Camille (La Dame aux Camilias)

All these circumstances which I had so often witnessed came back to my

memory, and I regretted her death as one might regret the destruction of

a beautiful work of art.

It was impossible to see more charm in beauty than in that of

Marguerite. Excessively tall and thin, she had in the fullest degree the

art of repairing this oversight of Nature by the mere arrangement of the

things she wore. Her cashmere reached to the ground, and showed on each

side the large flounces of a silk dress, and the heavy muff which she

held pressed against her bosom was surrounded by such cunningly arranged

folds that the eye, however exacting, could find no fault with the

contour of the lines. Her head, a marvel, was the object of the most

coquettish care. It was small, and her mother, as Musset would say,

seemed to have made it so in order to make it with care.

Set, in an oval of indescribable grace, two black eyes, surmounted by

eyebrows of so pure a curve that it seemed as if painted; veil these

eyes with lovely lashes, which, when drooped, cast their shadow on the

rosy hue of the cheeks; trace a delicate, straight nose, the nostrils

a little open, in an ardent aspiration toward the life of the senses;

design a regular mouth, with lips parted graciously over teeth as white

as milk; colour the skin with the down of a peach that no hand

has touched, and you will have the general aspect of that charming

countenance. The hair, black as jet, waving naturally or not, was

parted on the forehead in two large folds and draped back over the head,

leaving in sight just the tip of the ears, in which there glittered two

diamonds, worth four to five thousand francs each. How it was that her

ardent life had left on Marguerite's face the virginal, almost childlike

expression, which characterized it, is a problem which we can but state,

without attempting to solve it.

Marguerite had a marvellous portrait of herself, by Vidal, the only man

whose pencil could do her justice. I had this portrait by me for a few

days after her death, and the likeness was so astonishing that it has

helped to refresh my memory in regard to some points which I might not

otherwise have remembered.

Some among the details of this chapter did not reach me until later,

but I write them here so as not to be obliged to return to them when the

story itself has begun.

Marguerite was always present at every first night, and passed every

evening either at the theatre or the ball. Whenever there was a new

piece she was certain to be seen, and she invariably had three things

with her on the ledge of her ground-floor box: her opera-glass, a bag of

sweets, and a bouquet of camellias.