Camille (La Dame aux Camilias)

"What did Marguerite say after I had gone?"

"She laughed, and said she had never seen any one so funny. But don't

look upon it as a lost chance; only do not do these women the honour

of taking them seriously. They do not know what politeness and ceremony

are. It is as if you were to offer perfumes to dogs--they would think it

smelled bad, and go and roll in the gutter."

"After all, what does it matter to me?" I said, affecting to speak in a

nonchalant way. "I shall never see this woman again, and if I liked her

before meeting her, it is quite different now that I know her."

"Bah! I don't despair of seeing you one day at the back of her box,

and of bearing that you are ruining yourself for her. However, you are

right, she hasn't been well brought up; but she would be a charming

mistress to have."

Happily, the curtain rose and my friend was silent. I could not possibly

tell you what they were acting. All that I remember is that from time to

time I raised my eyes to the box I had quitted so abruptly, and that the

faces of fresh visitors succeeded one another all the time.

I was far from having given up thinking about Marguerite. Another

feeling had taken possession of me. It seemed to me that I had her

insult and my absurdity to wipe out; I said to myself that if I spent

every penny I had, I would win her and win my right to the place I had

abandoned so quickly.

Before the performance was over Marguerite and her friend left the box.

I rose from my seat.

"Are you going?" said Ernest.

"Yes."

"Why?"

At that moment he saw that the box was empty.

"Go, go," he said, "and good luck, or rather better luck."

I went out.

I heard the rustle of dresses, the sound of voices, on the staircase.

I stood aside, and, without being seen, saw the two women pass me,

accompanied by two young men. At the entrance to the theatre they were

met by a footman.

"Tell the coachman to wait at the door of the Cafe' Anglais," said

Marguerite. "We will walk there."

A few minutes afterward I saw Marguerite from the street at a window of

one of the large rooms of the restaurant, pulling the camellias of her

bouquet to pieces, one by one. One of the two men was leaning over

her shoulder and whispering in her ear. I took up my position at the

Maison-d'or, in one of the first-floor rooms, and did not lose sight of

the window for an instant. At one in the morning Marguerite got into

her carriage with her three friends. I took a cab and followed them. The

carriage stopped at No. 9, Rue d'Antin. Marguerite got out and went

in alone. It was no doubt a mere chance, but the chance filled me with

delight.