or I have always had the
presentiment that I shall die young. My mother died of consumption, and
the way I have always lived could but increase the only heritage she
ever left me. But I do not want to die without clearing up for you
everything about me; that is, if, when you come back, you will still
trouble yourself about the poor girl whom you loved before you went
away.

This is what the letter contained; I shall like writing it over again,
so as to give myself another proof of my own justification.

You remember, Armand, how the arrival of your father surprised us at
Bougival; you remember the involuntary fright that his arrival caused
me, and the scene which took place between you and him, which you told
me of in the evening.

Next day, when you were at Paris, waiting for your father, and he did
not return, a man came to the door and handed in a letter from M. Duval.

His letter, which I inclose with this, begged me, in the most serious
terms, to keep you away on the following day, on some excuse or
other, and to see your father, who wished to speak to me, and asked me
particularly not to say anything to you about it.

You know how I insisted on your returning to Paris next day.

You had only been gone an hour when your father presented himself. I
won't say what impression his severe face made upon me. Your father had
the old theory that a courtesan is a being without heart or reason, a
sort of machine for coining gold, always ready, like the machine,
to bruise the hand that gives her everything, and to tear in pieces,
without pity or discernment, those who set her in motion.

Your father had written me a very polite letter, in order that I might
consent to see him; he did not present himself quite as he had written.
His manner at first was so stiff, insolent, and even threatening, that I
had to make him understand that I was in my own house, and that I had no
need to render him an account of my life, except because of the sincere
affection which I had for his son.

M. Duval calmed down a little, but still went on to say that he could
not any longer allow his son to ruin himself over me; that I was
beautiful, it was true, but, however beautiful I might be, I ought not
to make use of my beauty to spoil the future of a young man by such
expenditure as I was causing.

At that there was only one thing to do, to show him the proof that since
I was your mistress I had spared no sacrifice to be faithful to you