Chapter 4 Chapter Four

Two days later, the auction was all over, and a total of 150,000 francs were sold. The creditors took two-thirds, and the rest went to Marguerite's family, which included a sister and a young nephew. The sister was stupefied when the notary wrote to inform her that she would inherit fifty thousand francs. The young girl had not seen her sister for six or seven years.Since her sister's disappearance, neither she nor anyone else has had any news of her. The sister hurried to Paris.Those who knew Margaret were astonished to see her, for Margaret's only heir was a fat, beautiful country girl who had never left her homeland.

She made a fortune in an instant, and she didn't know where this windfall came from. I was later told that, when she returned to the village, she was very sorry for the death of her sister, but she made up for her sorrow by depositing the money at four and a half per cent. These things were talked about everywhere in Paris, that haunt of rumors and crimes, and were slowly forgotten as the years passed.If it hadn't happened to me suddenly, I would have almost forgotten how I got involved in these things.Through this incident, I learned of Margaret's life experience, and also knew some very touching details.This gave me the idea to write this story down.Now I will write the story.

One morning three or four days after the furniture sold out and the vacant house was re-let, someone rang my doorbell. My servant, or rather my porter who was also a servant, opened the door, brought me a card, and told me that the visitor wanted to see me. I glanced at the card and saw it said: Armand Duval. I searched my memory where I had seen the name before, and I remembered the title page of the book Manon Lescaut. What does the man who gave this book to Marguerite want to see me?I ordered the man who was waiting to be called in at once. Then I saw a young man with blond hair.He was tall, pale, and dressed in traveling clothes, which seemed to have been worn for several days, and had not even been brushed in Paris, because they were full of dust.

Mr. Duval was very excited, and he didn't want to hide his emotions, so he said to me in a trembling voice with tears in his eyes: "Excuse me, sir, for my disheveled and presumptuous visit to you. But young people don't pay much attention to such conventions, and I am really anxious to see you today. So although I have already sent my luggage to the hotel, But I didn't have time to go to the hotel to rest, so I came to you right away. Even though it's still early, I'm afraid I won't meet you." I invite M. Duval to sit down by the fire.As he sat, he took a handkerchief from his pocket, and covered his face for a moment.

"You must not understand," he went on, sighing, "that a stranger, at such a time, dressed in such clothes, and crying like this, can ask of you when he visits you. "My reason for coming is very simple, sir, to ask for your help." "Speak, sir, and I am at your service." "Did you attend the auction at Marguerite Gautier's house?" At the mention of Marguerite's name, the young man's momentarily repressed excitement gave way again, and he was obliged to cover his eyes with his hands. "You will find me ridiculous," he went on, "forgive me once more for being rude. Believe me, you have listened so patiently to me, and I will not forget your kindness."

"Sir," I said to him, "if I can really be of any service to you, to relieve your suffering a little, tell me quickly what I can do for you. You will know that I am a who you serve." M. Duval's suffering is so sympathetic that I will do everything possible to please him. So he said to me: "Did you buy anything at the auction of Margaret's property?" "Yes, sir, bought a book." "Is it Manon Lesco?" "yes!" "Is this book still with you?" "In my bedroom." Armand Duval felt as if a stone had been lifted from his heart when he heard this news, and he thanked me at once, as if the fact that the book was still with me had done him a little favor.

So I got up, went into the bedroom, fetched the book, and handed it to him. "This is it," said he, turning the pages, looking at the inscription on the title page, "this is it." Two large teardrops fell on the page. "So, sir," he said to me, looking up, not bothering to conceal that he had wept, and was on the verge of weeping again, "do you value this book?" "Sir, why do you ask such a question?" "Because I want to ask you to give it to me." "Excuse my curiosity," I said at this moment, "is it you who gave this book to Marguerite Gautier?"

"it is me." "The book is yours, sir, take it, and I am very glad to have it returned to its rightful owner." "But," said M. Duval sheepishly, "then at least I shall pay you back what you paid for the books." "Permit me to present it to you. At such an auction the price of a book is nothing. I do not remember how much it cost." "You spent a hundred francs." "Yeah," I said, feeling embarrassed this time, "how did you know that?" "It's very simple. I wanted to get to Paris in time for the auction of Marguerite's relics, but I didn't make it until this morning. Say I want to get one of her relics too, and I rushed to the auctioneer. There, please let me check the list of buyers who sold the item. I found out that you bought the book, so I decided to come here and ask you to cut it, but your price makes me worry. You bought the book Is it also for some kind of commemoration?"

When Armand said this, he was obviously worried. He was afraid that Marguerite and I would have the same friendship as he and her. I hastened to reassure him. "I've only seen her," I said to him, "and that's how a young man feels about the death of a beautiful woman he'd love to meet. That's how I feel. I don't know why I bought some things in that auction. Later, a gentleman raised my price desperately, as if deliberately trying not to let me buy this book. I was also happy for a while and made him angry, so I kept fighting with him to buy this book book. So I tell you again, sir, that the book is yours now, and I beg you once again to accept it and not to take it back from me as I bought it from the appraiser, I And I hope this book will help us form a deeper and more lasting friendship."

"Very well, sir," said Armand, pressing my hand tightly, "I accept it. Your kindness to me is engraved in my heart and will never be forgotten. " I really wanted to ask Armand about Marguerite, because the inscription on the book, the young man's long journey and his strong desire to get the book all aroused my curiosity, but I didn't dare to rush I pose these questions to my guest lest he think that I am only entitled to interfere in his private affairs by not accepting his money. Perhaps he read my mind, for he said to me: "Have you read the book?"

"I've seen it all." "Have you ever wondered what the two inscriptions I wrote mean?" "I can see from these two lines of inscription that in your eyes, the poor girl who accepts your book is really unusual, because I don't want to take these two lines as ordinary compliments." "You are right, sir, the girl is an angel, you see," he said to me, "read this letter!" He handed me a piece of letter paper, which had obviously been read many times. I opened it up and it reads like this: Dear Armand, I have received your letter, and your heart is as good as ever, and I thank God.Yes, my friend, I am ill, and incurable; but your interest in me has greatly eased my pain.I'm afraid I won't live long.I have just received your so touching letter, but I have no luck to shake the hand of the writer again.If there is anything that can cure me, well, the words in this letter are.I will not see you again, thousands of miles between you and me, and I die before my eyes.poor friend!Your Margaret is not what she used to be.It would be better not to see her at all than to let you see her now.You asked me if I could forgive you, and I forgive you from the bottom of my heart.Friend, just because you treated me badly before proves that you love me.I have been bedridden for a month, and I value your respect so much that I keep a journal every day from the time we parted until I can no longer hold a pen. If you really care about me, Armand, go to Julie Dupra when you come back.She will give you these diaries, and in them you will find the reasons for what happened between us, and my explanation.Julie has been very nice to me, and we often talk about you together.She was there when I received your letter, and we all cried when we read it. If we do not hear from you, Juli will be responsible for delivering these diaries to you on your return to France.No need to thank me for writing these diaries, which have served me well by allowing me to relive the few happy days of my life each day.If, after reading these diaries, you can come to some understanding of the past, it will be a permanent consolation to me. I wanted to leave you something to keep you thinking of me forever, but everything in my house has been seized and nothing is mine anymore. Do you understand my friend?I was dying, and from my bedroom I could hear the footsteps of the watchman in the living room.He was sent by my creditors, that nothing should be taken away.Even if I don't die, I have nothing left.I hope they will wait for me to die before auctioning it! what!How cruel and heartless man is!No!It should be said that God is unselfish. Well honey, you come to the auction of my property so you can buy something.For if I were to leave you even the most insignificant thing now, if it were known, they might sue you for embezzling seized property. How dreary is the life I am leaving! How good would it be to God if I could see you again before I die!As things stand, we must say goodbye forever.Forgive me, my friend, for not being able to write any more.People who said they were going to cure me kept bleeding me, and I was exhausted and my hands couldn't work. Marguerite Gautier It is true that the last words are so illegible that they are almost illegible. I returned the letter to Armand.He must have recited it in his head again just now as I read it.Because he took the letter back and said to me: "Who can believe that this is the handwriting of a seductive woman!" He suddenly recalled his old feelings and seemed very excited.He stared at the writing on the letter for a while, and finally took the letter to his lips and kissed it. "When I think," he went on, "that I shall not see her again before she dies, and never see her again; I can never forgive myself. "Dead! Dead! She was dying thinking of me, writing letters, calling my name. Poor, dear Marguerite!" Armand allowed his thoughts to churn and tears to flow, and extending his hand to me, continued: "A stranger who sees me mourning the death of such a girl may think me stupid, because he doesn't know how I tortured this woman in the past. How heartless I was then! How cruel she was Gentleness, how wronged! I thought I was forgiving her; but today I feel that I am not worthy of the forgiveness she bestows on me. Ah! If I could cry at her feet for an hour, I would save my life Ten years, I am also willing." Generally speaking, it is not easy to comfort a person without understanding the cause of his suffering.Yet I developed a strong sympathy for this young man.He poured out his sorrows to me so frankly that I could not help believing that he would not be indifferent to my words.So I said to him: "Do you have any relatives or friends? If you want to open some, go and see them, they will comfort you; because of me, I can only sympathize with you." "Yes," he said, getting up, striding up and down my room, "I bore you, please forgive me, I did not consider that my pain was not your concern, I did not Considering what I've been nagging you about, it's unlikely and you won't be interested." "You have misunderstood me, and I am at your bidding. Unfortunately, I cannot relieve your pain. If I, or my friends, can relieve your distress, in whatever way you can use my words, I hope you will Know that I am more than happy to serve you." "Forgive me, please forgive me," he said to me, "pain makes you nervous, please let me stay a little longer, so that I can wipe my tears, so that people in the street don't think I'm an idiot. Cry. You gave me this book just now, and made me very happy. I will never be able to repay your kindness to me." "Then give me a little friendship," I said to Armand, "and you will be with me. Let me talk about why you are so sad, and tell the pain in your heart, and people will feel lighter." "You are right, but I feel like crying today. I can only tell you nonsense, and I will tell you about it another day, and you will understand how sorry I am for the poor girl." Not without reason. And now," he said to me, wiping his eyes for the last time, looking into the mirror, "I hope you don't take me for a fool, and allow me to visit you again." The young man's eyes were so kind and gentle that I almost wanted to hug him. As for him, tears welled up in his eyes.Seeing that I had noticed, he looked away from me. "Well," I said to him, "get yourselves together." "Goodbye," he said to me. Desperately holding back his tears, he fled from my house because it was hard to tell he was out. I raised the curtain, and saw him climb into the hansom that was waiting for him at the door.As soon as he got into the carriage, his tears stopped flowing.He covered his face with his handkerchief and wept bitterly.