TWO days later，the sale was completely over.It had realized one hundred and fifty thousand francs.
The creditors had divided two thirds among themselves and the family-a sister and a young nephew-had inherited the rest.
The sister's eyes had opened wide when the agent had written telling her that she had come into fifty thousand francs.
It was six or seven years since this young woman had set eyes on her sister who had disappeared one day without anyone ever discovering，either from her or through other people，anything whatsoever about her life from the time of her disappearance.
So she had now arrived post-haste in Paris，and great was the astonishment of those who had known Marguerite when they saw that her sole heir was a hearty，good-looking country girl who，up to that moment，had never set foot outside her village.
Her fortune had been made at a stroke，without her having the least idea of the source from which it had so unexpectedly materialized.
She returned，I have since been told，to her part of the country，bearing away from her sister's death a deep sadness which was，however，eased by an investment at four and a half per cent which she had just made.
All these happenings，which had gone the rounds of Paris，the mother town of scandal，were beginning to be forgotten，and I myself was forgetting quite what my part in events had been，when something occurred which led to my becoming acquainted with the whole of Marguerite's life，and put in my way particulars so affecting that I was seized with an urge to write this story and now do so.
The apartment，empty now of the furniture which had all been auctioned off，had been to let for three or four days when one morning there was a ring at my door.
My servant，or rather the porter who acted as my servant，went to see who it was and brought me a visiting card saying that the person who had handed it to him wished to speak to me.
I glanced at the card and there I saw these two words：Armand Duval.
I tried to recall where I had seen the name，and then I remembered the fly-leaf of the copy of Manon Lescaut.
What could the person who had given the book to Marguerite want with me？I said that the gentleman who was waiting should be shown in at once.
The next moment I saw a young man with fair hair，tall，pale，wearing travelling clothes which looked as though hey had not been off his back for several days and which，on his arrival in Paris，he had not even taken the trouble to brush down，for he was covered in dust.
Monsieur Duval，deeply agitated，made no attempt to hide his feelings，and it was with tears in his eyes and a trembling in his voice that he said：
'Please excuse my visit and these clothes；not simply because young men do not stand much on ceremony with each other，but because I wanted to see you so badly today that I have not even taken time to stop off at the hotel where I set my luggage，and have rushed straight here，dreading even so，early as it is，that I should miss you.'
I begged Monsieur Duval to sit down by the fire，which he did，taking from his pocket a handkerchief with which he momentarily hid his face.
'You must be wondering，'he resumed with a melancholy sigh，what a stranger can want with you at such an hour，dressed in such clothes and weeping like this.I have come quite simply，to ask you a great favour.
'Say on.I am at your service.'
'Were you present at the Marguerite Gautier auction？'
As he said this，the emotion which the young man had held in check was for an instant stronger than he，and he was obliged to put his hands to his eyes.
'I must appear very ridiculous to you，'he added，'forgive me this too，and please believe that I shall never forget the patience with which you are good enough to listen.'
'Well，'I replied，'if a service which it seems I can do for you will in some small way ease the pain that you feel，tell me at once in what way I can help，and you will find in me a man happy to oblige.'
Monsieur Duval's grief was affecting and，even had I felt differently，I should still have wished to be agreeable to him.
He then said：
'Did you buy anything at Marguerite's sale？'
'Yes.A book.'
'Manon Lescaut？'
'That's right.'
'Do you still have it？'
'It's in my bedroom.'
At this，Armand Duval looked as though a great weight had been taken from his shoulders，and he thanked me as though I had already begun to render him a service simply by holding on to the volume.
I got up，went to fetch the book from my bedroom and handed it to him.
'This is it，'said he，glancing at the dedication on the first page and riffling through the rest，'this is it.'
And two large tears fell on to the open pages.
'May I ask，'he said，raising his eyes to me and making no effort now to hide the fact that he had wept and was near to tears once more，'if you are greatly attached to this book？'
'Why do you ask？'
'Because I have come to ask you to surrender it to me.'
'Forgive my curiosity，'I said next，'but it was you，then，who gave it to Marguerite Gautier？'
'It was I.'
'The book is yours.Take it.I am happy to be able to restore it to you.'
'But，'continued Monsieur Duval with embarrassment，'the least I can do is to give you what you paid for it.'
'Please take it as a gift.The price fetched by a single volume in a sale like that is a trifle，and I can't even remember how much I gave for it.'
'You gave a hundred francs for it.'
'You are quite right，'said I，embarrassed in my turn，'how did you know？'
'Quite simple.I hoped to reach Paris in time for Marguerite's sale，but got back only this morning.I was absolutely determined to have something that had been hers，and I went directly to the auctioneer's to ask if I might inspect the list of items sold and of the buyers'names.I saw that this volume had been bought by you，and I resolved to beg you to let me have it，though the price you paid for it did make me fear that you yourself associated some memory with possession of the book.'
In speaking thus，Armand clearly seemed to be afraid that I had known Marguerite in the way that he had known her.
I hastened to reassure him.
