Chapter 14 Chapter Fourteen

As soon as I got home, I cried like a child.No man who has ever been deceived even once knows how much I suffer. Filled with unbearable anger, I secretly made up my mind: I must break with this kind of love immediately.I can't wait until daybreak to book a bus ticket and go back to my father and sister, whose love for me is unquestionable and will never be false. But I don't want to leave before Marguerite understands why I left her.As a man, he would leave without saying goodbye only when he broke up with his lover. I thought over and over how to write this letter. This girl of mine was like all the other whores, and I had flattered her so much before that she treated me like a schoolboy.Is it not clear that she has resorted to a simple means of insulting me in order to deceive me?At this time, my self-esteem took the upper hand.I had to leave this woman without making her happy knowing that this rupture had caused me pain.With tears of exasperation and anguish in my eyes, I wrote her the following letter in the most correct handwriting:

Dear Margaret: I hope your discomfort yesterday did not affect your health too much.Last night at eleven o'clock, I came to inquire about you, and someone replied that you had not come back yet. Mr. G. was luckier than I, for he came to you shortly after me, and was there until four o'clock in the morning. Forgive me for making you have some hard times, but rest assured, I will never forget the happy moments you gave me. I was supposed to inquire about you today, but I am going back to my father. Good-bye, dear Marguerite, I wish I could love you like a millionaire, but I can't; you wish I could love you like a pauper, but I'm not so poor.Let us all forget, then, for you an almost insignificant name, for me an unattainable dream.

I return your key, I haven't used it yet, it will be of use to you, if you are often as ill as yesterday. You see, I couldn't finish this letter without giving her a hard laugh, which proves how much I still love her. I read the letter a dozen times over, and it gave me some peace of mind to think that it would cause Margaret pain.I did my best to keep the emotion I had feigned in the letter.When my servant came into my room at eight o'clock, I handed him the letter, to be delivered at once. "Are you going to wait for a reply?" Joseph--my servant, like all servants, was called Joseph--asked me.

"If anyone asks you if you want to write back, say you don't know anything, but you wait." I hope she will write back to me. How poor and how weak we are! During the time Joseph went to deliver the letter, I was in a state of extreme excitement.After a while I remembered how Margaret had committed herself to me, and I asked myself what right I had to write her such an insolent letter, and she could reply that it was not Mr. G who had deceived me, but I Mr. G., some women with many lovers justify themselves in this way; after a while I remembered the girl's oath, and I tried to convince myself that my letter was still too polite, and that there were no harsh words in it. To punish a woman who played with my pure love.Then I thought it better not to write to her, but to go to her house during the day, so that I would be glad to see her cry.

At last I wondered how she would answer me, and I was ready to accept the explanation she was about to give me. Joseph is back. "How?" I asked him. "Sir," he answered me, "the Madame is asleep, and she is not awake, but if she rings, a letter will be given to her, and if there is an answer, they will bring it." Where is she still asleep! How many times have I almost sent for this letter, but I always think this way: "The letter may have been given to her. If I send someone to get it, it will appear that I am regretting it." The closer I got to the moment when I should have received her letter, the more I regretted not having written it.

Ten o'clock, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock struck. At twelve o'clock, I almost went to my appointment as if nothing had happened, and I finally thought about how to break free from this suffocating bondage. Like some people who have expectations in their hearts, I have a superstitious belief that if I go out for a while, I will see the answer when I return.For the answers to which people are anxiously awaiting are always delivered when the recipient is not at home. I went to the street on the pretext of having lunch. I am accustomed to lunch at the Café Foix on the corner of the street, but today I did not go, preferring to cross the Rue d'Antin and go to the Rue du Palais.Whenever I saw a woman from a distance, I thought it was Nanine who had sent me an answer.I passed the Rue d'Antin without meeting a messenger.When I got to the Rue du Palais, I went into the Welly's, and the waiter waited on me, or rather brought me everything imaginable, because I didn't eat it.

Involuntarily, my eyes kept staring at the clock on the wall. I went home confident that I would hear from Margaret in no time. The janitor received nothing.I also hoped that the letter had been given to the servant, but he saw no one coming after I went out. If Margaret had written me back, she would have written me long ago. So I regret the wording of that letter, I should have kept my mouth shut so that she might feel uneasy and act on it; because she would ask me if I didn't show up for the date I had promised the day before and only then can I tell her the reason; then she has nothing to do but to justify herself.And all I want is her justification.I already felt that I would believe whatever excuse she offered, and that I would give anything to see her again.

I thought she would come to the door herself, but the hours passed and she didn't come. Marguerite is indeed different from other women, because few women are completely unresponsive to a letter like the one I have just written. At five o'clock, I headed for the Champs-Elysées. "If I ever meet her," I thought to myself, "I'll pretend I don't care, and she'll believe I don't think about her anymore." On the corner of the Rue du Royal Palace, I saw her passing by in a car. The encounter was so sudden that my face turned pale, and I wondered if she could see the excitement in my heart; I was so flustered that I only saw her. car.

Instead of continuing my walk on the Champs-Elysées, I browse the theater posters: I still have another chance to see her. There was a first performance at the Palais Royale, and Marguerite was bound to attend it. I got to the theater at seven o'clock. All the boxes were full, but Marguerite did not come. So I left the Palais Royale, and my family went to all the theaters she frequented: the cabaret, the vaudeville, the Comic Opera. There was no trace of her anywhere. Either my letter made her so sad that she didn't even want to see the play; or she was afraid to see me in order to avoid an explanation.

These are the vanity-induced thoughts I walk down the street.Suddenly I bumped into Gaston and he asked me where I was from. "From the Palace Theater." "I'm from the Grand Opera," he said to me, "and I thought you were there." "why?" "Because Margaret was there." "Ah! is she there?" "Where." "Are you alone?" "No, with a girlfriend." "Is there no one else?" "Count G stayed in her box for a while, but she went away with the Duke. I always thought you would come too. There is a seat next to me that has been vacant tonight, and I thought it was reserved for you." Woolen cloth."

"But why should Marguerite go there and I have to follow?" "Because you are her lover, aren't you?" "Who told you that?" "Prudence, I met her yesterday. I congratulate you, my dear, and she is a pretty mistress not easy to come by. Don't let her get away, she will save you." Gaston's simple reaction showed how ridiculous my sensitivity was. If I had met him yesterday and he had spoken to me in the same way, I certainly would not have written that stupid letter of the morning. I wanted almost at once to go to Prudence's, and told her to tell Marguerite that I had something to say to her, but I was afraid that she would refuse to receive me out of revenge.So I went back home via the Rue d'Antin. I asked the porter again if he had a letter for me. No! I lay in bed and thought, "She's probably going to see what new tricks I can play, to see if I want to take back my letter this morning. But she sees that I haven't written to her again, and she will write it tomorrow." Letter to me." I regretted what I had done that night, and I was alone at home, unable to sleep, restless and jealous.I think that if things had been left to their own course, I would probably be snuggling up to Margaret at this moment, listening to her lingering words, which I have only heard twice in total, whenever I think of them alone. , I get fever in both ears. At that time, I felt the scariest thing was: Reason told me that I was wrong; in fact, no matter from which angle I thought about it, I should say that Margaret loved me.First, she was planning to go to the countryside alone to escape the summer heat with me; second, there was no reason to compel her to be my mistress.My property is not enough for her daily expenses, or even for her sporadic expenses on a whim.So the only thing she could hope for in me was a genuine affection.Her life was full of commercial love, which gave her a rest from the sincerity of it; I shattered it the next day, and my merciless sneer was exchanged for two nights of her kindness.So my behavior was not only ridiculous, but rude.I haven't paid her any money, how can I have the right to condemn her life?I ran away the next day. Isn't this like a parasite in love, afraid that someone will ask him to pay for the meal?how!I've only known Marguerite for thirty-six hours, and been her lover for twenty-four hours, and I'm mad at her!She can love me in a separate body, but instead of feeling happy, I want to monopolize her and force her to cut off all her past relationships at once, and these relationships will be the source of her future life.How can I blame her?Not at all.She could have told me outright, like some daring women, that she was going to have another lover, but she did not, and wrote to me that she was not well.I didn't believe what she said in her letter, I didn't walk in every street in Paris except the Rue d'Antin, I didn't spend the evening with my friends and wait to meet her the next day at the time she appointed, but I played The role of Othello came up, and I watched her actions, thinking it was her punishment not to see her.In fact, on the contrary, she should be happy at the separation, she must have thought me so stupid that her silence was not even resentment but contempt for me. ①The protagonist in Shakespeare's famous play "Othello" is later used as a metaphor for all jealous, suspicious and violent husbands. Shall I then give Marguerite a present like a whore, lest she suspect me of meanness, and that will be the end of us; but I don't want our love to be a little bit of money Otherwise, if it does not belittle her love for me, it will at least tarnish my love for her.And since this kind of love is so pure that no one else can touch it, it cannot be paid for the happiness it confers, however fleeting, with a gift, however valuable it may be. That's what I was thinking over and over that night, and that's what I was always going to say to Margaret. I did not fall asleep until dawn, I had a fever and thought of nothing but Marguerite. You also know that a decisive decision must be made: either to break with this woman, or to stop being suspicious, if she still accepts me. But you also know that you always have to hesitate before making up your mind.I couldn't stay at home, and I didn't dare to go to Marguerite's, so I tried to get close to her. If I succeeded, it could be said to be accidental, so that I could save my face. When nine o'clock came, I hurried to Prudence's house, and she asked me what I could do to see her early in the morning. I didn't dare to tell her why I went, I just told her that I went out early in the morning to book a seat on the coach to C City: my father lives in C City. "You are very lucky to be out of Paris in such fine weather," she said to me. I looked at Prudence, wondering if she was laughing at me. But the expression on her face was serious. "Are you going to say good-bye to Marguerite?" she went on, still serious. "no." "That's good." "Do you think this is good?" "Of course, why go to see her now that you've already blown it off with her?" "So you know we blow?" "She showed me your letter." "Then what did she say to you?" "She said to me: 'My dear Prudence, your darling has no manners, and such a letter can only be written in the heart.'" "In what tone did she speak to you?" "She said it with a smile, and she also said: 'He has had supper at my house twice, and he hasn't even come to the door to say thank you.'" This is what my letter and my jealousy have produced.My love vanity was cruelly wounded. "What was she doing last night?" "She's gone to the Grand Opera." "I know that, what happened next?" "She's having supper at home." "Are you alone?" "I think it's with Earl G." So my break with her did not alter Marguerite's habits in the slightest. In such a situation, some people will say to you: "Never think again of this woman who doesn't love you." I forced a smile and said, "Well, I'm glad to see Margaret isn't feeling sorry for me." "She's quite right. You've done what you're supposed to do, and you're more sensible than she is, because the girl loves you, she talks about you, she does anything stupid. of." "Since she loves me, why doesn't she write me back?" "Because she already knows that she shouldn't love you. Besides, women sometimes tolerate others cheating them in love, but never allow others to hurt their self-esteem, especially when someone leaves her after being her lover for two days , then whatever the reason for this breakup, it always hurts a woman's pride. I know Marguerite, and she would rather die than write to you." "Then what shall I do?" "Leave it here, she will forget you, and you will forget her, neither of you should blame the other." "But what if I write to ask her to forgive me?" "Don't do that, she might forgive you." I almost jumped up and put my arms around Prudence's neck. A quarter of an hour later I returned home and wrote to Marguerite. A man who regrets the letter he wrote yesterday, who will leave Paris tomorrow if you do not forgive him, wants to know when he will fall at your feet and pour out his regrets. When can you meet him alone?Because, you know, no one else can be present at the time of the confession. I folded up this love poem in prose and sent it to Joseph, who delivered the letter to Marguerite herself, who replied that she would write back in a moment. I didn't go out, only went out for a while when I was eating, and I didn't hear her reply until eleven o'clock in the evening. I can't go on suffering like this, and I decided to leave tomorrow. Because of this determination, I knew that even if I lay in bed, I would not be able to sleep, so I started to pack my luggage.