Camille (La Dame aux Camilias)

"Pardon, pardon," I murmured. "I understood it all, but I wanted to

have it from your own lips, my beloved Marguerite. Forget the rest and

remember only one thing: that we belong to one another, that we are

young, and that we love. Marguerite, do with me as you will; I am your

slave, your dog, but in the name of heaven tear up the letter which I

wrote to you and do not make me leave you to-morrow; it would kill me."

Marguerite drew the letter from her bosom, and handing it to me with a

smile of infinite sweetness, said: "Here it is. I have brought it back."

I tore the letter into fragments and kissed with tears the hand that

gave it to me.

At this moment Prudence reappeared.

"Look here, Prudence; do you know what he wants?" said Marguerite.

"He wants you to forgive him."

"Precisely."

"And you do?"

"One has to; but he wants more than that."

"What, then?"

"He wants to have supper with us."

"And do you consent?"

"What do you think?"

"I think that you are two children who haven't an atom of sense between

you; but I also think that I am very hungry, and that the sooner you

consent the sooner we shall have supper."

"Come," said Marguerite, "there is room for the three of us in my

carriage."

"By the way," she added, turning to me, "Nanine will be gone to bed. You

must open the door; take my key, and try not to lose it again."

I embraced Marguerite until she was almost stifled.

Thereupon Joseph entered.

"Sir," he said, with the air of a man who is very well satisfied with

himself, "the luggage is packed."

"All of it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then, unpack it again; I am not going."