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only four months ago； had been the talk of the town for the luxury and
scandal of her existence。
Alas； we made haste to be happy； as if we knew that we were not to be
happy long。
For two months we had not even been to Paris。 No one came to see us；
except Prudence and Julie Duprat； of whom I have spoken to you； and to
whom Marguerite was afterward to give the touching narrative that I have
there。
I passed whole days at the feet of my mistress。 We opened the
windows upon the garden； and； as we watched the summer ripening in its
flowers and under the shadow of the trees； we breathed together that true
life which neither Marguerite nor I had ever known before。
Her delight in the smallest things was like that of a child。 There were
days when she ran in the garden； like a child of ten； after a butterfly or a
dragon…fly。 This courtesan who had cost more money in bouquets than
would have kept a whole family in comfort； would sometimes sit on the
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grass for an hour； examining the simple flower whose name she bore。
It was at this time that she read Manon Lescaut； over and over again。 I
found her several times making notes in the book； and she always declared
that when a woman loves； she can not do as Manon did。
The duke wrote to her two or three times。 She recognised the writing
and gave me the letters without reading them。 Sometimes the terms of
these letters brought tears to my eyes。 He had imagined that by closing his
purse to Marguerite； he would bring her back to him； but when he had
perceived the uselessness of these means； he could hold out no longer； he
wrote and asked that he might see her again； as before； no matter on what
conditions。
I read these urgent and repeated letters； and tore them in pieces；
without telling Marguerite what they contained and without advising her
to see the old man again； though I was half inclined to； so much did I pity
him； but I was afraid lest； if I so advised her she should think that I wished
the duke； not merely to come and see her again； but to take over the
expenses of the house； I feared； above all； that she might think me capable
of shirking the responsibilities of every consequence to which her love for
me might lead her。
It thus came about that the duke； receiving no reply； ceased to write；
and that Marguerite and I continued to live together without giving a
thought to the future。
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CHAPTER 18
It would be difficult to give you all the details of our new life。 It was
made up of a series of little childish events； charming for us but
insignificant to any one else。 You know what it is to be in love with a
woman； you know how it cuts short the days； and with what loving
listlessness one drifts into the morrow。 You know that forgetfulness of
everything which comes of a violent confident； reciprocated love。 Every
being who is not the beloved one seems a useless being in creation。 One
regrets having cast scraps of one's heart to other women； and one can not
believe in the possibility of ever pressing another hand than that which one
holds between one's hands。 The mind admits neither work nor
remembrance； nothing； in short； which can distract it from the one thought
in which it is ceaselessly absorbed。 Every day one discovers in one's
mistress a new charm and unknown delights。 Existence itself is but the
unceasing accomplishment of an unchanging desire； the soul is but the
vestal charged to feed the sacred fire of love。
We often went at night…time to sit in the little wood above the house；
there we listened to the cheerful harmonies of evening； both of us thinking
of the coming hours which should leave us to one another till the dawn of
day。 At other times we did not get up all day； we did not even let the
sunlight enter our room。
The curtains were hermetically closed； and for a moment the external
world did not exist for us。 Nanine alone had the right to open our door； but
only to bring in our meals and even these we took without getting up；
interrupting them with laughter and gaiety。 To that succeeded a brief sleep；
for； disappearing into the depths of our love； we were like two divers who
only come to the surface to take breath。
Nevertheless； I surprised moments of sadness； even tears； in
Marguerite； I asked her the cause of her trouble； and she answered：
〃Our love is not like other loves； my Armand。 You love me as if I had
never belonged to another； and I tremble lest later on； repenting of your
love； and accusing me of my past； you should let me fall back into that life
from which you have taken me。 I think that now that I have tasted of
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another life； I should die if I went back to the old one。 Tell me that you
will never leave me！〃
〃I swear it！〃
At these words she looked at me as if to read in my eyes whether my
oath was sincere； then flung herself into my arms； and； hiding her head in
my bosom； said to me： 〃You don't know how much I love you！〃
One evening； seated on the balcony outside the window； we looked at
the moon which seemed to rise with difficulty out of its bed of clouds； and
we listened to the wind violently rustling the trees； we held each other's
hands； and for a whole quarter of an hour we had not spoken； when
Marguerite said to me：
〃Winter is at hand。 Would you like for us to go abroad？〃
〃Where？〃
〃To Italy。〃
〃You are tired of here？〃
〃I am afraid of the winter； I am particularly afraid of your return to
Paris。〃
〃Why？〃
〃For many reasons。〃
And she went on abruptly； without giving me her reasons for fears：
〃Will you go abroad？ I will sell all that I have； we will go and live
there； and there will be nothing left of what I was； no one will know who I
am。 Will you？〃
〃By all means； if you like； Marguerite； let us travel；〃 I said。 〃But where
is the necessity of selling things which you will be glad of when we return？
I have not a large enough fortune to accept such a sacrifice； but I have
enough for us to be able to travel splendidly for five or six months； if that
will amuse you the least in the world。〃
〃After all； no；〃 she said； leaving the window and going to sit down on
the sofa at the other end of the room。 〃Why should we spend money
abroad？ I cost you enough already； here。〃
〃You reproach me； Marguerite； it isn't generous。〃
〃Forgive me； my friend；〃 she said； giving me her hand。 〃This thunder
weather gets on my nerves； I do not say what I intend to say。〃
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And after embracing me she fell into a long reverie。
Scenes of this kind often took place； and though I could not discover
their cause； I could not fail to see in Marguerite signs of disquietude in
regard to the future。 She could not doubt my love； which increased day by
day； and yet I often found her sad； without being able to get any
explanation of the reason； except some physical cause。 Fearing that so
monotonous a life was beginning to weary her； I proposed returning to
Paris； but she always refused； assuring me that she could not be so happy
anywhere as in the country。
Prudence now came but rarely； but she often wrote letters which I
never asked to see； though； every time they came； they seemed to
preoccupy Marguerite deeply。 I did not know what to think。
One day Marguerite was in her room。 I entered。 She was writing。 〃To
whom are you writing？〃 I asked。 〃To Prudence。 Do you want to see what I
am writing？〃
I had a horror of anything