①见《圣经·路加福音》第七章，第四十四至四十八节。 .31

“再说您是不是可以肯定您再也不会留恋为了他而抛弃的那种生活呢？您过去是爱他的，您是不是能肯定以后决不再爱别人呢？随着年龄的增长，如果爱情的梦想让位于对事业的勃勃雄心，你们的关系就会给您情人的生活带来某些您可能无法逾越的障碍，到那时候，难道您不觉得痛苦吗？夫人，这一切您要考虑考虑，您爱阿尔芒，您就只能用这个方式向他证明您的爱情：为他的前途而牺牲您的爱情。现在还没有发生什么不幸的事，但是以后会发生的，可能比我预料的还要糟。阿尔芒可能会嫉妒一个曾经爱过您的人，他会向他挑衅，会和他决斗，最后他还会被杀死。您想想，到那时候，在我面前，在这个要求您为他儿子生命负责的父亲面前，您将会感到多么痛苦啊！

“总之，我的孩子，把一切全告诉了您吧，因为我还没有把一切全说出来，要知道我是为什么到巴黎来的，我有一个女儿，我刚才跟您提到过她，她年轻漂亮，像一个天使那样纯洁。她在恋爱，她同样也在把这种爱情当作她一生的美梦。我把这一切都写信告诉阿尔芒了，但是他的全部心思都在您身上，他没有给我写回信。现在我的女儿快要结婚了，她要嫁给她心爱的男人，她要走进一个体面的家庭，这个家庭希望能门当户对。我未来的女婿家庭知道了阿尔芒在巴黎的行为，向我宣称，如果阿尔芒继续这样生活下去，他们将收回前言。一个女孩子的前途就掌握在您手里了，她可从来没有冒犯过您啊，而且她是应该有一个美好的未来的。

“您有权利去破坏她未来的美好生活吗？您下得了手吗？既然您爱阿尔芒，既然您痛悔前非，玛格丽特，把我女儿的幸福给我吧。”

我的朋友，面对这些过去我也曾反复考虑过的情况，我只能吞声饮泣，而且这些事情出自于您父亲嘴里，这就更加证明了它们是非常现实的。我心里想着所有那些您父亲已经多次到了嘴边，但又不敢对我讲的话：我只不过是一个妓女，不管我讲得多么有理，这种关系看起来总是像一种自私的打算；我过去的生活已经使我没有权利来梦想这样的未来，那么我必须对我的习惯和名誉所造成的后果承担责任。总之，我爱您，阿尔芒。迪瓦尔先生对我像父亲般的态度，我对他产生了纯洁的感情，我就要赢得的这个正直的老人对我的尊敬，我相信以后也必定会得到的您对我的尊敬，所有这一切都在我心里激起了一个崇高的思想，这些思想使我在自己心目中变得有了价值，并使我产生了一种从未有过的圣洁的自豪感。当我想到这个为了他儿子的前途而向我恳求的老年人，有一天会告诉他女儿要把我的名字当作一个神秘的朋友的名字来祈祷，我的思想境界就与过去截然不同了，我的内心充满了骄傲。

一时的狂热可能夸大了这些印象的真实性，但这就是我当时的真实想法。朋友，对和您一起度过的幸福日子的回忆也在从另一边劝我，但有了这些新的感情以后，我也就顾不上这些劝告了。

“好吧，先生，”我抹着眼泪对您父亲说，“您相信我爱您的儿子吗？”

“相信的。”迪瓦尔先生说。

“是一种无私的爱情吗？”

“是的。”

“我曾经把这种爱情看作我生活的希望，梦想和安慰。您相信吗？”

“完全相信。”

“那么先生，就像吻您女儿那样地吻我吧，我向您发誓。这个我所得到的唯一真正纯洁的吻会给我战胜爱情的力量，一个星期以内，您儿子就会回到您身边，他可能会难受一个时期，但他从此就得救了。”

“您是一位高贵的姑娘。”您父亲吻着我的前额说，“您要做的是一件天主也会赞许的事，但是我很怕您对我儿子将毫无办法。”

“喔，请放心，先生，他会恨我的。”

我们之间必须有一道不可逾越的障碍，为了我，也为了您。

我写信给普律当丝，告诉她我接受了N伯爵先生的要求，要她去对伯爵说，我将和他们两人一起吃夜宵。

我封好信，也不跟您父亲说里面写了些什么，我请他到巴黎以后叫人把这封信按地址送去。

不过他还是问我信里写了些什么？

“写的是您儿子的幸福。”我回答他说。

您父亲最后又吻了我一次。我感到有两滴感激的泪珠滴落在我的前额上，这两滴泪珠就像对我过去所犯的错误的洗礼。就在我刚才同意委身于另一个男人的时候，一想到用这个新的错误所赎回的东西时我自豪得满脸生光。

这是非常自然的，阿尔芒；您曾经跟我讲过您父亲是世界上最正直的人。

迪瓦尔先生坐上马车走了。

可我毕竟是个女人，当我重新看见您时，我忍不住哭了，但是我没有动摇。

今天我病倒在床上，也许要到死才能离开这张床。我心里在想：“我做得对吗？”

当我们不得不离别的时刻越来越近时，我的感受您是亲眼看到的。您父亲已经不在那里，没有人支持我了。一想到您要恨我，要看不起我，我有多么惊慌啊，有一忽儿我几乎要把一切都说给您听了。

有一件事您可能不会相信，阿尔芒，这就是我请求天主给我力量。天主赐给了我向他祈求的力量，这就证明了他接受了我的牺牲。

在那次吃夜宵的时候，我还是需要有人帮助，因为我不愿意知道我要做些什么，我多么怕我会失掉勇气啊！

有谁会相信我，玛格丽特·戈蒂埃，在想到又要有一个新情人的时候，竟然会如此的悲伤？

为了忘却一切，我喝了好多酒，第二天醒来时我睡在伯爵的床上。

这就是全部事实真相，朋友，请您评判吧。原谅我吧，就像我已经原谅了您从那天起所给我的一切苦难一样。

Chapter 26

WHAT ensued after that fatal night, you know as well as I do. But what you do not know, what you cannot suspect, is what I went through after the moment we parted.

I had heard that your father had taken you away, but felt sure that you would not be able to go on keeping your distance for long, and the day I ran into you on the Champs-Elysees, I was stunned but not really surprised.

And so began the sequence of days, each with some new insult from you which I suffered almost gladly. For not only was each indignity proof that you still loved me: I also felt that the more you persecuted me, the nobler I should appear in your eyes on the day you finally learned the truth.

Do not be surprised that I should have borne my cross gladly, Armand, for the love you felt for me had aroused noble inclinations in my heart.

But I did not have such strength of purpose at the outset.

Between the consummation of the sacrifice I had made for you and your return, a fairly long time went by when I needed to fall back on physical means as a way of preserving my sanity and of drowning my unhappiness in the life to which I had reverted. I believe Prudence told you how I never missed a party or a ball or an orgy.

My hope was that I should kill myself quickly with my excesses, and I think that this hope will not now be long in being realized. Of necessity, my health deteriorated steadily, and the day I sent Madame Duvernoy to beg for your mercy, I was close to collapse in both body and soul.

I will not remind you, Armand, of the way you repaid me the last time I proved my love to you, nor of the indignity by which you made Paris unbearable for a woman who, near to dying, could not resist your voice when you asked her for one night of love, and who, taking leave of her senses, believed for an instant that she could build a bridge between what had been and what was now. It was your privilege, Armand, to act as you did: the rate for one of my nights was not always so high!

So I left it all behind me! Olympe replaced me as Monsieur N's mistress and took it on herself, so I hear, to explain my reasons for leaving him. Count de G was in London. He is one of those men who attach just enough importance to running after girls of my sort for it to be a pleasant diversion, and thus remain on friendly terms with the women they have had: they never hate them, because they have never been jealous. He is one of those noble Lords who show us one side of their feelings but both ends of their wallets. My first thought was of him. I travelled over to join him. He gave me a marvellous welcome, but he was the lover of a society lady there, and was afraid of compromising himself by being seen with me. He introduced me to his friends, who organized a supper party for me, after which one of them took me home with him.

What did you expect me to do, my dear? Kill myself? To do so would have meant burdening your life, which must be a happy one, with pointless self-recriminations. And in any case, what is the sense of killing yourself when you are already so close to dying?

I turned into a body without a soul, a thing without thought. I continued in this mechanical way for some time, then came back to Paris and made enquiries about you. It was at this point that I learned that you had gone away on a long journey. There was nothing now to save me. My life once more became what it used to be two years before I met you. I tried to get back on terms with the Duke, but I had wounded him too deeply, and old men are short on patience, no doubt because they are aware that they are not going to live forever. My illness grew on me day by day. I had no colour, I felt desolate, I became thinner all the time. Men who buy love always inspect the goods before taking delivery of them. In Paris, there were many women whose health was better, and who had better figures than mine. I began to be overlooked. So much for the past, up to yesterday.

I am now very ill. I have written to the Duke asking for money, for I have none, and my creditors have returned brandishing their accounts with merciless persistence. Will the Duke give me an answer? Armand, why are you not here in Paris? You would come to see me and your visits would be a comfort.

20 December

The weather is dreadful: it's snowing and I am here alone. For the last three days, a fever has laid me so low that I have been unable to write to you. Nothing has changed, my dear. Each day I have vague hopes of a letter from you, but it does not come and probably never will. Only men are strong enough to be unforgiving. The Duke has not replied.

Prudence has started up her visits to the pawn-shops again.

I cough blood all the time. Oh! how you would grieve if you could see me now! You are so lucky to be where the sun is warm and not to have to face, as I do, an icy winter which lies heavy on your chest. Today, I got up for a while and, from behind the curtains at my window, I watched the bustle of life in Paris which I do believe I have put behind me once and for all. A few faces I knew appeared in the street: they passed quickly, cheerfully, without a care. Not one looked up at my window. However, a few young men have called and left their names. I was ill once before and you, who did not know me and had got nothing from me except a pert answer the day I first set eyes on you, you came to ask for news of me every morning. And now I am ill again. We spent six months together. I felt as much love for you as a woman's heart can contain and give, and now you are far away, you curse me and there is no word of comfort from you. But it was chance alone that made you desert me, I am sure, for if you were here in Paris, you would not leave my bedside nor my room.

25 December

My doctor has forbidden me to write every day. He is right, for remembering only makes the fever worse. But yesterday I received a letter which did me good ?more for the sentiments behind it than for any material help it brought me. So I am able to write to you today. The letter was from your father and this is what it said:

"Madame, I have this moment learned that you are ill. If I were in Paris, I should call myself to ask after you, and if my son were here with me, I should send him to find out how you are. But I cannot leave C, and Armand is six or seven hundred leagues away. Allow me therefore simply to say, Madame, how grieved I am by your illness, and please believe that I hope most sincerely for your prompt recovery.

One of my closest friends, Monsieur H, will call on you. He has been entrusted by me with an errand the result of which I await with impatience. Please receive him, and oblige

Your humble servant?

This is the letter I have received. Your father is a man of noble heart: love him well, my dear, for there are few men in the world who deserve as much to be loved. This note, signed by him in full, has done me more good than all the prescriptions dispensed by my learned doctor.

Monsieur H came this morning. He seemed terribly embarrassed by the delicate mission which Monsieur Duval had entrusted to him. He simply came to hand over a thousand ecus from your father. At first, I would not take the money, but Monsieur H said that by refusing I should offend Monsieur Duval, who had authorized him to give me this sum in the first instance and to supplement it with anything further I might need. I accepted his good offices which, coming from your father, cannot be regarded as charity. If I am dead when you return, show your father what I have just written about him, and tell him that as she penned these lines, the poor creature to whom he was kind enough to write this comforting letter, wept tears of gratitude and said a prayer for him.

4 January

I have just come through a succession of racking days. I never knew how much pain our bodies can give us. Oh! my past life! I am now paying for it twice over!

I have had someone sitting with me each night. I could not breathe. A wandering mind and bouts of coughing share what remains of my sorry existence.

My dining-room is crammed full of sweets and presents of all kinds which friends have brought me. Among these people, there are no doubt some who hope that I shall be their mistress later on. If they could only see what illness has reduced me to, they would run away in horror.

Prudence is using the presents I have been getting as New Year gifts to tradesmen.

It has turned frosty, and the doctor has said that I can go out in a few days if the fine weather continues.

8 January

Yesterday, I went out for a drive in my carriage. The weather was splendid. There were crowds of people out on the Champs-Elysees. It seemed like the first smile of spring. Everywhere around me there was a carnival atmosphere. I had never before suspected that the sun's rays could contain all the joy, sweetness and consolation that I found in them yesterday.

I ran into almost all the people I know. They were as high-spirited as ever, and just as busily going about their pleasures. So many happy people, and so unaware that they are happy! Olympe drove by in an elegant carriage which Monsieur de N has given her. She tried to cut me with a look. She has no idea how far removed I have grown from such futilities. A nice boy I have known for ages asked me if I would have supper with him and a friend of his who, he said, wanted to meet me.

I gave him a sad smile and held out my hand, which was burning with fever.

I have never seen such surprise on a human face.

I got back at four o'clock and sat down to dinner with fairly good appetite.

The drive out has done me good.

What if I were to get well again!

How strongly the sight of the lives and happiness of others renews the will to live of those who, only the day before, alone with their souls in the darkness of the sickroom, wanted nothing better than to die soon!

10 January

My hopes of recovery were an illusion. Here I am once more confined to my bed, my body swathed in burning poultices. Go out now and try hawking this body of yours which used to fetch such a pretty price, and see what you would get for it today!

We must have committed very wiched deeds before we were born, or else we are to enjoy very great felicity after we are dead, for God to allow us to know in this life all the agony of atonement and all the pain of our time of trial.

12 January

I am still ill.

Count de N sent me money yesterday, but I did not take it. I want nothing from that man. He is the reason why you are not with me now.

Oh! happy days at Bougival! where are you now?

If I get out of this bedroom alive, it will be to go on a pilgrimage to the house where we lived together. But the next time I leave here, I shall bedead.

Who knows if I shall write to you tomorrow?

25 January

For eleven nights now, I have not slept, I have not been able to breathe, and I have thought that I was about to die at any moment. The doctor has left instructions that I was not to be permitted to touch a pen. Still, Julie Duprat who sits up with me, has allowed me to write you these few lines. Will you not return, then, before I die? Is everything between us finished forever? I have a feeling that if you did come back, I should get better. But what would be the point of getting better?

28 January

This morning, I was awakened by a loud commotion. Julie, who was sleeping in my room, rushed into the dining room. I heard men's voices, and hers battling vainly against them. She came back in tears.

They had come to repossess their goods. I told her to let what they call justice be done. The bailiff came into my room, and he kept his hat on his head the whole time. He opened the drawers, made a note of everything he saw, and did not appear to notice that there was a woman dying in the bed which the charity of the law fortunately lets me keep.

As he was going he at least agreed to inform me that I had nine days in which to appeal, but he has left a watchman here! God, what is to become of me? This scene has made me more ill than ever. Prudence wanted to ask your father's friend for money, but I said no.

I received your letter this morning. Oh, how I needed it to come! Will my reply reach you in time? Will you ever see me again? This is a happy day which has helped me forget the days which I have spent these last six weeks. It seems to me that I am a little better, in spite of the miserable feeling which was my mood when I wrote you my reply.

After all, we cannot be unhappy all the time.

And then I fall to thinking that perhaps I won't die, that you will come back, that I shall see the spring once more, that you love me still, and that we shall begin the life we had last year all over again?