Camille (La Dame aux Camilias)
Page 56At this point Armand stopped.
"Would you close the window for me?" he said. "I am beginning to feel
cold. Meanwhile, I will get into bed."
I closed the window. Armand, who was still very weak, took off his
dressing-gown and lay down in bed, resting his head for a few moments
on the pillow, like a man who is tired by much talking or disturbed by
painful memories.
"Perhaps you have been talking too much," I said to him. "Would you
rather for me to go and leave you to sleep? You can tell me the rest of
the story another day."
"Are you tired of listening to it?"
"Quite the contrary."
When I returned home (he continued, without needing to pause and
recollect himself, so fresh were all the details in his mind), I did not
go to bed, but began to reflect over the day's adventure. The meeting,
the introduction, the promise of Marguerite, had followed one another so
rapidly, and so unexpectedly, that there were moments when it seemed to
me I had been dreaming. Nevertheless, it was not the first time that a
girl like Marguerite had promised herself to a man on the morrow of the
day on which he had asked for the promise.
Though, indeed, I made this reflection, the first impression produced
on me by my future mistress was so strong that it still persisted. I
refused obstinately to see in her a woman like other women, and, with
not but share the attraction which drew me to her.
Yet, I had before me plenty of instances to the contrary, and I had
often heard that the affection of Marguerite was a thing to be had more
or less dear, according to the season.
But, on the other hand, how was I to reconcile this reputation with her
constant refusal of the young count whom we had found at her house? You
may say that he was unattractive to her, and that, as she was splendidly
kept by the duke, she would be more likely to choose a man who was
attractive to her, if she were to take another lover. If so, why did she
not choose Gaston, who was rich, witty, and charming, and why did she
care for me, whom she had thought so ridiculous the first time she had
It is true that there are events of a moment which tell more than the
courtship of a year. Of those who were at the supper, I was the only one
who had been concerned at her leaving the table. I had followed her, I
had been so affected as to be unable to hide it from her, I had wept as
I kissed her hand. This circumstance, added to my daily visits during
the two months of her illness, might have shown her that I was somewhat
different from the other men she knew, and perhaps she had said to
herself that for a love which could thus manifest itself she might well
do what she had done so often that it had no more consequence for her.