Camille (La Dame aux Camilias)

"I agree to all you wish, as you know."

"Then, in less than a month's time we shall be in some village,

walking by the river side, and drinking milk. Does it seem strange

that Marguerite Gautier should speak to you like that? The fact is,

my friend, that when this Paris life, which seems to make me so happy,

doesn't burn me, it wearies me, and then I have sudden aspirations

toward a calmer existence which might recall my childhood. One has

always had a childhood, whatever one becomes. Don't be alarmed; I am not

going to tell you that I am the daughter of a colonel on half-pay, and

that I was brought up at Saint-Denis. I am a poor country girl, and six

years ago I could not write my own name. You are relieved, aren't you?

Why is it you are the first whom I have ever asked to share the joy

of this desire of mine? I suppose because I feel that you love me for

myself and not for yourself, while all the others have only loved me for

themselves.

"I have often been in the country, but never as I should like to go

there. I count on you for this easy happiness; do not be unkind, let

me have it. Say this to yourself: 'She will never live to be old, and I

should some day be sorry for not having done for her the first thing she

asked of me, such an easy thing to do!'"

What could I reply to such words, especially with the memory of a first

night of love, and in the expectation of a second?

An hour later I held Marguerite in my arms, and, if she had asked me to

commit a crime, I would have obeyed her.

At six in the morning I left her, and before leaving her I said: "Till

to-night!" She kissed me more warmly than ever, but said nothing.

During the day I received a note containing these words: "DEAR CHILD: I am not very well, and the doctor has ordered quiet. I

shall go to bed early to-night and shall not see you. But, to make up, I

shall expect you to-morrow at twelve. I love you."

My first thought was: She is deceiving me!

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, for I already loved this woman

too much not to be overwhelmed by the suspicion. And yet, I was bound to

expect such a thing almost any day with Marguerite, and it had happened

to me often enough with my other mistresses, without my taking much

notice of it. What was the meaning of the hold which this woman had

taken upon my life?