What was passing in my mind I should have some difficulty in explaining. I was full of indulgence for her life, full of admiration for her beauty. The proof of disinterestedness that she gave in not accepting a rich and fashionable young man, ready to waste all his money upon her, excused her in my eyes for all her faults in the past.
There was a kind of candour in this woman. You could see she was still in the virginity of vice. Her firm walk, her supple figure, her rosy, open nostrils, her large eyes, slightly tinged with blue, indicated one of those ardent natures which sbed around them a sort of voluptuous perfume, like Eastern vials, which, close them as tightly as you will, still let some of their perfume escape. Finally, whether it was simple nature or a breath of fever, there passed from time to time in the eyes of this woman a glimmer of desire, giving promise of a very heaven for one whom she should love. But those who had loved Marguerite were not to be counted, nor those whom she had loved.
In this girl there was at once the virgin whom a mere nothing had turned into a courtesan, and the courtesan whom a mere nothing would have turned into the most loving and the purest of virgins.
Marguerite had still pride and independence, two sentiments which, if they are wounded, can be the equivalent of a sense of shame. I did not speak a word; my soul seemed to have passed into my heart and my heart into my eyes.
"So," said she all at once, "it was you who came to inquire after me when I was ill?""Yes."
"Do you know, it was quite splendid of you! How can I thank you for it?""By allowing me to come and see you from time to time.""As often as you like, from five to six, and from eleven to twelve. Now, Gaston, play the Invitation A la Valse.""Why?"
"To please me, first of all, and then because I never can manage to play it myself.""What part do you find difficult?"
"The third part, the part in sharps."
Gaston rose and went to the piano, and began to play the wonderful melody of Weber, the music of which stood open before him.
Marguerite, resting one hand on the piano, followed every note on the music, accompanying it in a low voice, and when Gaston had come to the passage which she had mentioned to him, she sang out, running her fingers along the top of the piano:
"Do, re, mi, do, re, fa, mi, re; that is what I can not do. Over again."Gaston began over again, after which Marguerite said:
"Now, let me try."
She took her place and began to play; but her rebellious fingers always came to grief over one of the notes.
"Isn't it incredible," she said, exactly like a child, "that Ican not succeed in playing that passage? Would you believe that Isometimes spend two hours of the morning over it? And when Ithink that that idiot of a count plays it without his music, and beautifully, I really believe it is that that makes me so furious with him." And she began again, always with the same result.
"The devil take Weber, music, and pianos!" she cried, throwing the music to the other end of the room. "How can I play eight sharps one after another?" She folded her arms and looked at us, stamping her foot. The blood flew to her cheeks, and her lips half opened in a slight cough.
"Come, come," said Prudence, who had taken off her hat and was smoothing her hair before the glass, "you will work yourself into a rage and do yourself harm. Better come and have supper; for my part, I am dying of hunger."Marguerite rang the bell, sat down to the piano again, and began to hum over a very risky song, which she accompanied without difficulty. Gaston knew the song, and they gave a sort of duet.
"Don't sing those beastly things," I said to Marguerite, imploringly.
"Oh, how proper you are!" she said, smiling and giving me her hand. "It is not for myself, but for you."Marguerite made a gesture as if to say, "Oh, it is long since that I have done with propriety!" At that moment Nanine appeared.
