in society, that she spoke of it openly, and that they themselves
boasted of it; so that all seemed equally pleased with one
another. Nevertheless, for about three years, after a visit to
Bagnees, she was said to be living with an old duke, a foreigner,
enormously rich, who had tried to remove her as far as possible
from her former life, and, as it seemed, entirely to her own
satisfaction.

This is what I was told on the subject. In the spring of 1847
Marguerite was so ill that the doctors ordered her to take the
waters, and she went to Bagneres. Among the invalids was the
daughter of this duke; she was not only suffering from the same
complaint, but she was so like Marguerite in appearance that they
might have been taken for sisters; the young duchess was in the
last stage of consumption, and a few days after Marguerite's
arrival she died. One morning, the duke, who had remained at
Bagneres to be near the soil that had buried a part of his heart,
caught sight of Marguerite at a turn of the road. He seemed to
see the shadow of his child, and going up to her, he took her
hands, embraced and wept over her, and without even asking her
who she was, begged her to let him love in her the living image
of his dead child. Marguerite, alone at Bagneres with her maid,
and not being in any fear of compromising herself, granted the
duke's request. Some people who knew her, happening to be at
Bagneres, took upon themselves to explain Mademoiselle Gautier's
true position to the duke. It was a blow to the old man, for the
resemblance with his daughter was ended in one direction, but it
was too late. She had become a necessity to his heart, his only
pretext, his only excuse, for living. He made no reproaches, he
had indeed no right to do so, but he asked her if she felt