'It's true，'she went on，'we creatures of chance have weird desires and unimaginable passions.Sometimes we give ourselves for one thing，sometimes for another.There are men who could ruin themselves and get nowhere with us；there are others who can have us for a bunch of flowers.Our hearts are capricious：it's their only diversion and their only excuse.I gave myself to you more quickly than I ever did to another man，I swear.Why？Because when you saw me coughing blood，you took me by the hand，because you wept，because you are the only human being who ever felt sorry for me.I'm now going to tell you something silly.Once I had a little dog who used to look at me with sad eyes when I coughed：he was the only living creature I have ever loved.'
'When he died，I cried more than after my mother's death.Mind you，she did spend twelve years of her life beating me.Well，from the start，I loved you as much as my dog.If men only knew what can be had with just one tear，they would be better loved and we should ruin fewer of them.'
'Your letter gave you away：it showed me that you didn't understand the workings of the heart，and it injured you more in the love.I had for you than anything else you could have done.It was jealousy，of course，but a sarcastic，haughty kind of jealousy.I was feeling miserable when I got the letter.I was counting on seeing you at midday，on having lunch with you，hoping the sight of you would chase away a thought I kept having which，before I knew you，never bothered me in the least.'
'Then again，'continued Marguerite，'you were the only person with whom I'd sensed from the first I could think and speak freely.People who congregate around girls like me can gain a great deal by paying close attention to the slightest words we say，and by drawing conclusions from our most insignificant actions.Naturally，we have no friends，we have egotistical lovers who spend their fortunes not on us，as they claim，but on their vanity.'
'For men like these，we have to be cheerful when they are happy，hale and hearty when they decide they want supper，and as cynical as they are.We are not allowed to have feelings，for fear of being jeered at and losing our credibility.'
'Our lives are no longer our own.We aren't human beings，but things.We rank first in their pride，and last in their good opinion.We have women friends，but they are friends like Prudence-yesterday's kept women who still have expensive tastes which their age prevents them from indulging.So they become our friends，or rather associates.Their friendship may verge on the servile，but it is never disinterested.They'll never give you a piece of advice unless there's money in it.They don't care if we've got ten lovers extra as long as they get a few dresses or a bracelet out of them and can drive about every now and then in our carriages and sit in our boxes at the theatre.They end up with the flowers we were given the night before，and they borrow our Indian shawls.They never do us a good turn，however trifling，without making sure they get paid twice what their trouble was worth.You saw as much yourself the evening Prudence brought me the six thousand francs which I'd asked her to go and beg from the Duke；she borrowed five hundred francs which she'll never give back，or else she'll pay it off in hats that will never get taken out of their boxes.'
'So we can have，or rather I had，only one hope of happiness：and this was，sad as I sometimes am and ill as I am always，to find a man of sufficiently rare qualities who would never ask me to account for my actions，and be the lover of my wilder fancies more than the lover of my body.I found this man in the Duke，but the Duke is old and old age neither shields nor consoles.I'd thought I could settle for the life he made for me.But it was no use.I was dying of boredom，and I felt that if I was going to be destroyed，then I might as well jump into the flames as choke on the fumes.'
'Then I met you.You were young，passionate，happy，and I tried to turn you into the man I had cried out for in my crowded but empty life.What I loved in you was not the man you were but the man you could be.You refuse to accept the part；you reject it as unworthy of you；you are a commonplace lover，just do what the others do：pay me and let's not talk about it any more.'
Marguerite，tired by this long confession，settled back into the sofa and，to check a mild fit of coughing，put her handkerchief to her lips and even wiped her eyes.
'Forgive me，forgive me，'I murmured，'I knew all this，but I wanted to hear you say it，my darling Marguerite.Let's forget the rest.Let's just remember one thing：we belong to one another，we are young and we are in love.'
'Marguerite，do with me what you will.I am your slave，your dog.But，in the name of God，tear up the letter I wrote you and don't let me go away tomorrow.It would kill me.'
Marguerite withdrew the letter from the bodice of her dress and，as she handed it back to me，said with a smile of infinite sweetness：
'Here，I was bringing it back to you.'
I tore up the letter and，with tears in my eyes，kissed the hand which held it.
At this juncture，Prudence reappeared.
'Oh，Prudence，can you guess what he wants me to do？'said Marguerite.
'To forgive him.'
'That's right.'
'And have you？'
'I can't do otherwise.But there's something else he wants.'
'What's that？'
'He wants to come and have supper with us.'
'And are you going to say yes？'
'What do you think？'
'I think you're a couple of children without an ounce of common sense between you.But I also think that I'm ravenous，and the sooner you do say yes，the sooner we'll have supper.'
'Come on，then，'said Marguerite，'we can all fit into my carriage.By the way，'she added，turning to me，'Nanine will have gone to bed，so you'll have to open the door.Take my key，and try not to lose it again.'
I kissed Marguerite until she had no breath left.
Thereupon，Joseph came in.
'Sir，'he said with the air of a man terribly pleased with himself，'the trunks are packed.'
'All of them？'
'Yes，sir.'
'Well，unpack them.I'm not leaving.'