一回到家里，我像个孩子似的哭了起来。凡是受过哪怕只有一次欺骗的男人就不会不知道我是多么痛苦。
我一肚子难忍的怒火，暗暗痛下决心：必须立即和这种爱情一刀两断。我迫不及待地等待着天明后去预订车票，回到我父亲和妹妹那儿去，他们两人对我的爱是没有疑问的，也决不会是虚情假意。
但是我又不愿意在玛格丽特还没有弄清楚我离开她的原因之前就走。作为一个男人，只有在跟他的情人恩断义绝的时候才会不告而别。
我反复思考着应该怎样来写这封信。
我的这位姑娘和所有其他的妓女没有什么两样，以前我太抬举她了，她把我当小学生看待。为了欺骗我，她耍了一个简单的手段来侮辱我，这难道还不清楚吗？这时，我的自尊心就占了上风。必须离开这个女人，还不能让她因为知道了这次破裂使我很痛苦而感到高兴。我眼里噙着恼怒和痛苦的泪水，用最端正的字体给她写了下面这封信：
亲爱的玛格丽特：
我希望您昨天的不适对健康没有多大影响。昨天晚上十一点钟，我来打听过您的消息，有人回答说您还没有回来。G先生比我幸运，因为在我之后不久他就到您那儿去了，直到清晨四点钟他还在您那里。
请原谅我使您度过了一些难受的时刻，不过请放心，我永远也忘不了您赐给我的那段幸福时刻。
今天我本应该去打听您的消息，但是我要回到我父亲那里去了。
再见吧，亲爱的玛格丽特，我希望自己能像一个百万富翁似地爱您，但是我力不从心；您希望我能像一个穷光蛋似地爱您，我却又不是那么一无所有。那么让我们大家都忘记了吧，对您来说是忘却一个几乎是无关紧要的名字，对我来说是忘却一个无法实现的美梦。
我奉还您的钥匙，我还未用过它，它对您会有用的，假如您经常像昨天那样不舒服的话。
您看到了，如果不狠狠地嘲笑她一下，我是无法结束这封信的，这证明我心里还是多么爱她啊。
我把这封信反复看了十来遍，想到这封信会使玛格丽特感到痛苦，我心里稍许平静了一些。我竭力使自己保持住信里装出来的感情。当我的仆人在八点钟走进我的房间时，我把信交给他，要他马上送去。
“是不是要等回信？”约瑟夫——我的仆人像所有的仆人一样都叫约瑟夫——问我。
“如果有人问您要不要回信，您就说您什么也不知道，但您要等着。”
我希望她会给我回信。
我们这些人是多么可怜，多么软弱啊！
在约瑟夫去送信的那段时间内，我心情激动到了顶点。一会儿我想起了玛格丽特是怎样委身于我的，我自问我究竟有什么权利写这样一封唐突无礼的信给她，她可以回答我说不是G先生欺骗了我，而是我欺骗了G先生，一些情人众多的女人都是这样为自己辩解的；一会儿我又想起了这个姑娘的誓言，我要使自己相信我的信写得还是太客气，那里面并没有什么严厉的字句足以惩罚一个玩弄我纯洁的爱情的女人。随后，我又想还是不给她写信，而是在白天到她家里去的好，这样我就会因为看到她掉眼泪而感到痛快。
最后我寻思她将怎样答复我，我已经准备接受她即将给我的解释。
约瑟夫回来了。
“怎么样？”我问他。
“先生，”他回答我说，“夫人在睡觉，还没有醒，但是只要她拉铃叫人，就会有人把信给她，如果有回信，他们会送来的。”
她还睡着哪！
有多少次我几乎要派人去把这封信取回来，但是我总是这样想：
“信可能已经交给她了，如果我派人去取信的话，就显得我在后悔了。”
越是接近应该收到她回信的时刻，我越是后悔不应该写那封信。
十点，十一点，十二点都敲过了。
十二点的时候，我几乎要像什么事也没有发生过似的去赴约会了，最后我左思右想不知如何来挣脱这个使我窒息的束缚。
像有些心中有所期待的人一样，我也有一种迷信的想法，认为只要我出去一会儿，回来时就会看到回信。因为人们焦急地等待着的回信总是在收信人不在家的时候送到的。
我借口吃午饭上街去了。
我平时习惯在街角的富瓦咖啡馆用午餐，今天我却没有去，而宁愿穿过昂坦街，到王宫大街去吃午饭。每逢我远远看到一个妇人，就以为是纳尼娜给我送回信来了。我经过昂坦街，却没有碰到一个送信人。我到了王宫大街，走进了韦利饭店，侍者侍候我吃饭，更可以说他把能想到的菜全给我端来了，因为我没有吃。
我的眼睛不由自主地一直盯着墙上的时钟看。
我回到家里，深信马上就会收到玛格丽特的回信。
看门人什么也没有收到。我还希望信已经交给仆人，但是他在我出门后没有看到有谁来过。
如果玛格丽特给我写回信的话，她早就该给我写了。
于是，我对那封信里的措辞感到后悔了，我本来应该完全保持缄默，这样她可能会感到不安而有所行动；因为她看到我没有去赴上一天讲好的约会就会问我失约的原因，只有在这时候我才能把原因告诉她；这样一来，她除了为自己辩解以外，没有其他的办法。而我所要的也就是她的辩解。我已经觉得，不管她提出什么辩解的理由，我都会相信的，只要能再见到她，我什么都愿意。
我还以为她会亲自登门，但是时间一小时一小时地过去，她并没有来。
玛格丽特的确与别的女人不一样，因为很少女人在收到像我刚才写的那样一封信以后会毫无反应。
五点钟，我奔向香榭丽舍大街。
“如果我遇到她的话，”我心里想，“我要装出一副满不在乎的样子，那么她就会相信我已经不再想她了。”
在王宫大街拐角上，我看见她乘着车子经过，这次相遇是那么突然，我的脸都发白了，我不知道她是否看出我内心的激动；我是那么慌张，只看到了她的车子。
我不再继续在香榭丽舍大街散步，而去浏览剧院的海报：
我还有一个看到她的机会。
在王宫剧院，有一次首场演出，玛格丽特是必去无疑的。
我七点钟到了剧院。
所有的包厢都坐满了，但是玛格丽特没有来。
于是，我离开了王宫剧院，凡是她经常去的剧院我一家一家都跑遍了：歌舞剧院、杂耍剧院、喜剧歌剧院。
到处都找不到她的影踪。
要么我的信使她过于伤心，她连戏都不想看了；要么她怕跟我见面，免得作一次解释。
这些都是我走在大街上时由虚荣心引起的想法。突然我碰到了加斯东，他问我从哪儿来。
“从王宫剧院来。”
“我从大歌剧院来，”他对我说，“我还以为您也在那里呢。”
“为什么？”
“因为玛格丽特在那儿。”
“啊！她在那儿吗？”
“在那儿。”
“一个人吗？”
“不是，跟一个女朋友在一起。”
“没有别人吗？”
“G伯爵到她包厢里待了一会儿，但是她跟公爵一块儿走了。我一直以为您也会去的。我旁边有一个位子今天晚上一直空着，我还以为这个座位是您订下的呢。”
“但是为什么玛格丽特到那儿去，我也得跟着去呢？”
“因为您是她的情人嘛，不是吗？”
“那是谁对您说的？”
“普律当丝呀，我是昨天遇到她的。我祝贺您，我亲爱的，这可是一个不太容易到手的漂亮情妇哪，别让她跑了，她会替您争面子的。”
加斯东这个简单的反应，说明我的敏感有多么可笑。
如果我昨天就遇到他，而且他也跟我这样讲的话，我肯定不会写早上那封愚蠢的信。
我几乎马上想到普律当丝家里去，要她去对玛格丽特说我有话对她说，但是我又怕她为了报复而拒绝接待我。于是，我又经过昂坦街回到了家里。
我又问了看门人有没有给我的信。
没有！
我躺在床上想：“她大概要看看我还会耍什么新花样，看看我是不是想收回我今天早上的信。但是她看到我没有再给她写信，明天她就会写信给我的。”
那天晚上我对自己的所作所为感到后悔莫及，我孤零零地呆在家里，不能入睡，心里烦躁不安，妒火中烧。想当初如果听任事情自然发展的话，我此刻大概正偎依在玛格丽特的身旁，听着她的绵绵情话，这些话我总共才听到过两次，每当我一个人想起这些话时，我都会两耳发热。
那时候我觉得最可怕的就是：理智告诉我是我错了；事实上，无论从哪个角度去想，都应该说玛格丽特是爱我的。第一，她准备跟我两个人单独到乡下去避暑；第二，没有任何原因迫使她做我的情妇。我的财产是不够她日常开销的，甚至还满足不了她一时兴起的零星开支。因此，她唯一有希望在我身上得到的是一种真诚的感情。她的生活充满了商业性的爱情，这种真诚的感情能使她得到休息；我却在第二天就毁了她这种希望，她两夜的恩情换来的是我无情的嘲笑。因此我的行为不但很可笑，而且很粗暴。我又没有付过她一个钱，哪有权利来谴责她的生活？我第二天就溜之大吉，这不就像一个情场上的寄生虫，生怕别人拿帐单要他付饭钱么？怎么！我认识玛格丽特才三十六个小时，做她的情人才二十四个小时，我就在跟她怄气了！她能分身来爱我，我非但不感到幸福，还想一人独占她，强迫她一下子就割断她过去的一切关系，而这些关系是她今后的生活来源。我凭什么可以责备她？一点也没有。她完全可以和某些大胆泼辣的女人一样，直截了当地告诉我说她要接待另外一个情人，但她没有这样做，她写信对我说她不舒服。我没有相信她信里的话，我没有到除了昂坦街以外的巴黎各条街道上去溜达，我没有跟朋友们一起去消磨这个晚上，等到第二天在她指定的时间再去会她，却扮演起奥赛罗①的角色来了，我窥视她的行动，自以为不再去看她是对她的惩罚。实际上恰恰相反，她应该为这种分离感到高兴，她一定觉得我愚蠢到极点，她的沉默甚至还谈不上是怨恨我，而是看不起我。
①莎士比亚名剧《奥赛罗》中的主角，后比喻所有嫉妒、多疑和凶暴的丈夫。
那么我是不是该像对待一个妓女似的送玛格丽特一件礼物，别让她怀疑我吝啬刻薄，这样我们之间就两讫了；但是我不愿我们的爱情沾上一点点铜臭味，否则的话，即使不是贬低了她对我的爱情，至少也是玷污了我对她的爱情。再说既然这种爱情是那么纯洁，容不得别人染指，那么更不能用一件礼品——不论这件礼品有多么贵重——来偿付它赐予的幸福——无论这个幸福是多么短暂。
这就是我那天晚上翻来覆去所想的，也是我随时准备要去向玛格丽特说的。
一直到天亮我还没有睡着，我发烧了，除了玛格丽特外我什么都不想。
您也懂得，必须做出果断的决定：要么跟这个女人一刀两断；要么从此不再多心猜疑，如果她仍然肯接待我的话。
但是您也知道，在下决心以前总是要踌躇再三的。我在家里呆不住，又不敢到玛格丽特那里去，我就想法子去接近她，一旦成功的话，就可以说是出于偶然，这样我的面子也能保住了。
九点钟到了，我匆匆赶到普律当丝家里，她问我一清早去找她有什么事。
我不敢直率地告诉她我是为什么去的，我只是告诉她我一大早出门是为了在去C城的公共马车上订一个座位：我父亲住在C城。
“能在这样的好天气离开巴黎，”她对我说，“您真是好福气。”
我望望普律当丝，寻思她是不是在讥笑我。
但是她脸上的神态是一本正经的。
“您是去向玛格丽特告别吗？”她又接着说，脸上还是那么严肃。
“不是的。”
“这样很好。”
“您以为这样好吗？”
“当然啦，既然您已经跟她吹了，何必再去看她呢？”
“那么您知道我们吹了？”
“她把您的信给我看了。”
“那么她对您说什么啦？”
“她对我说：‘亲爱的普律当丝，您那位宝贝不懂礼貌，这种信只能在心里想想，哪能写出来呢。’”
“她是用什么语气对您说的？”
“是笑着说的，她还说：‘他在我家里吃过两次夜宵，连上门道谢都还没有来过呢。’”
这就是我的信和我的嫉妒所产生的结果。我在爱情方面的虚荣心受到了残酷的损伤。
“昨天晚上她在干什么？”
“她到大歌剧院去了。”
“这我知道，后来呢？”
“她在家里吃夜宵。”
“一个人吗？”
“我想，是跟G伯爵一起吧。”
这样说来我和她的决裂丝毫没有改变玛格丽特的习惯。
遇到这样的情况，有些人就会对您说：
“决不要再去想这个不爱您的女人了。”
我勉强笑了笑说：“好吧，看到玛格丽特没有为我而感到难过，我很高兴。”
“她这样做是很合情理的。您已经做了您应该做的事，您比她更理智些，因为这个姑娘爱着您，她一张口就谈到您，她是什么蠢事都做得出来的。”
“既然她爱我，为什么不给我写回信呢？”
“因为她已经知道她是不该爱您的。再说女人们有时候能容忍别人在爱情上欺骗她们，但决不允许别人伤害她们的自尊心，尤其是一个人做了她两天情人就离开她，那么不管这次决裂原因何在，总是要伤害一个女人的自尊心的。我了解玛格丽特，她宁死也不会给您写回信的。”
“那么我该怎么办呢？”
“就此拉倒，她会忘记您，您也会忘记她，你们双方谁也别埋怨谁。”
“但是如果我写信求她饶恕呢？”
“千万不要这样做，她可能会原谅您的。”
我差一点跳起来搂普律当丝的脖子。
一刻钟以后，我回到家里，接着就给玛格丽特写信。
有一个人对他昨天写的信表示后悔，假使您不宽恕他，他明天就要离开巴黎，他想知道什么时候可以拜倒在您脚下，倾诉他的悔恨。
什么时候您可以单独会见他？因为您知道，做忏悔的时候是不能有旁人在场的。
我把这封用散文写的情诗折了起来，差约瑟夫送去，他把信交给了玛格丽特本人，她回答说她过一会儿就写回信。
我一直没有出门，只是在吃饭的时候才出去了一会儿，一直到晚上十一点我还没有收到她的回信。
我不能再这样痛苦下去了，决定明天就动身。
由于下了这个决心，我深知即便躺在床上，我也是睡不着的，我便动手收拾行李。
WHEN I reached home, I began to weep like a child. There is not a man alive who has not been deceived at least once but does not know what it is to suffer so.
Weighed down by the kind of fervent resolution which we always think we shall be strong enough to keep, I told myself that I had to put an end to this affair at once, and impatiently waited for morning to come so that I could go and buy a ticket and return to my father and my sister? twin loves on which I could count and which would never let me down.
However, I did not want to go away without ensuring that Marguerite knew exactly why I was going. Only a man who is quite out of love with his mistress will leave her without writing.
I wrote and rewrote a score of letters in my head.
I had been dealing with a woman who was like all other kept women; I had poeticized her far too much. She had treated me like a school-boy and, to deceive me, had resorted to an insultingly simple ruse ?that much was clear. My pride then took over. I had to leave this woman without giving her the satisfaction of knowing how much our parting made me suffer, and this is what I wrote to her, in my most elegant hand and with tears of rage and pain in my eyes.
'My dear Marguerite,
I trust that yesterday's indisposition has not proved too troublesome. I called, at eleven last evening, to ask after you, and was told you had not yet returned. Monsieur de G was altogether more fortunate, for he arrived a few moments later and was still with you at four o'clock this morning.
Forgive me the tiresome few hours which I inflicted on you, and rest assured that I shall never forget the happy moments which I owe you.
I would certainly have called to ask after you today, but I propose to return and join my father.
Farewell, my dear Marguerite. I am neither rich enough to love you as I should wish, nor poor enough to love you as you would like. Let us both forget: you, a name which must mean very little to you, and I, happiness which has become impossible for me to bear.
I am returning your key which I have never used and which you may find will answer some useful purpose, if you are often ill the way you were yesterday.'
As you see, I did not have the strength to end my letter without a touch of supercilious irony, which only went to prove how much in love I still was.
I read and reread my letter ten times over, and the thought of the pain it would cause Marguerite calmed me a little. I tried to live up to the bold note it had struck, and when, at eight o'clock, my servant answered my summons, I handed it to him to deliver at once.
'Must I wait for an answer?' Joseph asked. (My manservant was called Joseph. All manservants are called Joseph).
'If you are asked whether a reply is expected, you will say that you don't know, and you will wait.'
I clung to hope that she would answer.
Poor, weak creatures that we are!
The whole of the time my servant was out, I remained in a state of extreme agitation. At some moments, recalling how completely Marguerite had given herself to me, I asked myself by what right had I written her an impertinent letter when she could quite well reply that it was not Monsieur de G who was deceiving me but I who was deceiving Monsieur de G ? which is an argument which allows many a woman to have more than one lover. At other moments, recalling the hussy's solemn oaths, I tried to convince myself that my letter had been far too mild and that there were no words strong enough to scourge a woman who could laugh at love as sincere as mine. Then again, I told myself that it would have been better not to write at all, but to have called on her during the day: in this way, I would have been there to enjoy the tears I made her weep.
In the end, I came round to wondering what she would say in her answer, and I was already prepared to believe whatever excuse she gave me.
Joseph returned.
'Well?' I said.
'Sir, ' he answered, 'Madame had not risen and was still asleep, but the moment she rings, the letter will be given to her and if there is a reply, it will be brought.'
Asleep!
A score of times I was on the point of sending round to get the letter back, but I persisted in telling myself:
'Perhaps someone has already given it to her, in which case I would look as though I was sorry I'd sent it.'
The nearer it got to the time when it seemed most likely that she would give me an answer, the more I regretted having written.
Ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, midday stuck.
At noon, I was on the point of setting off for our rendezvous, as though nothing had happened. I was a complete loss for a way of a way of
breaking out of iron ring that held me fast.
Then, with the superstition of those who wait, I thought that if I went out for a while, I should find an answer when I got back. Replies which we await with impatience always come when we are not at home.
I went out, ostensibly to lunch.
Instead of lunching at the Cafe Foy, on the corner of the Boulevard, as was my custom, I thought I would have lunch in the Palais-Royal and go via the rue d'Antin. Every time I saw a woman in the distance, I thought it was Nanine bringing me a reply. I walked the length of the rue d'Antin without coming across any sort of messenger. I arrived at the Palais- Royal and went into Very's. The waiter gave me something to eat, or, more accurately, served me whatever he wished, for I ate nothing.
Despite myself, my eyes remained fixed on the clock.
I returned home, convinced that I would find a letter from Marguerite.
The porter had received nothing for me. I still had hopes of my servant. He had seen no one since the time I went out.
If Marguerite was going to give me an answer, she would have done so long before.
I began to regret the terms of my letter; I should have remained totally silent, since this would doubtless have made her uneasy, and spurred her to make a move; for, seeing that I had not kept our appointment the previous day, she would have asked the reason for my absence and only then should I have given it. In this way, she would have had no alternative but to establish her innocence, and I wanted her to establish her innocence. I already sensed that whatever the excuses she gave me, I would have believed her, and I knew that I should have preferred anything than never to see her again.
In the end, I fell to thinking that she would come herself, but the hours ticked by, and she did not come.
Marguerite was clearly quite unlike other women, for there are not many who, on receiving a letter like the one I had just written, do not send some sort of reply.
At five, I hurried to the Champs- Elysees.
'If I meet her, ' I thought, 'I shall appear unconcerned, and she will see that I have stopped thinking about her already.'
On the corner of the rue Royale, I saw her drive past in her carriage. The encounter happened so suddenly that I felt myself grow pale. I have no idea if she noticed my reaction, for I was so taken aback that I saw only her carriage.
I did not continue with my stroll to the Champs-Elysees. I looked at the theatre bills, for I still had one chance left of seeing her.
There was a first night at the Palais-Royal. Marguerite would obviously be there.
I was in the theatre at seven o'clock.
All the boxes filled up, but Marguerite did not appear.
After a while, I left the Palais-Royal and did the rounds of all the theatres where she went most often ?to the Vaudeville, the Varietes and the Opera- Comique.
She was not at any of them.
Either my letter had hurt her too much for her to be able to think of going to the theatre, or she was afraid of coming across me and wanted to avoid having things out.
This is what my vanity was whispering in my ear on the Boulevard when I ran into Gaston who asked me where I had been.
'To the Palais-Royal.'
'I've been to the Opera, ' he said. 'I rather thought I'd see you there.'
'Why?'
'Because Marguerite was there.'
'Oh! Was she?'
'Yes.'
'On her own?'
'No, with one of her women friends.'
'Anyone else?'
'Count de G showed up in her box for a moment or two, but she went off with the Duke. I thought I'd see you appear any minute. I had a seat next to me which stayed empty the whole evening, and I was sure it had been paid for by you.'
'But why should I go wherever Marguerite goes?'
'Because, dammit, you're her lover!'
'And who told you that?'
'Prudence. I met her yesterday. I congratulate you, old boy. She's a pretty mistress to have, and it's not everybody that can have her. Hang on to her, she'll be a credit to you.'
This straightforward observation of Gaston's showed me how ridiculously touchy I was being.
If I had met him the previous evening and he had talked to me like this, I would never have written the stupid letter I had sent that morning.
I was on the point of going round to Prudence's and sending word to Marguerite that I had to talk to her. But I was afraid that, to get back at me, she would send word that she could not see me, and I returned home after walking by the rue d'Antin.
Once again I asked my porter if he had a letter for me.
Nothing!
'She'll have wanted to see whether I'd try some new move and retract my letter today, ' I told myself as I got into bed, 'but when she sees I haven't written to her, she'll write to me tomorrow.'
That night especially did I regret what I had done. I was alone in my apartment, unable to sleep, fretting with worry and jealousy whereas, by letting things take their true course, I should have been at Marguerite's side hearing her say those sweet words which I had heard on only two occasions, and which now made my ears burn in my loneliness.
The most dreadful part of my predicament was that logic put me in the wrong. Indeed, all the indications were that Marguerite loved me. In the first place, there was her scheme for spending a whole summer alone with me in the country. Then there was the plain fact that there was nothing that obliged her to be my mistress, for the money I had was insufficient for her needs or even her whims. So there was nothing more to it, on her part, than the hope of finding sincere affection through me which would be a relief from the mercenary loves which beset her life. And now, on the second day, I was in the process of blighting that hope and repaying with high-handed irony the two nights of love which I had accepted! What I was doing was therefore worse than ridiculous: it was dishonest. Had I simply paid the woman back in order to have the right to pass judgment on her way of life? And did not withdrawing on the second day make me look like some parasite of love who is afraid he is about to be presented with the bill for his dinner? It was extraordinary! I had known Marguerite for thirty-six hours, I had been her lover for twenty-four of them, and was acting like some easily injured party. Far from being only too delighted that she should divide her affections to include me, I wanted to have her all to myself, I wanted to force her, at a stroke, to put an end to the affairs of her past which, of course, represented the income of her future. What cause had I to reproach her? None. She had written to tell me she was unwell when she could easily have said bluntly, with the appalling frankness of some women, that she was expecting a lover; and instead of going along with her letter, instead of taking a walk in any street in Paris except the rue d'Antin, instead of spending the evening with my friends and presenting myself the next day at the time she had indicated, I was behaving like Othello, spying on her, thinking I was punishing her by not seeing her any more. But quite the reverse: she was probably delighted by this separation and must have thought me supremely inane. Her silence was nothing so grand as rancour: it was contempt.
At this point, I should have given Marguerite some present or other which would have left her in no doubt about my liberality and also allowed me, because I had treated her like any other kept woman, to believe that I had no further obligations towards her. But I felt that with the least hint of trade, I should degrade, if not the love she had for me, then at least the love I had for her; and since this love of mine was so pure that it refused to be shared with others, it was incapable of offering a present, however fine, as payment in full for the happiness, however brief, I had been given.
This is what I kept telling myself over and over that night. I was ready at any moment to go and say it all to Marguerite.
When morning came, I was still awake and feverish. I could not think of anything but Marguerite.
As you will appreciate, I had to decide one way or the other: to have done either with the woman or my scruples ?always assuming, of course, that she would still agree to go on seeing me.
But, as you know, one always puts off taking crucial decisions: as a result, neither able to stay in my rooms nor daring to wait upon Marguerite, I embarked on a course of action that might lead to a reconciliation which, should it succeed, my pride could always blame on chance.
It was nine o'clock. I hurried round to Prudence's. She asked me to what she owed this early call.
I did not dare say openly what brought me. I replied that I had gone out early to book a seat on the coach for C, where my father lived.
'You are very lucky, ' she said, 'to be able to get out of Paris in such marvellous weather.'
I looked hard at Prudence, wondering whether she was laughing at me.
But her face was serious.
'Are you going to say goodbye to Marguerite?' she went on, with the same seriousness.
'No.'
'Very wise.'
'You think so?'
'Of course. Since you've finished with her, what's the point of seeing her again?'
'So you know it's all over?'
'She showed me your letter.'
'And what did she say?'
'She said: "My dear Prudence, your protege has no manners. People compose letters like this in their heads, but no one actually writes them down."'
'And how did she say it?'
'She was laughing. And she also said: "He came to supper twice and now won't even make his party call."'
So this was all the effect my letter and jealous torments had produced! I was cruelly humiliated in my pride of love.
'And what did she do yesterday evening?'
'She went to the Opera.'
'I know. But afterwards?'
'She had supper at home.'
'Alone?'
'With Count de G, I believe.'
So the break I had made had altered nothing in Marguerite's habits.
It is because of moments like this that some people will tell you:
"You shouldn't have given the woman another moment's thought. She clearly didn't love you."
'Ah well, I'm very pleased to see that Marguerite isn't pining for me, ' I went on, with a forced smile.
'And she's absolutely right. You did what you had to. You've been much more sensible than her, for she really loved you. All she did was talk about you, and she might have ended up doing something silly.'
'If she loves me, why didn't she reply?'
'Because she realized that she was wrong to love you. And besides, women will sometimes allow a man to take advantage of their love but not to injure their pride, and a man always injures a woman's pride when two days after becoming her lover, he leaves her, whatever reason he gives for doing so. I know Marguerite; she'd sooner die than give you an answer.'
'What should I do, then?'
'Nothing. She will forget you, you will forget her and neither of you will have anything to reproach each other for.'
'What if I wrote asking her to forgive me?'
'Don't. She would.'
I nearly flung my arms around Prudence.
A quarter of an hour later, I was back in my rooms and writing to Marguerite.
'Someone who repents of a letter which he wrote yesterday, someone who will go away tomorrow if you do not forgive him, wishes to know at what time be may call and lay his repentance at your feet.
When will be find you alone? For, as you know, confessions should always be made without witnesses.'
I folded this kind of madrigal in prose and sent Joseph with it. He handed it to Marguerite herself, and she told him that she would reply later.
I went out only for a moment, to dine, and at eleven in the evening still had no reply.
I resolved that I should suffer no more and leave the next day.
Having made up my mind, knowing that I would not sleep if I went to bed, I began to pack my trunks.