y ladies who had again used the sale as a pretext for claiming the right to see, at close quarters, women in whose compa

who, when all is said and done, cannot even spend all his income, while continuing to chat with Madame M, one of our wittiest tale-tellers, who occasionally agrees to write down what she says and to sign what she writes, was exchanging confidential glances with Madame de N, the beauty who may be regularly seen driving on the Champs-Elysees, dressed almost invariably in pink or blue, in a

ered in that drawing room and who were not a little astonished at

its and that, of all the women there, many had known th

o had crowded on to the benches placed in front of the auction tables called vainly for silence i

e unfortunate creature whose furniture was being sold up to pay her debts, had breathed her last. Having come to observe rather than to buy, I wat

turn on her, had dogged the last moments of her life with writs, and came after she was dead to claim both th

ents who had one God fo

er the hammer at an unbelievable rate. N

heard a v

ed: Manon Lescaut. There's something wr

a voice, after a

en, '

No doubt for that

repeated the

der, in a tone which seemed t

ecoming

cried, in the sam

rty

fty

xty

undr

letely, for my last bid was followed by a great silence, and people stared a

chose therefore to abandon a struggle which would have served only to cost me ten tim

yours,

hcoming, and the book w

gave my name, asked for the volume to be put aside and left by the stairs. I must have greatly intrigued the onlookers who, having witnessed this sc

had sent round

was the dedication of the person who had given the b

to Marg

ili

gned: Arm

s word 'Humi

sieur Armand Duval, acknowledged Marguerite a

first was impertinently frank, and Marguerite could neve

o more of the book until that

her and Marguerite added an unexpected edge to my reading, and my forbearance was swelled with pity, almost love, for the poor girl, the disposal of whose estate I could thank for possessing the volume. Manon died in a desert, it is true, but in the terms of the man who loved her with all the strength of his soul and who, when she was dead, dug a grave for her, watered it wi

stances of her final moments, had seen no true consolation settle at he

to those women whom I knew and whom I could see rush

s of nature, the mute who has never found a voice for his soul, and yet, under the specious pretext of decency, you will not pity that blindness of heart, deafness of soul and dumbness of

e fold through the gift of his love and even his name. If I dwell on this point, it is because among those who will read these pages, many may already be about to throw down a book in which they fear they will see nothing but an apology f

ll lead her back to it; these paths are suffering and love. They are rocky paths; women who follow them will cut their feet and graze their hands, but will at the same time leave t

omfort them and to say to all the world that they have enco

f evil', and of saying to those who come: 'Choose! ' Each of us, like Christ himself, must point to those paths which will redirect from the second way to the first the steps

e for souls of women wounded by the passions of men, and He loved to bind their wounds, drawing from those same wounds the balm which would heal them. Thu

we shall think it strong, why should we too turn away souls that bleed from wounds oozing with the evil of their past, like in

efforts of all intelligent men tend to the same goal, and all those firm in purpose are yoked to the same principle: let us be good, let us be young, let us be true! Evil is but vanity: let us take pride in Goodness and, above all, let us not despair. Let us not scorn the woman who is neither mother nor sister nor daughter nor wife. Let us not limit respect to the family alone nor reduce forbearance to mere egoism. Since there is more rejoicing in

t; but I am of those who believe that the whole is in the part. The child is small, and yet he is father to the man;

b