WHAT ensued after that fatal night，you know as well as I do.But what you do not know，what you cannot suspect，is what I went through after the moment we parted.
I had heard that your father had taken you away，but felt sure that you would not be able to go on keeping your distance for long，and the day I ran into you on the Champs-Elysees，I was stunned but not really surprised.
And so began the sequence of days，each with some new insult from you which I suffered almost gladly.For not only was each indignity proof that you still loved me：I also felt that the more you persecuted me，the nobler I should appear in your eyes on the day you finally learned the truth.
Do not be surprised that I should have borne my cross gladly，Armand，for the love you felt for me had aroused noble inclinations in my heart.
But I did not have such strength of purpose at the outset.
Between the consummation of the sacrifice I had made for you and your return，a fairly long time went by when I needed to fall back on physical means as a way of preserving my sanity and of drowning my unhappiness in the life to which I had reverted.I believe Prudence told you how I never missed a party or a ball or an orgy.
My hope was that I should kill myself quickly with my excesses，and I think that this hope will not now be long in being realized.Of necessity，my health deteriorated steadily，and the day I sent Madame Duvernoy to beg for your mercy，I was close to collapse in both body and soul.
I will not remind you，Armand，of the way you repaid me the last time I proved my love to you，nor of the indignity by which you made Paris unbearable for a woman who，near to dying，could not resist your voice when you asked her for one night of love，and who，taking leave of her senses，believed for an instant that she could build a bridge between what had been and what was now.It was your privilege，Armand，to act as you did：the rate for one of my nights was not always so high！
So I left it all behind me！Olympe replaced me as Monsieur N's mistress and took it on herself，so I hear，to explain my reasons for leaving him.Count de G was in London.He is one of those men who attach just enough importance to running after girls of my sort for it to be a pleasant diversion，and thus remain on friendly terms with the women they have had：they never hate them，because they have never been jealous.He is one of those noble Lords who show us one side of their feelings but both ends of their wallets.My first thought was of him.I travelled over to join him.He gave me a marvellous welcome，but he was the lover of a society lady there，and was afraid of compromising himself by being seen with me.He introduced me to his friends，who organized a supper party for me，after which one of them took me home with him.
What did you expect me to do，my dear？Kill myself？To do so would have meant burdening your life，which must be a happy one，with pointless self-recriminations.And in any case，what is the sense of killing yourself when you are already so close to dying？
I turned into a body without a soul，a thing without thought.I continued in this mechanical way for some time，then came back to Paris and made enquiries about you.It was at this point that I learned that you had gone away on a long journey.There was nothing now to save me.My life once more became what it used to be two years before I met you.I tried to get back on terms with the Duke，but I had wounded him too deeply，and old men are short on patience，no doubt because they are aware that they are not going to live forever.My illness grew on me day by day.I had no colour，I felt desolate，I became thinner all the time.Men who buy love always inspect the goods before taking delivery of them.In Paris，there were many women whose health was better，and who had better figures than mine.I began to be overlooked.So much for the past，up to yesterday.
I am now very ill.I have written to the Duke asking for money，for I have none，and my creditors have returned brandishing their accounts with merciless persistence.Will the Duke give me an answer？Armand，why are you not here in Paris？You would come to see me and your visits would be a comfort.
20 December
The weather is dreadful：it's snowing and I am here alone.For the last three days，a fever has laid me so low that I have been unable to write to you.Nothing has changed，my dear.Each day I have vague hopes of a letter from you，but it does not come and probably never will.Only men are strong enough to be unforgiving.The Duke has not replied.
Prudence has started up her visits to the pawn-shops again.
I cough blood all the time.Oh！how you would grieve if you could see me now！You are so lucky to be where the sun is warm and not to have to face，as I do，an icy winter which lies heavy on your chest.Today，I got up for a while and，from behind the curtains at my window，I watched the bustle of life in Paris which I do believe I have put behind me once and for all.A few faces I knew appeared in the street：they passed quickly，cheerfully，without a care.Not one looked up at my window.However，a few young men have called and left their names.I was ill once before and you，who did not know me and had got nothing from me except a pert answer the day I first set eyes on you，you came to ask for news of me every morning.And now I am ill again.We spent six months together.I felt as much love for you as a woman's heart can contain and give，and now you are far away，you curse me and there is no word of comfort from you.But it was chance alone that made you desert me，I am sure，for if you were here in Paris，you would not leave my bedside nor my room.
25 December
My doctor has forbidden me to write every day.He is right，for remembering only makes the fever worse.But yesterday I received a letter which did me good-more for the sentiments behind it than for any material help it brought me.So I am able to write to you today.The letter was from your father and this is what it said：
