camille-第39节

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By　the　help　of　this　fable；　which　Mme。　Duvernoy　repeated　everywhere　in　order　to　account　for　her　money　difficulties；　she　extracted　a　note　for　a　thousand　francs　from　Armand；　who　did　not　believe　it；　but　who　pretended　to；　out　of　respect　for　all　those　in　whose　company　Marguerite　had　lived。

Then　we　called　on　Julie　Duprat；　who　told　us　the　sad　incident　which　she　had　witnessed；　shedding　real　tears　at　the　remembrance　of　her　friend。

Lastly；　we　went　to　Marguerite's　grave；　on　which　the　first　rays　of　the　April　sun　were　bringing　the　first　leaves　into　bud。

One　duty　remained　to　Armandto　return　to　his　father。　He　wished　me　to　accompany　him。

We　arrived　at　C。；　where　I　saw　M。　Duval；　such　as　I　had　imagined　him　from　the　portrait　his　son　had　made　of　him；　tall；　dignified；　kindly。

He　welcomed　Armand　with　tears　of　joy；　and　clasped　my　hand　affectionately。　I　was　not　long　in　seeing　that　the　paternal　sentiment　was　that　which　dominated　all　others　in　his　mind。

His　daughter；　named　Blanche；　had　that　transparence　of　eyes；　that　serenity　of　the　mouth；　which　indicates　a　soul　that　conceives　only　holy　thoughts　and　lips　that　repeat　only　pious　words。　She　welcomed　her　brother's　return　with　smiles；　not　knowing；　in　the　purity　of　her　youth；　that　far　away　a　courtesan　had　sacrificed　her　own　happiness　at　the　mere　invocation　of　her　name。

I　remained　for　some　time　in　their　happy　family；　full　of　indulgent　care　for　one　who　brought　them　the　convalescence　of　his　heart。

I　returned　to　Paris；　where　I　wrote　this　story　just　as　it　had　been　told　me。　It　has　only　one　merit；　which　will　perhaps　be　denied　it；　that　is；　that　it　is　true。

I　do　not　draw　from　this　story　the　conclusion　that　all　women　like　Marguerite　are　capable　of　doing　all　that　she　didfar　from　it；　but　I　have　discovered　that　one　of　them　experienced　a　serious　love　in　the　course　of　her　life；　that　she　suffered　for　it；　and　that　she　died　of　it。　I　have　told　the　reader　all　that　I　learned。　It　was　my　duty。

I　am　not　the　apostle　of　vice；　but　I　would　gladly　be　the　echo　of　noble　sorrow　wherever　I　bear　its　voice　in　prayer。

The　story　of　Marguerite　is　an　exception；　I　repeat；　had　it　not　been　an　exception；　it　would　not　have　been　worth　the　trouble　of　writing　it。　







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