'No，no！'she said，near to panic，'we should be too wretched.There's nothing I can do now to make you happy，but as long as I have breath in my body，I will be the slave of your every whim.Whatever time of day or night you want me，come to me：I shall be yours.But you mustn't go on trying to link your future with mine.You'd only be too unhappy，and you would make me very wretched.'
'I'll keep my looks for a little while longer.Make the most of them，but don't ask any more of me.'
When she had gone，I felt frightened by the loneliness to which she had abandoned me.Two hours after her departure，I was still sitting on the bed she had just left，staring at the pillow which bore the imprint of her head，and wondering what should become of me，torn as I was between love and jealousy.
At five o'clock，without having any clear idea of what I would do when I got there，I went round to the rue d'Antin.
It was Nanine who opened the door.
'Madame cannot see you now，'she said，with some embarrassment.
'Why not？'
'Because Count de N is with her，and he doesn't want me to let anyone in.'
'Oh，of course，'I stammered，'I'd forgotten.'
I returned home like a man drunk，and do you know what I did in that moment of jealous frenzy which lasted only long enough for the disgraceful action which I was about to commit，can you guess what I did？I told myself that this woman was making a fool of me，I pictured her locked in inviolable intimacies with the Count，repeating to him the same words she had said to me that night，and，taking a five hundred franc note，I sent it to her with this message：
'You left so quickly this morning that I forgot to pay you.The enclosed is your rate for a night.'
Then，when the letter had gone，I went out as though to escape from the instant remorse which followed this unspeakable deed.
I called on Olympe and I found her trying on dresses.When we were alone，she sang obscene songs for my amusement.
She was the archetypal courtesan who has neither shame nor heart nor wit-or at least she appeared so to me，for perhaps another man had shared with her the idyll I had shared with Marguerite.
She asked me for money.I gave it her.Then，free to go，I went home.
Marguerite had not sent a reply.
There is no point in my telling you in what state of agitation I spent the whole of the following day.
At half past six，a messenger brought an envelope containing my letter and the five hundred franc note，but nothing else.
'Who gave you this？'I said to the man.
'A lady who was leaving on the Boulogne mail coach with her maid.She gave me orders not to bring it until the coach was clear of the depot.'
I ran all the way to Marguerite's apartment.
'Madame left for England today at six o'clock，'said the porter in answer to my question.
There was nothing now to keep me in Paris，neither love nor hate.I was exhausted by the turmoil of these events.One of my friends was about to set off on a tour of the Middle East.I went to see my father and said I wished to go with him.My father gave me bills of exchange and letters of introduction，and a week or ten days later I boarded ship at Marseilles.
It was at Alexandria，through an Embassy attache whom I had occasionally seen at Marguerite's，that I learnt about the poor girl's illness.
It was then that I sent her the letter to which she wrote the reply you have read for yourself.I got it when I reached Toulon.
I set out immediately and you know the rest.
All that remains now is for you to read the papers which Julie Duprat kept for me.They are the necessary complement of the story I have just told you.
