And so，my love，you will have to come to my sale and buy something，for if I were to put aside the smallest item for you and they heard of it，they would be quite capable of prosecuting you for misappropriating distrained goods.
How sad the life I now leave！
How good God would be if He granted that I should see you again before I die！Since the chances are remote，adieu，my dear；forgive me if I do not write more，for those who say they will cure me bleed me to exhaustion，and my hand refuses to write another line.
Marguerite Gautier.'
And indeed，the last few words were scarcely legible.
I gave the letter back to Armand who had doubtless read it over in his thoughts while I had been reading it on the paper，for as he took it he said：
'Who would ever believe that a kept woman wrote that！'And deeply affected by his memories，he stared for some time at the writing of the letter before finally putting it to his lips.
'And when I think，'he went on，that she died before I saw her again，and that I shall see her no more；when I think that she did for me what no sister could ever have done-I cannot forgive myself for having let her die like that.
Dead！dead！thinking of me，writing and saying my name，poor dear Marguerite！'
And Armand，giving free expression to his thoughts and tears，held out his hand to me and continued：
'People would think me very childish if they saw me grieving like this for the death of such a woman；but people could not know what I made that woman suffer，how cruel I was，how good and uncomplaining she was.I belived that it was for me to forgive her，and today I find myself unworthy of the pardon she bestows on me.Oh！I would gladly give ten years of my life to be able to spend one hour weeping at her feet.'
It is always difficult to comfort a grief that one does not share，and yet so keenly did I feel for this young man who confided his sorrows with such frankness，that I felt that a few words of mine would not be unwelcome to him，and I said：
'Have you no relatives，no friends？Take hope.Go and see them for they will comfort you，whereas I can only pity you.'
'You are right，'he said，rising to his feet and striding around my bedroom，'I am boring you.Forgive me，I was forgetting that my grief must mean little to you，and that I trespass upon your patience with a matter which neither can nor should concern you in the slightest.'
'No，you misunderstand me.I am entirely at your disposal；only I regret I am unable to calm your sorrow.If the company of myself and my friends can beguile your thoughts，if you need me in any way，I would like you to know how very happy I would be to help.'
'Forgive me，forgive me，'he said，'grief magnifies the feelings.Allow me to stay a few minutes more，long enough to dry my eyes so that idlers in the street shall not stare to see a grown man weeping as though he were a freak.You've made me very happy by giving me this book；I'll never know how to repay the debt I owe you.'
'By granting me a little of your friendship，'I told Armand，'and by telling me the cause of your sorrow.There is consolation in speaking of one's suffering.'
'You are right.But today my need for tears is too great，and what I said would make no sense.Some day I shall acquaint you with the story，and you shall judge whether I am right to mourn the poor girl.And now，he added，rubbing his eyes one last time and looking at himself in mirror，tell me that you do not think me too foolish，and say you give me leave to call on you again.'
The look in the eyes of this young man was good and gentle；I was almost tempted to embrace him.
For his part，his eyes began again to cloud with tears；he saw that I noticed them and he turned his glance away from me.
'Come now，'I told him，'take heart.'
'Goodbye，'he said.
And，making an extraordinary effort not to weep，he fled rather than left my apartment.
I lifted the curtain at my window and saw him get into the cab which was waiting at the door；but he was hardly inside when he burst into tears and buried his face in his handkerchief.
