herself capable of changing her mode of life, offering her in
return for the sacrifice every compensation that she could
desire. She consented.

It must be said that Marguerite was just then very ill. The past
seemed to her sensitive nature as if it were one of the main
causes of her illness, and a sort of superstition led her to hope
that God would restore to her both health and beauty in return
for her repentance and conversion. By the end of the summer, the
waters, sleep, the natural fatigue of long walks, had indeed more
or less restored her health. The duke accompanied her to Paris,
where he continued to see her as he had done at Bagneres.

This liaison, whose motive and origin were quite unknown, caused
a great sensation, for the duke, already known for his immense
fortune, now became known for his prodigality. All this was set
down to the debauchery of a rich old man, and everything was
believed except the truth. The father's sentiment for Marguerite
had, in truth, so pure a cause that anything but a communion of
hearts would have seemed to him a kind of incest, and he had
never spoken to her a word which his daughter might not have
heard.

Far be it from me to make out our heroine to be anything but what
she was. As long as she remained at Bagneres, the promise she had
made to the duke had not been hard to keep, and she had kept it;
but, once back in Paris, it seemed to her, accustomed to a life
of dissipation, of balls, of orgies, as if the solitude, only
interrupted by the duke's stated visits, would kill her with
boredom, and the hot breath of her old life came back across her