Camille (La Dame aux Camilias)

I did not sleep on the way to Paris. Once there, what was I going to

do? I did not know; I only knew that it must be something connected with

Marguerite. I went to my rooms to change my clothes, and, as the weather

was fine and it was still early, I made my way to the Champs-Elysees. At

the end of half an hour I saw Marguerite's carriage, at some distance,

coming from the Rond-Point to the Place de la Concorde. She had

repurchased her horses, for the carriage was just as I was accustomed

to see it, but she was not in it. Scarcely had I noticed this fact, when

looking around me, I saw Marguerite on foot, accompanied by a woman whom

I had never seen.

As she passed me she turned pale, and a nervous smile tightened about

her lips. For my part, my heart beat violently in my breast; but I

succeeded in giving a cold expression to my face, as I bowed coldly to

my former mistress, who just then reached her carriage, into which she

got with her friend.

I knew Marguerite: this unexpected meeting must certainly have upset

her. No doubt she had heard that I had gone away, and had thus been

reassured as to the consequences of our rupture; but, seeing me again

in Paris, finding herself face to face with me, pale as I was, she must

have realized that I had not returned without purpose, and she must have

asked herself what that purpose was.

If I had seen Marguerite unhappy, if, in revenging myself upon her,

I could have come to her aid, I should perhaps have forgiven her, and

certainly I should have never dreamt of doing her an injury. But I found

her apparently happy, some one else had restored to her the luxury which

I could not give her; her breaking with me seemed to assume a character

of the basest self-interest; I was lowered in my own esteem as well as

in my love. I resolved that she should pay for what I had suffered.

I could not be indifferent to what she did, consequently what would hurt

her the most would be my indifference; it was, therefore, this sentiment

which I must affect, not only in her eyes, but in the eyes of others.

I tried to put on a smiling countenance, and I went to call on

Prudence. The maid announced me, and I had to wait a few minutes in

the drawing-room. At last Mme. Duvernoy appeared and asked me into her

boudoir; as I seated myself I heard the drawing-room door open, a light

footstep made the floor creak and the front door was closed violently.