阿尔芒的长篇叙述，经常因为流泪而中断。他讲得很累，把玛格丽特亲手写的几页日记交给我以后，他就双手捂着额头，闭上了眼睛，可能是在凝思，也可能是想睡一会儿。
过了一会儿，我听到他发出了一阵比较急促的呼吸声，这说明阿尔芒已经睡着了，但是睡得不那么熟，一点轻微的声音就会把他惊醒的。
下面就是我看到的内容，我一字不改地抄录了下来：
今天是十二月十五日，我已经病了三四天了。今天早晨我躺在床上，天色阴沉，我心情忧郁；我身边一个人也没有，我在想您，阿尔芒。而您呢，我在写这几行字的时候，您在哪里啊？有人告诉我说，您在离巴黎很远很远的地方，也许您已经忘记了玛格丽特。总之，愿您幸福，我一生中仅有的一些欢乐时刻是您给我的。
我再也忍不住了，我要把我过去的行为给您作一番解释，我已经给您写过一封信了，但是一封由我这样一个姑娘写的信，很可能被看作是满纸谎言；除非我死了，由于死亡的权威而使这封信神圣化；除非这不是一封普通的信，而是一份忏悔书，才会有人相信。
今天我病了，我可能就此一病至死。因为我一直预感到我的寿命不会太长了。我母亲是生肺病死的，这种病是她留给我的唯一遗产；而我那一贯的生活方式只会使我的病加重。我不愿意悄悄死去而不让您弄清楚关于我的一切事情，万一您回来的时候，您还在留恋那个您离开以前爱过的那个可怜姑娘的话。
以下就是这封信的内容，为了给我的辩解提供一个新的证明，我是非常高兴把它再写一遍的。
阿尔芒，您还记得吗？在布吉瓦尔的时候，您父亲到来的消息是怎样把我们吓了一跳的吧；您还记得您父亲的到来引起我不由自主的恐惧吧；您还记得您在当天晚上讲给我听的关于您和他之间发生的事情吧。
第二天，当您还在巴黎等着您父亲、可是总不见他回来的时候，一个男子来到我家里，交给我一封迪瓦尔先生的来信。
这封信我现在附在这里，它措辞极其严肃地要求我第二天借故把您遣开，以便接待您的父亲；您父亲有话要和我谈，他特别叮嘱我一点也不要把他的举动讲给您听。
您还记得在您回来以后，我是怎样坚持要您第二天再到巴黎去的吧。
您走了一个小时以后，您父亲就来了。他严峻的脸色给我的印象也不用我对您多说了。您父亲满脑子都是旧观念，他认为凡是妓女都是一些没有心肝、没有理性的生物，她们是一架榨钱的机器，就像钢铁铸成的机器一样，随时随地都会把递东西给它的手压断，毫不留情、不分好歹地粉碎保养它和驱使它的人。
您父亲为了要我同意接待他，写了一封很得体的信给我；但他来了以后却不像他信上所写的那样客气。谈话开始的时候，他盛气凌人，傲慢无礼，甚至还带着威胁的口吻，以致我不得不让他明白这是在我的家里，要不是为了我对他的儿子有真挚的感情，我才没有必要向他报告我的私生活呢。
迪瓦尔先生稍许平静了一些，不过他还是对我说他不能再听任他儿子为我弄得倾家荡产。他说我长得漂亮，这是事实，但是不论我怎么漂亮，也不应该凭借我的姿色去挥霍无度，去牺牲一个年轻人的前途。
对这个问题只能用一件事来回答，是不是？我只有提出证据说明，自从我成为您的情妇以来，为了对您保持忠实，而又不再向您要求过超出您经济能力的钱财，我不惜作出了一切牺牲。我拿出当票来给他看，有些我不能典当的东西我卖掉了，我把买主的收条给他看，我还告诉您父亲，为了跟您同居而又不要成为您一个过重的负担，我已经决定变卖我的家具来还债。我把我们的幸福，您对我讲过的一个比较平静和比较幸福的生活讲给他听，他终于明白了，把手伸向我，要我原谅他开始时对我耍的态度。
接着他对我说：“那么，夫人，这样的话我就不是用指责和威胁，而是用请求来请您作出一种牺牲，这种牺牲比您已经为我儿子所作的牺牲还要大。”
我一听这个开场白就全身颤抖。
您父亲向我走来，握住我两只手，亲切地接着说：
“我的孩子，请您别把我就要跟您讲的话往坏的方面想；不过您要懂得生活对于心灵有时是残酷的，但这是一种需要，所以必须忍受。您心地好，您的灵魂里有很多善良的想法是一般女人所没有的，她们也许看不起您，但却及不上您。不过请您想一想，一个人除了情妇之外还有家庭；除了爱情之外还有责任；要想到一个人在生活中经过了充满激情的阶段以后就到了需要受人尊敬的阶段，这就需要有一个稳固的靠得住的地位。我儿子没有财产，然而他准备把他从母亲那里继承来的财产过户给您。如果他接受了您即将作出的牺牲，他也许出于荣誉和尊严就要把他这笔财产给您作为报答。您有了这笔财产，生活就永远不会受苦。但是您的这种牺牲他不能接受，因为社会不了解您，人们会以为同意接受您的牺牲可能出自于一个不光彩的原因，以致玷辱我家的门楣。人们可不管阿尔芒是不是爱您，您是不是爱他；人们可不管这种相互之间的爱情对他是不是一种幸福，对您是不是说明在重新做人；人们只看到一件事，就是阿尔芒·迪瓦尔竟然能容忍一个妓女，我的孩子，请原谅我不得不对您说的这些话，容忍一个妓女为了他而把所有的东西统统卖掉。往后的日子就是埋怨和懊悔，相信这句话吧，对您和别人都一样，你们两个人就套上了一条你们永远不能砸碎的锁链。那时候你们怎么办呢？你们的青春将要消逝，我儿子的前途将被断送；而我，他的父亲，我原来等待着两个孩子的报答，却只能有一个孩子来报答我了。
“您年轻漂亮，生活会给您安慰的；您是高贵的，做一件好事可以赎清您很多过去的罪过。阿尔芒认识您才六个月，他就忘记了我。我给他写了四封信，他一次也没有想到写回信给我，也许我死了他还不知道呢！
“阿尔芒是那么爱您，不管您怎样下决心今后不再像过去那样生活，他也决不会因他的景况不佳而让您过苦日子的，而清苦生活跟您的美貌是不相称的。到那时候，谁知道他会干出些什么事来！我知道他已经在赌钱了，我也知道他没有对您讲过；但是他很可能在感情冲动的时候，把我多年积蓄起来的钱输掉一部分。这些钱是为了替我女儿置嫁妆，也是为了阿尔芒，也是为了我老来能有一个安静的晚年而储存起来的，还得准备对付其他可能发生的意外事情。
“再说您是不是可以肯定您再也不会留恋为了他而抛弃的那种生活呢？您过去是爱他的，您是不是能肯定以后决不再爱别人呢？随着年龄的增长，如果爱情的梦想让位于对事业的勃勃雄心，你们的关系就会给您情人的生活带来某些您可能无法逾越的障碍，到那时候，难道您不觉得痛苦吗？夫人，这一切您要考虑考虑，您爱阿尔芒，您就只能用这个方式向他证明您的爱情：为他的前途而牺牲您的爱情。现在还没有发生什么不幸的事，但是以后会发生的，可能比我预料的还要糟。阿尔芒可能会嫉妒一个曾经爱过您的人，他会向他挑衅，会和他决斗，最后他还会被杀死。您想想，到那时候，在我面前，在这个要求您为他儿子生命负责的父亲面前，您将会感到多么痛苦啊！
“总之，我的孩子，把一切全告诉了您吧，因为我还没有把一切全说出来，要知道我是为什么到巴黎来的，我有一个女儿，我刚才跟您提到过她，她年轻漂亮，像一个天使那样纯洁。她在恋爱，她同样也在把这种爱情当作她一生的美梦。我把这一切都写信告诉阿尔芒了，但是他的全部心思都在您身上，他没有给我写回信。现在我的女儿快要结婚了，她要嫁给她心爱的男人，她要走进一个体面的家庭，这个家庭希望能门当户对。我未来的女婿家庭知道了阿尔芒在巴黎的行为，向我宣称，如果阿尔芒继续这样生活下去，他们将收回前言。一个女孩子的前途就掌握在您手里了，她可从来没有冒犯过您啊，而且她是应该有一个美好的未来的。
“您有权利去破坏她未来的美好生活吗？您下得了手吗？既然您爱阿尔芒，既然您痛悔前非，玛格丽特，把我女儿的幸福给我吧。”
我的朋友，面对这些过去我也曾反复考虑过的情况，我只能吞声饮泣，而且这些事情出自于您父亲嘴里，这就更加证明了它们是非常现实的。我心里想着所有那些您父亲已经多次到了嘴边，但又不敢对我讲的话：我只不过是一个妓女，不管我讲得多么有理，这种关系看起来总是像一种自私的打算；我过去的生活已经使我没有权利来梦想这样的未来，那么我必须对我的习惯和名誉所造成的后果承担责任。总之，我爱您，阿尔芒。迪瓦尔先生对我像父亲般的态度，我对他产生了纯洁的感情，我就要赢得的这个正直的老人对我的尊敬，我相信以后也必定会得到的您对我的尊敬，所有这一切都在我心里激起了一个崇高的思想，这些思想使我在自己心目中变得有了价值，并使我产生了一种从未有过的圣洁的自豪感。当我想到这个为了他儿子的前途而向我恳求的老年人，有一天会告诉他女儿要把我的名字当作一个神秘的朋友的名字来祈祷，我的思想境界就与过去截然不同了，我的内心充满了骄傲。
一时的狂热可能夸大了这些印象的真实性，但这就是我当时的真实想法。朋友，对和您一起度过的幸福日子的回忆也在从另一边劝我，但有了这些新的感情以后，我也就顾不上这些劝告了。
“好吧，先生，”我抹着眼泪对您父亲说，“您相信我爱您的儿子吗？”
“相信的。”迪瓦尔先生说。
“是一种无私的爱情吗？”
“是的。”
“我曾经把这种爱情看作我生活的希望，梦想和安慰。您相信吗？”
“完全相信。”
“那么先生，就像吻您女儿那样地吻我吧，我向您发誓。这个我所得到的唯一真正纯洁的吻会给我战胜爱情的力量，一个星期以内，您儿子就会回到您身边，他可能会难受一个时期，但他从此就得救了。”
“您是一位高贵的姑娘。”您父亲吻着我的前额说，“您要做的是一件天主也会赞许的事，但是我很怕您对我儿子将毫无办法。”
“喔，请放心，先生，他会恨我的。”
我们之间必须有一道不可逾越的障碍，为了我，也为了您。
我写信给普律当丝，告诉她我接受了N伯爵先生的要求，要她去对伯爵说，我将和他们两人一起吃夜宵。
我封好信，也不跟您父亲说里面写了些什么，我请他到巴黎以后叫人把这封信按地址送去。
不过他还是问我信里写了些什么？
“写的是您儿子的幸福。”我回答他说。
您父亲最后又吻了我一次。我感到有两滴感激的泪珠滴落在我的前额上，这两滴泪珠就像对我过去所犯的错误的洗礼。就在我刚才同意委身于另一个男人的时候，一想到用这个新的错误所赎回的东西时我自豪得满脸生光。
这是非常自然的，阿尔芒；您曾经跟我讲过您父亲是世界上最正直的人。
迪瓦尔先生坐上马车走了。
可我毕竟是个女人，当我重新看见您时，我忍不住哭了，但是我没有动摇。
今天我病倒在床上，也许要到死才能离开这张床。我心里在想：“我做得对吗？”
当我们不得不离别的时刻越来越近时，我的感受您是亲眼看到的。您父亲已经不在那里，没有人支持我了。一想到您要恨我，要看不起我，我有多么惊慌啊，有一忽儿我几乎要把一切都说给您听了。
有一件事您可能不会相信，阿尔芒，这就是我请求天主给我力量。天主赐给了我向他祈求的力量，这就证明了他接受了我的牺牲。
在那次吃夜宵的时候，我还是需要有人帮助，因为我不愿意知道我要做些什么，我多么怕我会失掉勇气啊！
有谁会相信我，玛格丽特·戈蒂埃，在想到又要有一个新情人的时候，竟然会如此的悲伤？
为了忘却一切，我喝了好多酒，第二天醒来时我睡在伯爵的床上。
这就是全部事实真相，朋友，请您评判吧。原谅我吧，就像我已经原谅了您从那天起所给我的一切苦难一样。
ARMAND, wearied by the telling of his long tale which had been frequently interrupted by his tears, placed both hands on his forehead and closed his eyes? either to think or to try to sleep? after giving me the pages written in Marguerite's hand.
Moments later, a slight quickening in his breathing told me that Armand had been overcome by sleep, but sleep of that shallow kind which the least sound will scatter.
This is what I read. I transcribe it without adding or deleting a single syllable:
'Today is the 15th December. I have been ill for three or four days. This morning, I took to my bed; the weather is dull and I feel low. There is no one with me here. I think of you, Armand. And you, where are you now as I write these lines? Far from Paris, far away, I've heard, and perhaps you have already forgotten Marguerite. But be happy, for I owe you the only moments of joy I have known in my life.
I could not resist the temptation of wanting to explain why I behaved as I did, and I wrote you a letter. But, coming from a loose woman like me, any such letter may be regarded as a tissue of lies unless it is sanctified by the authority of death, in which case it becomes a confession rather than a letter.
Today I am ill. I may die of my illness, for I always had a feeling that I would die young. My mother died of consumption, and the way I have lived up to now can only have aggravated a complaint which was the only legacy she left me. But I do not want do die without your knowing how you stand with me ?if, that is, when you get back, you still feel anything for the sorry creature you loved before you went away.
Here is what was in that letter which I shall be happy to write out again, for in so doing I shall convince myself anew that I am vindicated.
You remember, Armand, how startled we were at Bougival by the news of your father's arrival; you recall the blind terror his coming prompted in me, and the scene that took place between the two of you which you described to me that evening.
The next day, while you were in Paris waiting for your father who never came back, a man came to the house and handed me a letter from Monsieur Duval.
The letter, which I enclose with this, begged me, in the gravest terms, to find an excuse for getting you out of the way the following day, and to agree to a visit from your father. He had something to say to me, and was most particular that I should say nothing to you about the step he had taken.
You recall how insistent I was, when you got back, that you should return to Paris again the next day.
You had been gone an hour when your father arrived to see me. I will spare you an account of what I felt when I saw the stern expression on his face. Your father believed implicitly in the conventional truths according to which every courtesan is a heartless, mindless creature, a kind of gold-grabbing machine always ready, like any other machine, to mangle the hand that feeds it and crush, pitilessly, blindly, the very person who gives it life and movement.
Your father had written me a very proper letter to persuade me to see him; when he came, his manner was somewhat at variance with the way he had written. There were enough slights, insults and even open threats in his opening words for me to give him to understand that he was in my house, and that the only account of my life I owed him was dictated by the genuine affection I felt for his son.
Monsieur Duval moderated his tone a little, yet even so he began saying that he could no longer permit his son to go on ruining himself for me. He said I was beautiful, there was no denying it, but however beautiful I was, I ought not to use my beauty to destroy the future of a young man by expecting him to foot the bill for my extravagance.
Now there was only one way of answering that, was there not? and that was to prove that all the time I had been your mistress, no sacrifice had been too great for me to make so that I could remain faithful to you without asking for more money than you could afford to let me have. I showed the pawn-tickets, the receipts given me by people to whom I had sold items I could not pawn; I told your father that I had decided to get rid of my furniture to pay my debts, and that I was determined to live with you without being a drain on your purse. I told him how happy we were. I told him how you had shown me a more tranquil, happier kind of life and, in the end, he conceded that he was in the wrong, and he gave me his hand, asking my pardon for the manner in which he had behaved at first.
Then he said:
"In that case, madame, it shall not be with remonstrations and threats, but with humble entreaties that I must try to persuade you to make a sacrifice greater than any you have so far made for my son."
I trembled at these preliminaries.
Your father drew closer to me, took both my hands in his and, in a kindly voice, went on:
"Child, you are not to take amiss what I am about to say to you. Please understand that life sometimes places cruel constraints upon our hearts, but submit we must. You are good, and you have generous qualities of soul unknown to many women who may despise you but are not to be compared with you. But reflect that mistresses are one thing and the family quite another; that beyond love lie duties; that after the age of passion comes the time when a man who wishes to be respected needs to be securely placed in a responsible station in life. My son's means are slender, and yet he is prepared to make over all his mother left him to you. If he accepts the sacrifice which you are about to make, then his honour and dignity require that, in return, he would relinquish his legacy which you would always have to fall back on should things go hard. But he cannot accept your sacrifice, because people, who do not know you, would misinterpret his acceptance which must not be allowed to reflect on the name we bear. People would not bother their heads about whether Armand loved you, whether you loved him or whether the love you have for each other meant happiness for him and rehabilitation for you. They would see only one thing, which is that Armand Duval had allowed a kept woman ?forgive me, child, the things I am obliged to say to you ?to sell everything she possessed for his sake. Then the day of reproaches and regrets would dawn, you can be sure of it, for you both just as it would for them, and the pair of you would have a chain around your necks which you could never break. What would you do then? Your youth would be gone, and my son's future would have been destroyed. And I, his father, would have received from only one of my children the return to which I look forward from both of them.
"You are young, you are beautiful: life will heal your wounds. You have a noble heart, and the memory of a good deed done will redeem many past actions. During the six months he has known you, Armand has forgotten all about me. Four times I have written letters to him, and not once has he answered. I could have been dead for all he knew!
"However determined you are to lead a different kind of existence, Armand, who loves you, will never agree to the retiring life which his modest means would force you to live, for seclusion is no state for beauty like yours. Who knows what he might do! He has already taken to gambling once, as I discovered, and without saying anything to you, as I further discovered. But in a wild moment, he could easily have lost part of what I have been putting aside this many a year for my daughter's dowry, for him, and for the peace of my old age. What might have happened once might still happen.
"Besides, can you be sure that the life you'd be giving up for him would never attract you again? Are you certain that, having fallen in love with him, you would never fall in love with anyone else? And, not least, will you not suffer when you see what limitations your affair will set upon your lover's life? You may not be able to console him as he grows older if thoughts of ambition follow the dream of love. Reflect on all these matters, madame. You love Armand. Prove to him in the only way now open to you ?by sacrificing your love to his future. Nothing untoward has happened thus far, but it will, and it may be much worse than I anticipate. Armand may become jealous of some man who once loved you; he may challenge him to a duel, he may fight, he may even be killed, and consider then what you would suffer as you stood before a father who would hold you accountable for the life of his son.
"Finally, child, you should know the rest, for I have not told you everything: let me explain my reason for coming to Paris. I have a daughter, as I have just said. She is young, beautiful and pure as an angel. She is in love, and she too has made love the dream of her life. I did write and tell Amand all about it, but, having thoughts for no one but you, he never replied. Well, my daughter is about to be married. As the wife of the man she loves, she will enter a respectable family which requires that there should be nothing dishonourable in my house. The family of the man who is to be my son-in-law has discovered how Armand has been living in Paris, and has declared that the arrangement will be cancelled if Armand continues to live as he does at present. The future of a child of mine who has never harmed you and has every right to look forward to life with confidence, is now in your hands.
"Do you have the right to destroy her future? Are you strong enough to? In the name of your love and your repentance, Marguerite, give me my daughter's happiness."
I wept in silence, my dear, as I listened to all these considerations which had already occurred to me many times, for now, on your father's lips, they seemed even more pressing and real. I told myself all the things your father dared not say, though they had often been on the tip of his tongue: that I was, when all was said and done, nothing but a kept woman, and whatever I said to justify our affair would sound calculating; that my past life did not qualify me to dream of the future; and that I was taking on responsibilities for which my habits and reputation offered absolutely no guarantee. The truth was that I loved you, Armand. The fatherly way in which Monsieur Duval spoke, the pure feelings he aroused in me, the good opinion of this upright old man which I should acquire, and your esteem which I was certain I would have some day, all these things awoke noble thoughts in my heart which raised me in my own estimation and gave a voice to a kind of sacred self- respect which I had never felt before. When I thought that this old man, now begging me for his son's future, would some day tell his daughter to include my name in her prayers, as that of a mysterious benefactress, I was transformed and looked on myself with pride.
In the heat of the moment, the truth of what I felt may perhaps have been exaggerated. But that is what I felt, my dear, and these unaccustomed feelings silence counsels prompted by the memory of happy times spent with you.
"Very well," I said to your father as I wiped away my tears. "Do you believe that I love your son?"
"Yes,"said Monsieur Duval.
"That money does not come into it?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe that I had made this love of mine the hope, the dream of my life, and its redemption?"
"Absolutely.
"Well, Monsieur Duval, kiss me once as you would kiss your daughter, and I will swear to you that your touch, the only truly chaste embrace I ever received, will make me stand strong against my love. I swear that within a week, your son will be back with you, unhappy for a time perhaps, but cured for good."
"You are a noble-hearted young woman," your father replied, as he kissed my forehead, "and you are taking upon yourself a task which God will not overlook. Yet I fear that you will not change my son's mind."
"Do not trouble yourself on that score, Monsieur Duval: he will hate me."
A barrier had to be erected between us which neither of us would be able to cross.
I wrote to Prudence saying that I accepted Count de N's proposition, and said that she could go and tell him I would have supper with them both.
I sealed the letter and, saying nothing of what it contained, I asked your father to see that it was delivered the moment he got back to Paris.
Even so, he enquired what was in it.
"Your son's happiness,"I answered.
Your father embraced me one last time. On my forehead, I felt two tears of gratitude which were, so to speak, the waters of baptism which washed away my former sins and, even as I consented to give myself to another man, I shone with pride at the thought of everything that this new sin would redeem.
It was all quite natural, Armand. You once told me your father was the most upright man anyone could hope to meet.
Monsieur Duval got into his carriage and drove off.
Yet I was a woman, and when I saw you again, I could not help weeping. But I did not weaken.
Was I right? That is the question I ask myself today when illness forces me to take to my bed which I shall perhaps leave only when I am dead.
You yourself witnessed all that I suffered as the time for our inevitable separation drew near. Your father was not there to see me through, and there was a moment when I came very near to telling you everything, so appalling was the idea that you would hate and despise me.
One thing that you will perhaps not believe, Armand, is that I prayed to God to give me strength. The proof that He accepted my sacrifice is that He gave me the strength I begged for.
During the supper party, I still needed His help, for I could not bring myself to face what I was about to do, such was my fear that my courage would fail me!
Who would ever have told me that I, Marguerite Gautier, would be made to suffer such torment by the simple prospect of having a new lover?
I drank to forget, and when I woke next morning, I was in the Count's bed.
This is the whole truth, my dear. Judge now, and forgive me, as I have forgiven all the hurt you have done me since that day.'