ILLNESSES like the one to which Armand had succumbed have at least this much to be said for them: they either kill you at once or let themselves be conquered very quickly.
A fortnight after the events which I have just recounted, Armand was convalescing very satisfactorily, and we were bound by a firm friendship. I had scarcely left his sick room throughout the whole time of his illness.
Spring had dispensed its flowers, leaves, birds, and harmonies in abundance, and my friend's window cheerfully overlooked his garden which wafted its healthy draughts up to him.
The doctor had allowed him to get up, and we often sat talking by the open window at that hour of the day when the sun is at its warmest, between noon and two o'clock.
I studiously avoided speaking to him of Marguerite, for I was still afraid that the name would reawaken some sad memory which slumbered beneath the sick man's apparent calm. But Armand, on the contrary, seemed to take pleasure in speaking of her? not as he had done previously, with tears in his eyes, but with a gentle smile which allayed my fears for his state of mind.
I had noticed that, since his last visit to the cemetery and the spectacle which had been responsible for causing his serious breakdown, the measure of his mental anguish seemed to have been taken by his physical illness, and Marguerite's death had ceased to present itself through the eyes of the past. A kind of solace had come with the certainty he had acquired and, to drive off the somber image which often thrust itself into his mind, he plunged into the happier memories of his affair with Marguerite and appeared willing to recall no others.
His body was too exhausted by his attack of fever, and even by its treatment, to allow his mind to acknowledge any violent emotions, and despite himself the universal joy of spring by which Armand was surrounded directed his thoughts to happier images.
All this time, he had stubbornly refused to inform his family of the peril he was in, and when the danger was past, his father still knew nothing of his illness.
One evening, we had remained longer by the window than usual. The weather had been superb and the sun was setting in a brilliant twilight of blue and gold. Although we were in Paris, the greenery around us seemed to cut us off from the world, and only the rare sound of a passing carriage from time to time disturbed our conversation.
'It was about this time of year, and during the evening of a day like today, that I first met Marguerite, ' said Armand, heeding his own thoughts rather than what I was saying.
I made no reply.
Then he turned to me and said:
'But I must tell you the story; you shall turn it into a book which no one will believe, though it may be interesting to write.'
'You shall tell it to me some other time, my friend, ' I told him, 'you are still not well enough.'
'The evening is warm, I have eaten my * of chicken, ' he said with a smile; 'I am not the least feverish, we have nothing else to do, I shall tell you everything.'
'Since you are so set on it, I'll listen.'
'It's a very simple tale, ' he then added, 'and I shall tell it in the order in which it happened. If at some stage you do make something of it, you are perfectly free to tell it another way.'
Here is what he told me, and I have scarcely changed a word of his moving story.
Yes （Armand went on, letting his head fall against the back of his armchair）， yes, it was on an evening like this！ I had spent the day in the country with one of my friends, Gaston R. We had returned to Paris in the evening and, for want of anything better to do, had gone to the Theatre des Varietes.
During one of the intervals, we left our seats and, in the corridor, we saw a tall woman whom my friend greeted with a bow.
'Who was that you just bowed to?' I asked him.
'Marguerite Gautier, ' he replied.
'It strikes me she is very much changed, for I didn't recognize her, ' I said with a tremor which you will understand in a moment.
'She's been ill, The poor girl's not long for this world.'
I recall these words as though they had been said to me yesterday.
Now, my friend, I must tell you that for two years past, whenever I met her, the sight of that girl had always made a strange impression on me.
Without knowing why, I paled and my heart beat violently. I have a friend who dabbles in the occult, and he would call what I felt an affinity of fluids; I myself believe quite simply that I was destined to fall in love with Marguerite, and that this was a presentiment.
The fact remains that she made a strong impression on me. Several of my friends had seen how I reacted, and they had hooted with laughter when they realized from what quarter that impression came.
The first time I had seen her was in the Place de la Bourse, outside Susse's. An open barouche was standing there, and a woman in white had stepped out of it. A murmur of admiration had greeted her as she entered the shop. For my part, I stood rooted to the spot from the time she went in until the moment she came out. Through the windows, I watched her in the shop as she chose what she had come to buy. I could have gone in, but I did not dare. I had no idea what sort of woman she was and was afraid that she would guess my reason for entering the shop and be offended. However I did not believe that I was destined ever to see her again.
She was elegantly dressed; she wore a muslin dress with full panels, a square Indian shawl embroidered at the corners with gold thread and silk flowers, a Leghorn straw hat and a single bracelet, one of those thick gold chains which were then just beginning to be fashionable.
She got into her barouche and drove off.
One of the shop-assistants remained in the doorway with his eyes following the carriage of his elegant customer. I went up to him and asked him to tell me the woman's name.
'That's Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier, ' he replied.
I did not dare ask him for her address and I walked away.
The memory of this vision ?for, truly, vision it was ?did not fade from my mind like many other visions I had already seen, and I searched everywhere for this woman in white so regal in her beauty.
A few days after this, there was a big production at the Opera-Comique. I went along. The first person I saw, in a stage-box in the balcony, was Marguerite Gautier.
The young man I was with recognized her too, for he said, mentioning her by name:
'Take a look at that pretty creature.'
Just then, Marguerite turned her opera glasses in our direction, saw my friend, smiled at him and gestured that he was to come and pay his respects.
'I'll go along and wish her a pleasant evening, ' he told me, 'I'll be back in a moment.'
I could not help myself saying: 'You're a lucky man！'
'In what way?'
'Going to see that woman.'
'Are you in love with her?'
'No, ' I said, reddening, for I really did not know how I stood in the matter, 'but I would like to get to know her.'
'Come with me, I'll introduce you.'
'Ask her permission first.'
'Oh, nonsense！ There's no need to be formal with her. Come on.'
These words of his were hurtful to me. I trembled at the thought that I should learn for certain that Marguerite was not worthy of my feelings for her.
In a book by Alphonse Karr, entitled Ain Rauchen, there is a man who, one evening, follows a very elegant woman with whom he has fallen in love at first sight, so beautiful is she. Merely to kiss the hand of this woman, he feels he has strength enough for any undertaking, the will to conquer all and the courage to do anything. He scarcely dares glance at the slim ankles which she reveals in her efforts to avoid dirtying her dress as it drags on the ground. As he is dreaming of the things he would do to possess her, she stops him at a street corner and asks if he would like to come upstairs with her.
He turns his head away, crosses the street and returns home sadly.
I now remembered this study and I, who would gladly have suffered for her, was afraid that this woman might accept me too quickly and give me too promptly a love which I should have desired to earn through some long delay or great sacrifice. Of such stuff are we men made; and it is fortunate indeed that the imagination indulges the senses with fancies of this kind, and that the desires of the body make such concessions to the dreams of the soul.
So, had someone said to me: 'You shall have this woman tonight and tomorrow you shall be put to death', I would have accepted. Had I been told: 'Give her ten Louis and she's yours', I should have refused and wept like a child who sees the castle which he had glimpsed during the night vanish as he wakes.
However, I wanted to meet her; it was one way, indeed the only way, of knowing how I stood with her.
So I told my friend that I insisted that she should give her permission for him to introduce me, and I loitered in the corridors, reflecting that any moment now she would see me and that I should not know what sort of expression to assume when she looked at me.
I tried to string together in advance the words I would speak to her.
What sublime nonsense love is！
A moment later, my friend came down again.
'She's expecting us, ' he said.
'Is she along?' I asked.
'She's with another woman.'
'There aren't any men?'
'No.'
'Let's go.'
My friend made for the theater exit.
'Hold on, it's not that way, ' I said to him.
'We're going to buy some sweets. She asked for some.'
We went into a confectioner's in the galleries of the Passage de l'Opera.
I would have gladly bought the whole shop, and was casting round for what could be made into a selection, when my friend said:
'A pound of sugared raisins.'
'Are you sure she likes them?'
'She never eats any other kind of sweets, it's a well-known fact.'
When we were outside, he went on: 'Now then. Have you any idea what sort of woman I am about to introduce you to? Don't imagine you'll be meeting a duchess, she's just a kept woman ?none more kept, my dear fellow. Don't be shy, just say whatever comes into your head.'
'Er, of course, ' I stammered, and followed him, telling myself that I was about to be cured of my passion.
When I stepped into her box, Marguerite was laughing uproariously.
I would have preferred her to be sad.
My friend introduced me. Marguerite inclined her head slightly and said:
'Where are my sweets?'
'Here you are.'
As she took them, she looked straight at me. I lowered my eyes and blushed.
She leaned across, whispered something into her companion's ear, and both of them burst out laughing.
It was only too obvious that I was the cause of their mirth: my embarrassment deepened as a result. At the time, I had as a mistress a little middle-class girl, very loving, very cloying, who made me laugh with her sentimentality and sad billets-doux. I realized how much I must have hurt her by the hurt I now felt and, for the space of five minutes, I loved her as never woman was loved.
Marguerite ate her raisins without paying any further attention to me.
Having introduced me, my friend had no intention of leaving me in this ridiculous position.
'Marguerite, ' he said, 'you shouldn't be surprised if Monsieur Duval does not speak to you. You have such an effect on him that he cannot think of a thing to say.'
'I rather believe that this gentleman came here with you because you found it tiresome to come alone.'
'Were that true, ' I said in turn, 'I would not have asked Ernest to obtain your leave to introduce me.'
'Perhaps it was just a way of putting off the fatal moment.'
Anyone who has spent any time at all in the company of girls of Marguerite's sort is quite aware of what pleasure they take in making misplaced remarks and teasing men they meet for the first time. It is no doubt a way of levelling the scores for the humiliations which they are often forced to undergo at the hands of the men they see every day.
So, if you wish to give as good as you get, you need to have a certain familiarity with their world, and this I did not have. Moreover, the idea that I had formed of Marguerite made her jesting seem worse to me. Nothing about this woman left me indifferent. And so, getting to my feet, I said to her with a faltering in my voice which I found impossible to conceal completely:
'If that is what you think of me, Madame, all that remains for me is to ask you to forgive my indiscretion and to take my leave, assuring you that it will not happen again.'
Thereupon, I bowed and left.
I had scarcely closed the door when I heard a third burst of laughter. I would dearly have wished for someone to try to elbow me out of his way at that moment.
I returned to my seat in the stalls.
The three knocks were sounded for the curtain to rise.
Ernest rejoined me.
'What a way to behave！' he said to me as he took his seat. 'They think you're mad.'
'What did Marguerite say after I left?'
'She laughed, and declared she'd never seen anybody funnier than you. But you mustn't think you're beaten. Just don't do women like that the honour of taking them seriously. They have no idea what good taste and manners are; it's just the same with pet dogs that have perfume poured over them ?they can't stand the smell, and go off and roll in some gutter.'
'Anyway, what's it to me?' 'I said, trying to sound offhand. 'I shan't ever see that woman again, and even if I liked her before I got to know her, everything is very different now that I have met her.'
'Bah！ I wouldn't be at all surprised one of these days to see you sitting in the back of her box and hear people saying how you're ruining yourself on her account. Still, you may be right, she has no manners, but she'd make an attractive mistress all the same.'
Fortunately, the curtain went up and my friend said no more. It would be quite impossible for me to tell you what play was performed. All I remember was that, from time to time, I would glance up at the box I had left so abruptly, and that the shapes of new callers kept appearing in quick succession.
However, I was far from having put Marguerite out of my mind. Another thought now took possession of me. I felt that I had both her insulting behaviour and my discomfiture to expunge; I told myself that, even if I had to spend everything I had, I would have that woman and would take by right the place which I had vacated so quickly.
Some time before the final curtain, Marguerite and her companion left their box.
Despite myself, I rose from my seat.
'You're not leaving?' said Ernest.
'Yes.'
'Why?'
Just then, he noticed that the box was empty.
'Go on, then, ' he said, 'and good luck, or rather, better luck！'
I left.
On the stairs, I heard the rustle of dresses and the sound of voices. I stepped to one side and, without being observed, saw the two women walk by me together with the two young men who were escorting them.
In the colonnade outside the theatre, a young servant came up to the two women.
'Go and tell the coachman to wait outside the Cafe Anglais, ' said Marguerite, 'we shall go as far as there on foot.'
A few minutes later, as I loitered on the boulevard, I saw Marguerite at the window of one of the restaurant's large rooms: leaning on the balcony, she was pulling the petals one by one off the camellias in her bouquet.
One of the two men was leaning over her shoulder and was whispering to her.
I found a seat in the Maison d'Or, in one of the private rooms on the first floor, and did not take my eyes off the window in question.
At one in the morning, Marguerite got into her carriage with her three friends.
I took a cab and followed.
The carriage stopped outside 9 rue d'Antin.
Marguerite got out and went up to her apartment alone.
No doubt this happened by chance, but this chance made me very happy.
From that day on, I often encountered Marguerite at the theatre or on the Champs-Elysees. She was unchangingly gay and I was unfailingly quickened by the same emotions.
But then a fortnight passed without my seeing her anywhere. I ran into Gaston and asked him about her.
'The poor girl is very ill, ' he replied.
'What's the matter with her?'
'The matter with her is that she's got consumption and, because she lives the sort of life which is not calculated to make her better, she's in bed and dying.'
The heart is a strange thing; I was almost glad she was ill.
Every day, I called to have the latest news of the patient, though without signing the book or leaving my card. It was in this way that I learned of her convalescence and her departure for Bagneres.
Then time went by, and the impression she had made on me, if not the memory, seemed to fade gradually from my mind. I travelled; new intimacies, old habits and work took the place of thoughts of her, and whenever I did think back to that first encounter, I preferred to see the whole thing as one of those passions which one experiences in youth, and laughs at in no time at all.
Besides, there would have been no merit in vanquishing her memory, for I had lost sight of Marguerite since the time of her departure and, as I have explained to you, when she passed close to me in the passageway of the Theatre des Varietes, I did not recognize her.
She was wearing a veil, it is true; but two years earlier, however many veils she had been wearing, I would not have needed to see her to recognize her: I would have known her instinctively.
This did not prevent my heart form racing when I realized that it was her. The two years spent without seeing her, together with the effects which this separation seemed to have brought about were sent up in the same smoke by a single touch of her dress.
有些疾病干脆爽快，不是一下子送了人的命，便是过不了几天就痊愈，阿尔芒患的正是这一类病。
在我刚才叙述的事情过去半个月以后，阿尔芒已经完全康复，我们彼此已经成为好友。在他整个患病期间，我几乎没有离开过他的房间。
春天到了，繁花似锦，百鸟和鸣，我朋友房间里的窗户欢乐地打开了，窗户朝着花园，花园里清新的气息一阵阵向他袭来。
医生已经允许他起床，从中午十二点到下午两点阳光最暖和的时候，窗子是开着的，我们经常坐在窗边聊天。
我一直留意着不要扯到玛格丽特，生怕一提起这个名字会使得情绪已安定下来的病人重新想起他过去的伤心事；阿尔芒却相反，他似乎很乐意谈到她，也不再像过去那样一谈起她就眼泪汪汪的，而是带着一脸柔和的微笑，这种微笑使我对他心灵的健康感到放心。
我注意到，自从上次去公墓看到了那个使他突然发病的场面以来，他精神上的痛苦仿佛已被疾病替代了，对于玛格丽特的死，他的想法和过去不一样了。他对玛格丽特的死已经确信无疑，心中反而感到轻松，为了驱走经常出现在他眼前的阴暗的形象，他一直在追忆跟玛格丽特交往时最幸福的时刻，似乎他也只愿意回忆这些事情。
阿尔芒大病初愈，高烧乍退，身体还极度虚弱，在精神上不能让他过于激动。春天大自然欣欣向荣的景象围绕着阿尔芒，使他情不自禁地回忆起过去那些欢乐的景象。
他一直固执地不肯把病危的情况告诉家里，一直到他脱离险境以后，他父亲还蒙在鼓里。
一天傍晚，我们坐在窗前，比平时坐得晚了一些，那天天气非常好，太阳在闪耀着蔚蓝和金黄两色的薄暮中入睡了。虽说我们身在巴黎，但四周的一片翠绿色仿佛把我们与世界隔绝了，除了偶尔传来的街车辚辚声，没有其他声音来打扰我们的谈话。
“差不多就像这么个季节，这么个傍晚，我认识了玛格丽特。”阿尔芒对我说。他陷入了遐想，我对他说话他是听不见的。
我什么也没有回答。
于是，他转过头来对我说：
“我总得把这个故事讲给您听；您可以把它写成一本书，别人未必相信，但这本书写起来也许会很有趣的。”“过几天您再给我讲吧，我的朋友。”我对他说，“您身体还没有完全复原呢。”
“今天晚上很暖和，鸡脯肉我也吃过了①，”他微笑着对我说，“我不发烧了，我们也没有什么事要干，我把这个故事原原本本地讲给您听吧。”
①法国习惯病后调养时以鸡脯肉滋补，与我国习惯相似。
“既然您一定要讲，那我就洗耳恭听。”
“这是一个十分简单的故事，”于是他接着说，“我按事情发生的先后顺序给您讲，如果您以后要用这个故事写点什么东西，随您怎么写都可以。”
下面就是他跟我讲话的内容，这个故事非常生动，我几乎没有作什么改动。
是啊，阿尔芒把头靠在椅背上，接着说道，是啊，就是在这样的一个傍晚！我跟我的朋友R加斯东在乡下玩了一天，傍晚我们回到巴黎，因为困得无聊，我们就去杂耍剧院看戏。
在一次幕间休息时，我们到走廊里休息，看见一个身材颀长的女人走过，我朋友向她打了个招呼。
“您在跟谁打招呼？”我问他。
“玛格丽特戈蒂埃。”他对我说。
“她的模样变得好厉害，我几乎认不出她来了。”我激动地说。我为什么激动，等会儿您就明白了。
“她生过一场病，看来这个可怜的姑娘是活不长了。”
这些话，我记忆犹新，就像我昨天听到的一样。
您要知道，我的朋友，两年以来，每当我遇见这个姑娘的时候，就会产生一种说不出来的感觉。
我会莫名其妙地脸色泛白，心头狂跳。我有一个朋友是研究秘术的，他把我这种感觉称为“流体的亲力”；而我却很简单地相信我命中注定要爱上玛格丽特，我预感到了这点。
她经常给我留下深刻的印象，我的几位朋友是亲眼目睹的，当他们知道我这种印象是从谁那儿来的时候，总是大笑不止。
我第一次是在交易所广场絮斯商店①门口遇到她的。一辆敞篷四轮马车停在那儿，一个穿着一身白色衣服的女人从车上下来。她走进商店的时候引起了一阵低低的赞叹声。而我却像被钉在地上似的，从她进去一直到她出来，一动都没有动。我隔着橱窗望着她在店铺里选购东西。我原来也可以进去，但是我不敢。我不知道这个女人是什么人，我怕她猜出我走进店铺的用意而生气。然而那时候，我也没有想到以后还会见到她。
①絮斯商店：当时一家有名的时装商店。
她服饰典雅，穿着一条镶满花边的细纱长裙，肩上披一块印度方巾，四角全是金镶边和丝绣的花朵，戴着一顶意大利草帽，还戴着一只手镯，那是当时刚刚时行的一种粗金链子。
她又登上她的敞篷马车走了。
店铺里一个小伙计站在门口，目送这位穿着高雅的漂亮女顾客的车子远去。我走到他身边，请他把这个女人的名字告诉我。
“她是玛格丽特戈蒂埃小姐，”他回答我说。
我不敢问她的地址就离开了。
我以前有过很多幻觉，过后也都忘了；但是这一次是真人真事，因此这个印象就一直留在我的脑海里。于是我到处去寻找这个穿白衣服的绝代佳人。
几天以后，喜剧歌剧院有一次盛大的演出，我去了。我在台前旁侧的包厢里看到的第一个人就是玛格丽特戈蒂埃。
我那位年轻的同伴也认识她，因为他叫着她的名字对我说：
“您看！这个漂亮的姑娘！”
正在这时，玛格丽特拿起望远镜朝着我们这边望，她看到了我的朋友，便对他莞尔一笑，做手势要他过去看她。
“我去跟她问个好，”他对我说，“一会儿我就回来。”
我情不自禁地说：“您真幸福！”
“幸福什么？”
“因为您能去拜访这个女人。”
“您是不是爱上她了？”
“不。”我涨红了脸说，因为这一下我真有点儿不知所措了，“但是我很想认识她。”
“跟我来，我替您介绍。”
“先去征得她同意吧。”
“啊！真是的，跟她是不用拘束的，来吧。”
他这句话使我心里很难过，我害怕由此而证实玛格丽特不值得我对她这么动情。
阿尔封斯卡尔①在一本书名为《烟雾》的小说里说：一天晚上，有一个男人尾随着一个非常俊俏的女人；她体态优美，容貌艳丽，使他一见倾心。为了吻吻这个女人的手，他觉得就有了从事一切的力量，战胜一切的意志和克服一切的勇气。这个女人怕她的衣服沾上泥，撩了一下裙子，露出了一段迷人的小腿，他都几乎不敢望一眼。正当他梦想着怎样才能得到这个女人的时候，她却在一个街角留住了他，问他是不是愿意上楼到她家里去。他回头就走，穿过大街，垂头丧气地回到了家里。
①阿尔封斯卡尔（１８０８１８９０）：法国新闻记者兼作家。
我记起了这段描述。本来我很想为这个女人受苦，我担心她过快地接受我，怕她过于匆忙地爱上我；我宁愿经过长期等待，历尽艰辛以后才得到这种爱情。我们这些男人就是这种脾气；如果能使我们头脑里的想象赋有一点诗意，灵魂里的幻想高于肉欲，那就会感到无比的幸福。
总之，如果有人对我说：“今天晚上您可以得到这个女人，但是明天您就会被人杀死。”我会接受的。如果有人对我说：“花上十个路易①，您就可以做她的情夫。”我会拒绝的，而且会痛哭一场，就像一个孩子在醒来时发现夜里梦见的宫殿城堡化为乌有一样。
①路易：法国从前使用的金币，每枚值二十法郎。
可是，我想认识她；这是要知道她是怎样的一个人的方法，而且还是唯一的方法。
于是我对朋友说，我一定要他先征得玛格丽特的同意以后，再把我介绍给她。我独自在走廊里踱来踱去，脑子里在想着，她就要看到我了，而我还不知道在她的注视之下应该采取什么态度。
我尽量把我要对她说的话事先考虑好。
爱情是多么纯洁，多么天真无邪啊！
过不多久，我的朋友下来了。
“她等着我们，”他对我说。
“她只有一个人吗？”我问道。
“有一个女伴。”
“没有男人吗？”
“没有。”
“我们去吧。”
我的朋友向剧场的大门走去。
“喂，不是从那儿走的呀，”我对他说。
“我们去买些蜜饯，是玛格丽特刚才向我要的。”
我们走进了开设在剧场过道上的一个糖果铺。
我真想把整个铺子都买下来。正在我观看可以买些什么东西装进袋子的时候，我的朋友开口了：
“糖渍葡萄一斤。”
“您知道她爱吃这个吗？”
“她从来不吃别的蜜饯，这是出了名的。”
“啊！”当我们走出店铺时他接着说，“您知道我要把您介绍给一个什么样的女人？您别以为是把您介绍给一位公爵夫人，她不过是一个妓女罢了，一个地地道道的妓女。亲爱的，您不必拘束，想到什么就说什么好啦。”
“好吧，好吧，”我嘟嘟囔囔地说。我跟在朋友的后面走着，心里却在想，我的热情看来要冷下去了。
当我走进包厢的时候，玛格丽特放声大笑。
我倒是愿意看到她愁眉苦脸。
我的朋友把我介绍给她，玛格丽特对我微微点了点头，接着就说：
“那么我的蜜饯呢？”
“在这儿。”
在拿蜜饯的时候，她对我望了望，我垂下眼睛，脸涨得绯红。
她俯身在她邻座那个女人的耳边轻轻地说了几句话，随后两个人都放声大笑起来。
不用说是我成了她们的笑柄；我发窘的模样更加让她们笑个不停。那时我本来就有一个情妇，她是一个小家碧玉，温柔而多情。她那多情的性格和她伤感的情书经常使我发笑。由于我这时的感受，我终于懂得了我从前对她的态度一定使她非常痛苦，因此有五分钟之久我爱她就像一个从未爱过任何女人的人一样。
玛格丽特吃着糖渍葡萄不再理我了。
我的介绍人不愿意让我陷于这种尴尬可笑的境地。“玛格丽特，”他说，“如果迪瓦尔先生没有跟您讲话，您也不必感到奇怪。您把他弄得不知所措，他连该说什么话也不知道了。”
“我看您是因为一个人来觉得无聊才请这位先生陪来的。”
“如果真是这样的话，”我开口说话了，“那么我就不会请欧内斯特来，要求您同意把我介绍给您了。”
“这很可能是一种拖延这个倒霉时刻的办法。”
谁要是曾经跟玛格丽特那样的姑娘稍许有过一点往来，谁就会知道她们喜欢装疯卖傻，喜欢跟她们初次见面的人恶作剧。她们不得不忍受那些每天跟她们见面的人的侮辱，这无疑是对那些侮辱的一种报复。
因此要对付她们，也要用她们圈内人的某种习惯，而这种习惯我是没有的；再说，我对玛格丽特原有的看法，使我对她的玩笑看得过于认真了，对这个女人的任何方面，我都不能无动于衷。因此我站了起来，带着一种难于掩饰的沮丧声调对她说：
“如果您认为我是这样一个人的话，夫人，那么我只能请您原谅我的冒失，我不得不向您告辞，并向您保证我以后不会再这样卤莽了。”
说完，我行了一个礼就出来了。
我刚一关上包厢的门，就听到了第三次哄笑声。这时候我真希望有人来撞我一下。
我回到了我的座位上。
这时候开幕锤敲响了。
欧内斯特回到了我的身边。
“您是怎么搞的！”他一面坐下来一面对我说，“她们以为您疯了。”
“我走了以后，玛格丽特说什么来着？”
“她笑了，她对我说，她从来也没有看见过像您那样滑稽的人；但是您决不要以为您失败了，对这些姑娘您不必那么认真。她们不懂得什么是风度，什么是礼貌；这就像替狗洒香水一样，它们总觉得味道难闻，要跑到水沟里去打滚洗掉。”
“总之，这跟我有什么相干？”我尽量装得毫不介意似地说，“我再也不要见到这个女人了，如果说在我认识她以前我对她有好感；现在认识她以后，情况却大不相同了。”
“算了吧！总有一天我会看见您坐在她的包厢里，也会听到您为她倾家荡产的消息。不过，即便那样也不能怪您，她没有教养，但她是一个值得弄到手的漂亮的情妇哪！”
幸好启幕了，我的朋友没有再讲下去。要告诉您那天舞台上演了些什么是不可能的。我所能记得起来的，就是我不时地抬起眼睛望着我刚才匆匆离开的包厢，那里新的来访者川流不息。
但是，我根本就忘不了玛格丽特，另外一种想法在我脑子里翻腾。我觉得我不应该念念不忘她对我的侮辱和我自己的笨拙可笑。我暗自说道，就是倾家荡产，我也要得到这个姑娘，占有那个我刚才一下子就放弃了的位置。
戏还没有结束，玛格丽特和她的朋友就离开了包厢。
我身不由己地也离开了我的座位。
“您这就走吗？”欧内斯特问我。
“是的。”
“为什么？”
这时候，他发现那个包厢空了。
“走吧，走吧，”他说，“祝您好运气，祝您万事顺利。”
我走出了场子。
我听到楼梯上有的衣裙声和谈话声。我闪在一旁不让人看到，只见两个青年陪着这两个女人走过。在剧场的圆柱走廊里有一个小厮向她们迎上前来。
“去跟车夫讲，要他到英国咖啡馆门口等我，”玛格丽特说，“我们步行到那里去。”
几分钟以后，我在林荫大道上踯躅的时候，看到在那个咖啡馆的一间大房间的窗口，玛格丽特正靠着窗栏，一瓣一瓣地摘下她那束茶花的花瓣。
两个青年中有一个俯首在她肩后跟她窃窃私语。
我走进了附近的金屋咖啡馆，坐在二楼的楼厅里，目不转睛地盯着那个窗口。
深夜一点钟，玛格丽特跟她三个朋友一起登上了马车。
我也跳上一辆轻便马车尾随着她。
她的车子驶到昂坦街九号门前停了下来。
玛格丽特从车上下来，一个人回到家里。
她一个人回家可能是偶然的，但是这个偶然使我觉得非常幸福。
从此以后，我经常在剧院里，在香榭丽舍大街遇见玛格丽特，她一直是那样快活；而我始终是那样激动。
然而，一连有两个星期我在哪儿都没有遇到她。在碰见加斯东的时候，我就向他打听她的消息。
“可怜的姑娘病得很重，”他回答我说。
“她生的什么病？”
“她生的是肺病，再说，她过的那种生活对治好她的病是毫无好处的，她正躺在床上等死呢。”
人心真是不可捉摸；我听到她的病情几乎感到很高兴。
我每天去打听她的病况，不过我既不让人家记下我的名字，也没有留下我的名片。我就是通过这种方法知道了她已病愈，后来又去了巴涅尔的消息。
随着时光的流逝，如果不能说是我逐渐地忘了她，那就是她给我的印象慢慢地淡薄了。我外出旅游，和亲友往来，生活琐事和日常工作冲淡了我对她的思念。即使我回忆起那次邂逅，也不过把它当作是一时的感情冲动。这种事在年幼无知的青年中是常有的，一般都事过境迁，一笑了之。
再说，我能够忘却前情也没有什么了不起的，因为自从玛格丽特离开巴黎之后，我就见不到她了，因此，就像我刚才跟您说的那样，当她在杂耍剧院的走廊里，从我身边走过的时候，我已经认不出她了。
固然那时她戴着面纱，但换了在两年以前，尽管她戴着面纱，我都能一眼认出她来，就是猜也把她猜出来了。
尽管如此，当我知道她就是玛格丽特的时候，心里还是怦怦乱跳。由于两年不见她面而在逐渐淡漠下去的感情，一看到她的衣衫，刹那间便又重新燃烧起来了。