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which is the first to raise a corner of the mysterious veil！
But to be really loved by a courtesan： that is a victory of infinitely
greater difficulty。 With them the body has worn out the soul； the senses
have burned up the heart； dissipation has blunted the feelings。 They have
long known the words that we say to them； the means we use； they have
sold the love that they inspire。 They love by profession； and not by instinct。
They are guarded better by their calculations than a virgin by her mother
and her convent； and they have invented the word caprice for that
unbartered love which they allow themselves from time to time； for a rest；
for an excuse； for a consolation； like usurers； who cheat a thousand； and
think they have bought their own redemption by once lending a sovereign
to a poor devil who is dying of hunger without asking for interest or a
receipt。
Then； when God allows love to a courtesan； that love； which at first
seems like a pardon； becomes for her almost without penitence。 When a
creature who has all her past to reproach herself with is taken all at once
by a profound； sincere； irresistible love； of which she had never felt herself
capable； when she has confessed her love； how absolutely the man whom
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she loves dominates her！ How strong he feels with his cruel right to say：
You do no more for love than you have done for money。 They know not
what proof to give。 A child； says the fable； having often amused himself by
crying 〃Help！ a wolf！〃 in order to disturb the labourers in the field； was
one day devoured by a Wolf； because those whom he had so often
deceived no longer believed in his cries for help。 It is the same with these
unhappy women when they love seriously。 They have lied so often that no
one will believe them； and in the midst of their remorse they are devoured
by their love。
Hence those great devotions； those austere retreats from the world； of
which some of them have given an example。
But when the man who inspires this redeeming love is great enough in
soul to receive it without remembering the past； when he gives himself up
to it； when； in short； he loves as he is loved； this man drains at one draught
all earthly emotions； and after such a love his heart will be closed to every
other。
I did not make these reflections on the morning when I returned home。
They could but have been the presentiment of what was to happen to me；
and； despite my love for Marguerite； I did not foresee such consequences。
I make these reflections to…day。 Now that all is irrevocably ended； they a
rise naturally out of what has taken place。
But to return to the first day of my liaison。 When I reached home I was
in a state of mad gaiety。 As I thought of how the barriers which my
imagination had placed between Marguerite and myself had disappeared；
of how she was now mine； of the place I now had in her thoughts； of the
key to her room which I had in my pocket； and of my right to use this key；
I was satisfied with life； proud of myself； and I loved God because he had
let such things be。
One day a young man is passing in the street； he brushes against a
woman； looks at her； turns； goes on his way。 He does not know the woman；
and she has pleasures； griefs； loves； in which he has no part。 He does not
exist for her； and perhaps； if he spoke to her； she would only laugh at him；
as Marguerite had laughed at me。 Weeks； months； years pass； and all at
once； when they have each followed their fate along a different path； the
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logic of chance brings them face to face。 The woman becomes the man's
mistress and loves him。 How？ why？ Their two existences are henceforth
one； they have scarcely begun to know one another when it seems as if
they had known one another always； and all that had gone before is wiped
out from the memory of the two lovers。 It is curious； one must admit。
As for me； I no longer remembered how I had lived before that night。
My whole being was exalted into joy at the memory of the words we had
exchanged during that first night。 Either Marguerite was very clever in
deception； or she had conceived for me one of those sudden passions
which are revealed in the first kiss； and which die； often enough； as
suddenly as they were born。
The more I reflected the more I said to myself that Marguerite had no
reason for feigning a love which she did not feel； and I said to myself also
that women have two ways of loving； one of which may arise from the
other： they love with the heart or with the senses。 Often a woman takes a
lover in obedience to the mere will of the senses； and learns without
expecting it the mystery of immaterial love； and lives henceforth only
through her heart； often a girl who has sought in marriage only the union
of two pure affections receives the sudden revelation of physical love； that
energetic conclusion of the purest impressions of the soul。
In the midst of these thoughts I fell asleep； I was awakened by a letter
from Marguerite containing these words：
〃Here are my orders： To…night at the Vaudeville。
〃Come during the third entr'acte。〃
I put the letter into a drawer； so that I might always have it at band in
case I doubted its reality； as I did from time to time。
She did not tell me to come to see her during the day； and I dared not
go； but I had so great a desire to see her before the evening that I went to
the Champs…Elysees； where I again saw her pass and repass； as I had on
the previous day。
At seven o'clock I was at the Vaudeville。 Never had I gone to a theatre
so early。 The boxes filled one after another。 Only one remained empty； the
stage box。 At the beginning of the third act I heard the door of the box； on
which my eyes had been almost constantly fixed； open； and Marguerite
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appeared。 She came to the front at once； looked around the stalls； saw me；
and thanked me with a look。
That night she was marvellously beautiful。 Was I the cause of this
coquetry？ Did she love me enough to believe that the more beautiful she
looked the happier I should be？ I did not know； but if that had been her