But, on the other hand, how was I to reconcile this reputation
with her constant refusal of the young count whom we had found at
her house? You may say that he was unattractive to her, and that,
as she was splendidly kept by the duke, she would be more likely
to choose a man who was attractive to her, if she were to take
another lover. If so, why did she not choose Gaston, who was
rich, witty, and charming, and why did she care for me, whom she
had thought so ridiculous the first time she had seen me?

It is true that there are events of a moment which tell more than
the courtship of a year. Of those who were at the supper, I was
the only one who had been concerned at her leaving the table. I
had followed her, I had been so affected as to be unable to hide
it from her, I had wept as I kissed her hand. This circumstance,
added to my daily visits during the two months of her illness,
might have shown her that I was somewhat different from the other
men she knew, and perhaps she had said to herself that for a love
which could thus manifest itself she might well do what she had
done so often that it had no more consequence for her.

All these suppositions, as you may see, were improbable enough;
but whatever might have been the reason of her consent, one thing
was certain, she had consented.

Now, I was in love with Marguerite. I had nothing more to ask of
her. Nevertheless, though she was only a kept woman, I had so
anticipated for myself, perhaps to poetize it a little, a
hopeless love, that the nearer the moment approached when I
should have nothing more to hope, the more I doubted. I did not