You had only been gone an hour when your father presented himself. I
won't say what impression his severe face made upon me. Your father had
the old theory that a courtesan is a being without heart or reason, a
sort of machine for coining gold, always ready, like the machine,
to bruise the hand that gives her everything, and to tear in pieces,
without pity or discernment, those who set her in motion.
Your father had written me a very polite letter, in order that I might
consent to see him; he did not present himself quite as he had written.
His manner at first was so stiff, insolent, and even threatening, that I
had to make him understand that I was in my own house, and that I had no
need to render him an account of my life, except because of the sincere
affection which I had for his son.
M. Duval calmed down a little, but still went on to say that he could
not any longer allow his son to ruin himself over me; that I was
beautiful, it was true, but, however beautiful I might be, I ought not
to make use of my beauty to spoil the future of a young man by such
expenditure as I was causing.
At that there was only one thing to do, to show him the proof that since
I was your mistress I had spared no sacrifice to be faithful to you
without asking for more money than you had to give me. I showed him the
pawn tickets, the receipts of the people to whom I had sold what I could
not pawn; I told him of my resolve to part with my furniture in order
to pay my debts, and live with you without being a too heavy expense. I
told him of our happiness, of how you had shown me the possibility of
a quieter and happier life, and he ended by giving in to the evidence,
offering me his hand, and asking pardon for the way in which he had at
first approached me.
Then he said to me: "So, madame, it is not by remonstrances or by threats, but by
entreaties, that I must endeavour to obtain from you a greater sacrifice
than you have yet made for my son."
I trembled at this beginning.
Your father came over to me, took both my hands, and continued in an
affectionate voice: "My child, do not take what I have to say to you amiss; only remember
that there are sometimes in life cruel necessities for the heart, but
that they must be submitted to. You are good, your soul has generosity
unknown to many women who perhaps despise you, and are less worthy than
you. But remember that there is not only the mistress, but the family;
that besides love there are duties; that to the age of passion succeeds
the age when man, if he is to be respected, must plant himself solidly
in a serious position. My son has no fortune, and yet he is ready to
abandon to you the legacy of his mother. If he accepted from you the
sacrifice which you are on the point of making, his honour and dignity
would require him to give you, in exchange for it, this income, which
would always put you out of danger of adversity. But he can not accept
this sacrifice, because the world, which does not know you, would give a
wrong interpretation to this acceptance, and such an interpretation must
not tarnish the name which we bear. No one would consider whether
Armand loves you, whether you love him, whether this mutual love means
happiness to him and redemption to you; they would see only one thing,
that Armand Duval allowed a kept woman (forgive me, my child, for what
I am forced to say to you) to sell all she had for him. Then the day of
reproaches and regrets would arrive, be sure, for you or for others, and
you would both bear a chain that you could not sever. What would you do
then? Your youth would be lost, my son's future destroyed; and I, his
father, should receive from only one of my children the recompense that
I look for from both.