Camille (La Dame aux Camilias)

"You swear it?"

"Do I need to swear it?"

How sweet it is to let oneself be persuaded by the voice that one loves!

Marguerite and I spent the whole day in talking over our projects for

the future, as if we felt the need of realizing them as quickly as

possible. At every moment we awaited some event, but the day passed

without bringing us any new tidings.

Next day I left at ten o'clock, and reached the hotel about twelve. My

father had gone out.

I went to my own rooms, hoping that he had perhaps gone there. No one

had called. I went to the solicitor's. No one was there. I went back to

the hotel, and waited till six. M. Duval did not return, and I went back

to Bougival.

I found Marguerite not waiting for me, as she had been the day before,

but sitting by the fire, which the weather still made necessary. She was

so absorbed in her thoughts that I came close to her chair without her

hearing me. When I put my lips to her forehead she started as if the

kiss had suddenly awakened her.

"You frightened me," she said. "And your father?"

"I have not seen him. I do not know what it means. He was not at his

hotel, nor anywhere where there was a chance of my finding him."

"Well, you must try again to-morrow."

"I am very much inclined to wait till he sends for me. I think I have

done all that can be expected of me."

"No, my friend, it is not enough; you must call on your father again,

and you must call to-morrow."

"Why to-morrow rather than any other day?"

"Because," said Marguerite, and it seemed to me that she blushed

slightly at this question, "because it will show that you are the more

keen about it, and he will forgive us the sooner."

For the remainder of the day Marguerite was sad and preoccupied. I had

to repeat twice over everything I said to her to obtain an answer. She

ascribed this preoccupation to her anxiety in regard to the events which

had happened during the last two days. I spent the night in reassuring

her, and she sent me away in the morning with an insistent disquietude

that I could not explain to myself.

Again my father was absent, but he had left this letter for me: "If you call again to-day, wait for me till four. If I am not in by

four, come and dine with me to-morrow. I must see you."