"None, except that I ought not to have come to-night."
"Why?"
"Because you seem vexed, and no doubt I am boring you."
"You are not boring me; only I am not well; I have been suffering all
day. I could not sleep, and I have a frightful headache."
"Shall I go away and let you go to bed?"
"Oh, you can stay. If I want to go to bed I don't mind your being here."
At that moment there was a ring.
"Who is coming now?" she said, with an impatient movement.
A few minutes after there was another ring.
"Isn't there any one to go to the door? I shall have to go." She got up
and said to me, "Wait here."
She went through the rooms, and I heard her open the outer door. I
listened.
The person whom she had admitted did not come farther than the
dining-room. At the first word I recognised the voice of the young Comte
de N.
"How are you this evening?" he said.
"Not well," replied Marguerite drily.
"Am I disturbing you?"
"Perhaps.
"How you receive me! What have I done, my dear Marguerite?"
"My dear friend, you have done nothing. I am ill; I must go to bed, so
you will be good enough to go. It is sickening not to be able to return
at night without your making your appearance five minutes afterward.
What is it you want? For me to be your mistress? Well, I have already
told you a hundred times, No; you simply worry me, and you might as well
go somewhere else. I repeat to you to-day, for the last time, I don't
want to have anything to do with you; that's settled. Good-bye. Here's
Nanine coming in; she can light you to the door. Good-night."
Without adding another word, or listening to what the young man
stammered out, Marguerite returned to the room and slammed the door.
Nanine entered a moment after.
"Now understand," said Marguerite, "you are always to say to that idiot
that I am not in, or that I will not see him. I am tired out with seeing
people who always want the same thing; who pay me for it, and then think
they are quit of me. If those who are going to go in for our hateful
business only knew what it really was they would sooner be chambermaids.
But no, vanity, the desire of having dresses and carriages and diamonds
carries us away; one believes what one hears, for here, as elsewhere,
there is such a thing as belief, and one uses up one's heart, one's
body, one's beauty, little by little; one is feared like a beast of
prey, scorned like a pariah, surrounded by people who always take more
than they give; and one fine day one dies like a dog in a ditch, after
having ruined others and ruined one's self."