"Now understand," said Marguerite, "you are always to say to that idiot that I am not in, or that I will not see him. I am tired out with seeing people who always want the same thing; who pay me for it, and then think they are quit of me. If those who are going to go in for our hateful business only knew what it really was they would sooner be chambermaids. But no, vanity, the desire of having dresses and carriages and diamonds carries us away; one believes what one hears, for here, as elsewhere, there is such a thing as belief, and one uses up one's heart, one's body, one's beauty, little by little; one is feared like a beast of prey, scorned like a pariah, surrounded by people who always take more than they give; and one fine day one dies like a dog in a ditch, after having ruined others and ruined one's self.""Come, come, madame, be calm," said Nanine; "your nerves are a bit upset to-night.""This dress worries me," continued Marguerite, unhooking her bodice; "give me a dressing-gown. Well, and Prudence?""She has not come yet, but I will send her to you, madame, the moment she comes.""There's one, now," Marguerite went on, as she took off her dress and put on a white dressing-gown, "there's one who knows very well how to find me when she is in want of me, and yet she can't do me a service decently. She knows I am waiting for an answer.
She knows how anxious I am, and I am sure she is going about on her own account, without giving a thought to me.""Perhaps she had to wait."
"Let us have some punch."
"It will do you no good, madame," said Nanine.
"So much the better. Bring some fruit, too, and a pate or a wing of chicken; something or other, at once. I am hungry."Need I tell you the impression which this scene made upon me, or can you not imagine it?
"You are going to have supper with me," she said to me;"meanwhile, take a book. I am going into my dressing-room for a moment."She lit the candles of a candelabra, opened a door at the foot of the bed, and disappeared.
I began to think over this poor girl's life, and my love for her was mingled with a great pity. I walked to and fro in the room, thinking over things, when Prudence entered.
"Ah, you here?"' she said, "where is Marguerite?""In her dressing-room."
"I will wait. By the way, do you know she thinks you charming?""No."
"She hasn't told you?"
"Not at all."
"How are you here?"
"I have come to pay her a visit."
"At midnight?"
"Why not?"
"Farceur!"
"She has received me, as a matter of fact, very badly.""She will receive you better by and bye.""Do you think so?"
"I have some good news for her."
"No harm in that. So she has spoken to you about me?""Last night, or rather to-night, when you and your friend went.
By the way, what is your friend called? Gaston R., his name is, isn't it?""Yes," said I, not without smiling, as I thought of what Gaston had confided to me, and saw that Prudence scarcely even knew his name.
"He is quite nice, that fellow; what does he do?""He has twenty-five thousand francs a year.""Ah, indeed! Well, to return to you. Marguerite asked me all about you: who you were, what you did, what mistresses you had had; in short, everything that one could ask about a man of your age. I told her all I knew, and added that you were a charming young man. That's all.""Thanks. Now tell me what it was she wanted to say to you last night.""Nothing at all. It was only to get rid of the count; but I have really something to see her about to-day, and I am bringing her an answer now."At this moment Marguerite reappeared from her dressing-room, wearing a coquettish little nightcap with bunches of yellow ribbons, technically known as "cabbages." She looked ravishing.
She had satin slippers on her bare feet, and was in the act of polishing her nails.
"Well," she said, seeing Prudence, "have you seen the duke?""Yes, indeed."
"And what did he say to you?"
"He gave me--"
"How much?"
"Six thousand."
"Have you got it?"
"Yes.
"Did he seem put out?"
"No."
"Poor man!"
This "Poor man!" was said in a tone impossible to render.
Marguerite took the six notes of a thousand francs.
"It was quite time," she said. "My dear Prudence, are you in want of any money?""You know, my child, it is the 15th in a couple of days, so if you could lend me three or four hundred francs, you would do me a real service.""Send over to-morrow; it is too late to get change now.""Don't forget."
"No fear. Will you have supper with us?"
"No, Charles is waiting for me."
"You are still devoted to him?"
"Crazy, my dear! I will see you to-morrow. Good-bye, Armand."Mme. Duvernoy went out.
Marguerite opened the drawer of a side-table and threw the bank-notes into it.
"Will you permit me to get into bed?" she said with a smile, as she moved toward the bed.
"Not only permit, but I beg of you."
She turned back the covering and got into bed.
"Now," said she, "come and sit down by me, and let's have a talk."Prudence was right: the answer that she had brought to Marguerite had put her into a good humour.
"Will you forgive me for my bad temper tonight?" she said, taking my hand.
"I am ready to forgive you as often as you like.""And you love me?"
"Madly."
"In spite of my bad disposition?"
"In spite of all."
"You swear it?"
"Yes," I said in a whisper.
Nanine entered, carrying plates, a cold chicken, a bottle of claret, and some strawberries.
"I haven't had any punch made," said Nanine; "claret is better for you. Isn't it, sir?""Certainly," I replied, still under the excitement of Marguerite's last words, my eyes fixed ardently upon her.
"Good," said she; "put it all on the little table, and draw it up to the bed; we will help ourselves. This is the third night you have sat up, and you must be in want of sleep. Go to bed. I don't want anything more.""Shall I lock the door?"
"I should think so! And above all, tell them not to admit anybody before midday."
