julie Duprat, who is with me, stiU 
 allows me to write you these few lines. Will you not return before 
 I die ? Is everything for ever ended between us 1 It seems to me that 
 if I were to see you I should recover. But what would be the use of 
 my recovering ? " 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 233 
 
 " January 28th. 
 
 "A loud noise awoke me this morning. Julie, who slept in my 
 room, rushed into the dining-room. I heard some men's voices, and 
 then hers remonstrating in vain. She returned weeping. 
 
 " These men came to seize my furniture. I told her to allow what 
 is called justice to take its course. A sheriff's officer entered my 
 room without taking off his hat, puUed open every drawer, made an 
 inventory of everything he could see, and did not appear to observe 
 that there was a dying woman in bed, which fortunately the mercy 
 of the law does not allow to be taken. 
 
 " He condescended to say, as he went away, that I could enter an 
 opposition within nine days, but he left a man in possession. Good 
 Heavens ! what is to become of me ? This scene has made me worse. 
 Prudence wanted to ask your father's friend for some money, but I 
 would not allow it." 
 
 " I received this morning your letter, for which I had been wishing. 
 WiU my reply reach you in time ? Shall I ever see you again ? This 
 happy day makes me forget aU that has happened during the last six 
 weeks. I seem to be better, in spite of the sadness I felt when I wrote 
 to you. 
 
 " After all, we cannot always be unhappy. 
 
 " I think it is just possible that I may not die, that you will return, 
 that I shall once more see the spring, that you may again love me, and 
 that we may recommence our life of the past year ! 
 
 " How foolish I am ! I can hardly hold the pen with which I write 
 to you this senseless dream, inspired by my affection for you. 
 
 " Whatever may happen, Armand, I did love you dearly, and should 
 have died long since had I not been strengthened by the remembrance 
 of our love, and by a vague expectation of seeing you once more at my 
 side." 
 
 2 G 
 
234 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " February 4th. 
 
 "The Count de G . . . . has returned. His mistress has been un- 
 faithful to him. He is very sad, for he was very fond of her, and came 
 to tell this misfortune to me. The poor fellow is in very bad circum- 
 stances ; but this did not prevent him from paying the sheriffs officer, 
 and dismissing the man in possession. 
 
 "I spoke to him of you, and he promised to let you know all 
 about me. I forgot at the moment that I had ever been his mistress, 
 and he also tried to make me forget it. He is very good to me. 
 
 "The Duke sent yesterday to know how I was, and called this 
 morning himself. I cannot understand how this old man is stiU alive. 
 He stopped three hours with me, and did not utter a score of words, 
 but shed tears when he saw me looking so pale. The remembrance of 
 his daughter's death affected him no doubt. He will have seen her die 
 twice. He is stooping very much, his head reclines on his chest, his 
 lower lip droops, and his eyes are dim. Age and grief bear down 
 heavily on his worn-out frame. He did not utter a single reproach. It 
 would almost seem as if he were inwardly gratified by the progress of 
 my iUness. He appeared proud to be yet alive, when I, still so young, 
 was worn out by suffering. 
 
 " The bad weather has returned, and no one comes to see me. Julie 
 stays with me as much as she can. Prudence, to whom I can no longer 
 give as much money as formerly, begins to find excuses for staying 
 away. 
 
 "Now that T am about to die, in spite of what the doctors say, for I 
 have several, and it is a proof that I am getting worse, I almost regret 
 having acted as your father wished. Had I known that I should only 
 have taken one year of your life, I would not have refrained from passing 
 that year with you, and would have died clasping at least the hand 
 of a friend. But if we had been together for a year I should not have 
 died so soon. 
 
 " Heaven's wiU be done ! " 
 
"February 5th. 
 
 " Oh come, come, Armand ! I suffer horribly ! Great Heavens, I 
 am about to die ! I was so sad yesterday that I wished to spend any- 
 where but at home the evening, which threatened to be as long as the 
 
 2 G 2 
 
236 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 preceding one. The Duke came in the morning; but it seems that 
 the sight of this old man, whom death has forgotten, will make me die 
 sooner. 
 
 " In spite of the violent fever which consumes me, I dressed and 
 drove to the ' Vaudeville Theatre.' Julie put some rouge on my cheeks, 
 or I should have looked like a corpse. I went to the very box where I 
 told you to meet me for the first time, and I kept, all the while, my eyes 
 fixed on the stall which you occupied on that night, and in which was 
 seated last evening some lout who laughed loudly at all the foolish 
 things uttered by the actors. They took me home half dead. I coughed 
 and spit blood all night. To-day I am no longer able to speak, and can 
 hardly move my arms. Oh Heavens ! I am about to die ! I expect 
 it, but I cannot reconcile myself to the idea of sufiiering more than I 
 now suffer, and if . . . ." 
 
 The few words which Marguerite had attempted to write at the 
 bottom of this letter were illegible, and it was Julie Duprat who wrote 
 to me as follows : — 
 
 "February i8th. 
 
 " Monsieur Armand, 
 
 "From the day Marguerite insisted on going to the theatre, she 
 continued to grow worse. She entirely lost her voice, and the use of 
 her limbs. What our poor friend has suffered it is impossible to 
 describe. I am not accustomed to such sad scenes, and every moment 
 I dread the worst. 
 
 " How I wish you were with us ! She is almost always delirious ; 
 but delirious or not, she always utters your name when she is unable to 
 say anything else. 
 
 "The physician informs me that she cannot last long. The old 
 Duke has not called again since she has been so very ill. 
 
 " He told the doctor that the sight was too painful for him. 
 
 " Madame Duvemoy does not behave well. This woman, who thought 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 237 
 
 to obtain more money from Marguerite, at whose expense she almost 
 entirely lived, has incurred some liabilities which she is unable to 
 meet, and as she perceives that Mademoiselle Gautier can no longer be 
 of use to her, she does not even take the trouble to come and see 
 her. Everybody abandons her. Monsieur de G. . . . has been obliged 
 to go back to London on account of his debts ; but before leaving 
 he sent her some money. He did aU that he could ; but the 
 creditors have again put in an execution, and only wait her death to 
 realise. 
 
 " I tried with the little money I had to stay these proceedings, but 
 the sheriff's officer told me that it was useless, and that there were other 
 judgments out against Marguerite. As she is about to die, it will be better 
 to abandon everything than to try and save something for her family, 
 whom she did not wish to see, and who never liked her. You cannot 
 imagine the gilded misery amidst which the poor girl is dying. Yester- 
 day we had no money at all. Plate, jewelry, cashmere shawls, every- 
 thing is in pledge, and what remains is either sold or seized. Marguerite 
 is stiU conscious of what is going on, and suffers mentally as well as 
 bodily. Large tears roll down her cheeks, so thin and so pale that you 
 would no longer recognise the countenance of her whom you loved so 
 much, even if you could see her. She made me promise to write to you 
 when she should no longer be able to do so, and I write in her pre- 
 sence ; she looks towards me, but is unable to see me, for her sight is 
 already dimmed by the approach of death, and yet she smiles, and, I am 
 certain, thinks and dreams only of you. 
 
 " Every time the door is opened her eyes brighten, and she always 
 imagines that you will enter the room ; but when she sees it is not you, 
 her countenance resumes its expression of pain, is covered with a cold 
 perspiration, and the cheeks become flushed." 
 
238 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 " February 19th, Midnight. 
 
 "This has been a very sad day, my dear Monsieur Armand. This 
 morning Marguerite was almost choking. The doctor bled her, and she 
 slightly recovered her voice. He advised her to see a priest. She made 
 no objections, and he went himself to fetch an abbd from Saint-Eoch. 
 
 "Meanwhile, Marguerite called me to her side, asked me to open 
 her wardrobe, pointed to a cap and a long chemise trimmed with lace, 
 and said in a feeble tone of voice : 
 
 " ' I am going to die after having made my confession ; then you 
 will take those things and dress me in them, for I want to look nice 
 even in death.' 
 
 " She then embraced me, crying, and added : 
 
 " ' I can speak, but I am almost suffocated when I attempt it. I 
 am choking, give me air ! ' 
 
 " My tears flowed freely ; I opened the window, and a few minutes 
 afterwards the priest entered. 
 
 " I went to meet him. 
 
 "When he knew in whose rooms he was he seemed to suppose he 
 would not be well received. 
 
 " ' Enter without fear, reverend sir,' I said. 
 
 " He remained but a short time in Marguerite's room, and when he 
 left it, he said to me, ' She has led a sinful life, but she dies a Christian.' 
 
 " A few minutes afterwards he returned, accompanied by an acolyte 
 carrying a crucifix, and preceded by a sacristan ringing a bell to announce 
 that the sacrament was about to be administered to a dying person. 
 
 " They all three entered her bedroom, in which formerly had been 
 uttered so many extraordinary words, and which was at this hour but 
 a holy tabernacle. 
 
 " I knelt down. I do not know how long the impression may last 
 which this scene has produced on me, but I do not believe that anything 
 human will ever affect me thus before my final hour shall also have 
 arrived. 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 239 
 
 " The priest anointed with consecrated oil the feet, the hands, and 
 the forehead of the dying woman, uttered a short prayer, and Marguerite 
 found herself prepared for that Heaven where she will doubtless go, 
 as her trials in this world have been great, and as her death has 
 sanctified her. 
 
 " Since then she has not uttered a word, and has not made a 
 movement. Many a time I thought she was dead, but I still heard 
 her breathe with diflficulty." 
 
 " February 20th. Five o'clock in the evening. 
 
 " All is over. 
 
 " Marguerite's agony began about two o'clock this night. Never did 
 martyr sufier such tortures, to judge from the cries she uttered. Twice 
 or thrice she rose up in bed, as if she wished to cUng to that life which 
 was ascending Heavenward. 
 
 " Two or three times also she murmured your name ; then every- 
 thing was silent, and she fell down exhausted on her bed. She did 
 not sob, and yet tears coursed down her cheeks ; and thus she died. 
 
 "Then I approached and called her; but as she did not answer, I 
 closed her eyes, and kissed her on the forehead. 
 
 " Poor dear Marguerite, I wish I had been a pious woman, so that 
 this kiss might have recommended you to Providence. 
 
 "Then I dressed her as she had asked me to do. I went to Saint- 
 Eoch to fetch a priest ; I lit two wax-tapers for her, and prayed for an 
 hour in church. 
 
 " I distributed to the poor some money she had given me. 
 
 "I do not know much about religion, but I believe that Heaven 
 wiU recognise that my tears were genuine, that my prayer rose from 
 the heart, that my alms were freely bestowed, and that it wiU have 
 mercy on a woman, who, dying young and lovely, had no one else but 
 me to close her eyes and be present at her death." 
 
240 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 "February 22d. 
 
 "To-day the funeral took place. A great many of Marguerite's 
 female friends came to church, and some shed genuine tears. 
 When the procession took the road to Montmartre, only two men 
 followed the hearse, the Count de G , . . ., who had returned from 
 London on purpose, and the Duke, who walked supported by two 
 footmen. 
 
 " It is from her rooms that I write you aU these details, in the 
 midst of my tears, and before a lamp which dimly lights up a dinner 
 I cannot eat, as you may well believe, but which Nanine ordered, 
 thinking I might require it, as I have eaten nothing for more than 
 twenty-four hours. « = 
 
 " I cannot long retain these sad impressions, for my life does not 
 belong to me any more than Marguerite's belonged to her. That is 
 why I give you all these details upon the very spot where she died, for 
 fear that, if any length of time should elapse before you return, I might 
 not be able to set them down for you in all their sad reality." 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 "Have you read 
 it?" said Armand to 
 me, after I had perused the 
 manuscript. 
 
 " I can understand what you must have suffered, my friend, if all 
 this be true," 
 
 " My father has confirmed the truth of it in a letter he wrote me." 
 
 We conversed for some time about the sad destiny of the girl whose 
 life had just ended, and I went home to take a little rest. 
 
 Armand, still sad, but somewhat relieved by having told me this 
 
 2 H 
 
242 THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 
 
 story, rapidly recovered, and we went together to pay a visit to 
 Prudence and to Julie Duprat. 
 
 Prudence had just become a bankrupt. She informed us that 
 Marguerite was the cause of it, as she had lent her a great deal of 
 money during her iUness, for which she herself had given biUs which 
 could not be met, as Marguerite had died without having repaid her, 
 and had not given her any acknowledgment which would have enabled 
 her to rank as a creditor. 
 
 By means of this falsehood, which Madame Duvemoy told every- 
 where as an excuse for having failed in business, she succeeded in 
 getting a thousand francs from Armand, who did not believe her story, 
 but who pretended to do so, so great was his respect for any one who 
 had associated with his mistress. 
 
 Thence we went to Julie Duprat, who told us the sad events which 
 she had witnessed, and shed tears of sincere regret at the recollection 
 of her departed friend. 
 
 Finally we visited Marguerite's grave, on which the early rays of 
 an April sun caused the first leaves to appear. 
 
 There remained another duty for Armand to perform, namely, to go 
 and visit his father. He still wished me to accompany him. 
 
 We arrived at C where I saw that Monsieur Duval was as 
 
 taU, dignified, and kind-hearted as I imagined he would be, from the 
 description his son had given of him. 
 
 He welcomed Armand with tears of happiness, and shook me by the 
 hand. I soon perceived that his paternal feelings predominated over 
 all others in his breast. 
 
 His daughter Blanche showed by her looks the purity of her mind, 
 and smiled so serenely that it convinced me she could only foster 
 pious thoughts, and utter blessed words. She smiled when her 
 brother returned, for the chaste young maiden was not aware that, far 
 away, a courtesan had sacrificed her happiness on the mere invocation 
 of her name. 
 
 I remained for some time amidst this happy family, wholly occupied 
 
THE LADY WITH THE CAMELLIAS. 243 
 
 with the son and brother who had come back to them in order to be 
 cured. 
 
 I returned to Paris where I write this history as it has been told 
 to me. It has but one merit, which perhaps people will not admit, 
 namely, that it has really happened. 
 
 It is not at all my intention to draw from this story the conclusion 
 that girls of the same class as Marguerite are capable of doing what she 
 did ; but I know that one of them did really love, that she has suffered 
 for it, and died through it. I have told the reader what was told me, 
 and I consider this to have been my duty. 
 
 I am not an apostle of vice, but I wiU make myself the echo of a 
 nobly borne misfortune whenever I hear its voice raised in supplication. 
 
 The history of Marguerite is exceptional, I repeat ; but it would not 
 have been worth the trouble of writing if it had not been exceptional. 
 
 THE END.