“It is now ten years since I saw her and I love
her better than ever.”
Night spread over the earth. A strong perfume
of orange blossoms pervaded the air. I said:
“Will you see her again?”
“Parbleu! I now have here, in land and
money, seven to eight thousand francs. When I
reach a million I shall sell out and go away.
I shall have enough to live on with her for a year—one
whole year. And then, good-bye, my life will
be finished.”
“But after that?” I asked.
“After that, I do not know. That will be
all, I may possibly ask her to take me as a valet
de chambre.”
“The Comtesse Samoris.”
“That lady in black over there?”
“The very one. She’s wearing mourning
for her daughter, whom she killed.”
“You don’t mean that seriously? How
did she die?”
“Oh! it is a very simple story, without any
crime in it, any violence.”
“Then what really happened?”
“Almost nothing. Many courtesans are born
to be virtuous women, they say; and many women called
virtuous are born to be courtesans—is that
not so? Now, Madame Samoris, who was born a courtesan,
had a daughter born a virtuous woman, that’s
all.”
“I don’t quite understand you.”
“I’ll—explain what I mean.
The comtesse is nothing but a common, ordinary parvenue
originating no one knows where. A Hungarian or
Wallachian countess or I know not what. She appeared
one winter in apartments she had taken in the Champs
Elysees, that quarter for adventurers and adventuresses,
and opened her drawing-room to the first comer or
to any one that turned up.
“I went there. Why? you will say.
I really can’t tell you. I went there,
as every one goes to such places because the women
are facile and the men are dishonest. You know
that set composed of filibusters with varied decorations,
all noble, all titled, all unknown at the embassies,
with the exception of those who are spies. All
talk of their honor without the slightest occasion
for doing so, boast of their ancestors, tell you about
their lives, braggarts, liars, sharpers, as dangerous
as the false cards they have up their sleeves, as
delusive as their names—in short, the aristocracy
of the bagnio.
“I adore these people. They are interesting
to study, interesting to know, amusing to understand,
often clever, never commonplace like public functionaries.
Their wives are always pretty, with a slight flavor
of foreign roguery, with the mystery of their existence,
half of it perhaps spent in a house of correction.
They have, as a rule, magnificent eyes and incredible
hair. I adore them also.
“Madame Samoris is the type of these adventuresses,
elegant, mature and still beautiful. Charming
feline creatures, you feel that they are vicious to
the marrow of their bones. You find them very
amusing when you visit them; they give card parties;
they have dances and suppers; in short, they offer
you all the pleasures of social life.
