Camille (La Dame aux Camilias)

It seemed to me as if the train did not move. I reached Bougival at

eleven.

Not a window in the house was lighted up, and when I rang no one

answered the bell. It was the first time that such a thing had occurred

to me. At last the gardener came. I entered. Nanine met me with a light.

I went to Marguerite's room.

"Where is madame?"

"Gone to Paris," replied Nanine.

"To Paris!"

"Yes, sir."

"When?"

"An hour after you."

"She left no word for me?"

"Nothing."

Nanine left me.

Perhaps she had some suspicion or other, I thought, and went to Paris

to make sure that my visit to my father was not an excuse for a day

off. Perhaps Prudence wrote to her about something important. I said to

myself when I was alone; but I saw Prudence; she said nothing to make me

suppose that she had written to Marguerite.

All at once I remembered Mme. Duvernoy's question, "Isn't she coming

to-day?" when I had said that Marguerite was ill. I remembered at the

same time how embarrassed Prudence had appeared when I looked at

her after this remark, which seemed to indicate an appointment. I

remembered, too, Marguerite's tears all day long, which my father's

kind reception had rather put out of my mind. From this moment all the

incidents grouped themselves about my first suspicion, and fixed it so

firmly in my mind that everything served to confirm it, even my father's

kindness.

Marguerite had almost insisted on my going to Paris; she had pretended

to be calmer when I had proposed staying with her. Had I fallen into

some trap? Was Marguerite deceiving me? Had she counted on being back

in time for me not to perceive her absence, and had she been detained by

chance? Why had she said nothing to Nanine, or why had she not written?

What was the meaning of those tears, this absence, this mystery?

That is what I asked myself in affright, as I stood in the vacant room,

gazing at the clock, which pointed to midnight, and seemed to say to me

that it was too late to hope for my mistress's return. Yet, after all

the arrangements we had just made, after the sacrifices that had been

offered and accepted, was it likely that she was deceiving me? No. I

tried to get rid of my first supposition.

Probably she had found a purchaser for her furniture, and she had

gone to Paris to conclude the bargain. She did not wish to tell me

beforehand, for she knew that, though I had consented to it, the sale,

so necessary to our future happiness, was painful to me, and she feared

to wound my self-respect in speaking to me about it. She would rather

not see me till the whole thing was done, and that was evidently why

Prudence was expecting her when she let out the secret. Marguerite could

not finish the whole business to-day, and was staying the night with

Prudence, or perhaps she would come even now, for she must know bow

anxious I should be, and would not wish to leave me in that condition.

But, if so, why those tears? No doubt, despite her love for me, the poor

girl could not make up her mind to give up all the luxury in which

she had lived until now, and for which she had been so envied, without

crying over it. I was quite ready to forgive her for such regrets. I

waited for her impatiently, that I might say to her, as I covered her

with kisses, that I had guessed the reason of her mysterious absence.