Anyone who has spent any time at all in the company of girls of Marguerite's sort is quite aware of what pleasure they take in ****** misplaced remarks and teasing men they meet for the first time.It is no doubt a way of levelling the scores for the humiliations which they are often forced to undergo at the hands of the men they see every day.
So，if you wish to give as good as you get，you need to have a certain familiarity with their world，and this I did not have.Moreover，the idea that I had formed of Marguerite made her jesting seem worse to me.Nothing about this woman left me indifferent.And so，getting to my feet，I said to her with a faltering in my voice which I found impossible to conceal completely：
'If that is what you think of me，Madame，all that remains for me is to ask you to forgive my indiscretion and to take my leave，assuring you that it will not happen again.'
Thereupon，I bowed and left.
I had scarcely closed the door when I heard a third burst of laughter.I would dearly have wished for someone to try to elbow me out of his way at that moment.
I returned to my seat in the stalls.
The three knocks were sounded for the curtain to rise.
Ernest rejoined me.
'What a way to behave！'he said to me as he took his seat.'They think you're mad.'
'What did Marguerite say after I left？'
'She laughed，and declared she'd never seen anybody funnier than you.But you mustn't think you're beaten.Just don't do women like that the honour of taking them seriously.They have no idea what good taste and manners are；it's just the same with pet dogs that have perfume poured over them-they can't stand the smell，and go off and roll in some gutter.'
'Anyway，what's it to me？'I said，trying to sound offhand.'I shan't ever see that woman again，and even if I liked her before I got to know her，everything is very different now that I have met her.'
'Bah！I wouldn't be at all surprised one of these days to see you sitting in the back of her box and hear people saying how you're ruining yourself on her account.Still，you may be right，she has no manners，but she'd make an attractive mistress all the same.'
Fortunately，the curtain went up and my friend said no more.It would be quite impossible for me to tell you what play was performed.All I remember was that，from time to time，I would glance up at the box I had left so abruptly，and that the shapes of new callers kept appearing in quick succession.
However，I was far from having put Marguerite out of my mind.Another thought now took possession of me.I felt that I had both her insulting behaviour and my discomfiture to expunge；I told myself that，even if I had to spend everything I had，I would have that woman and would take by right the place which I had vacated so quickly.
Some time before the final curtain，Marguerite and her companion left their box.
Despite myself，I rose from my seat.
'You're not leaving？'said Ernest.
'Yes.'
'Why？'
Just then，he noticed that the box was empty.
'Go on，then，'he said，'and good luck，or rather，better luck！'
I left.
On the stairs，I heard the rustle of dresses and the sound of voices.I stepped to one side and，without being observed，saw the two women walk by me together with the two young men who were escorting them.
In the colonnade outside the theatre，a young servant came up to the two women.
'Go and tell the coachman to wait outside the Cafe Anglais，'said Marguerite，'we shall go as far as there on foot.'
A few minutes later，as I loitered on the boulevard，I saw Marguerite at the window of one of the restaurant's large rooms：leaning on the balcony，she was pulling the petals one by one off the camellias in her bouquet.
One of the two men was leaning over her shoulder and was whispering to her.
I found a seat in the Maison d'Or，in one of the private rooms on the first floor，and did not take my eyes off the window in question.
At one in the morning，Marguerite got into her carriage with her three friends.
I took a cab and followed.
The carriage stopped outside 9 rue d'Antin.
Marguerite got out and went up to her apartment alone.
No doubt this happened by chance，but this chance made me very happy.
From that day on，I often encountered Marguerite at the theatre or on the Champs-Elysees.She was unchangingly gay and I was unfailingly quickened by the same emotions.
But then a fortnight passed without my seeing her anywhere.I ran into Gaston and asked him about her.
'The poor girl is very ill，'he replied.
'What's the matter with her？'
'The matter with her is that she's got consumption and，because she lives the sort of life which is not calculated to make her better，she's in bed and dying.'
The heart is a strange thing；I was almost glad she was ill.
Every day，I called to have the latest news of the patient，though without signing the book or leaving my card.It was in this way that I learned of her convalescence and her departure for Bagneres.
Then time went by，and the impression she had made on me，if not the memory，seemed to fade gradually from my mind.I travelled；new intimacies，old habits and work took the place of thoughts of her，and whenever I did think back to that first encounter，I preferred to see the whole thing as one of those passions which one experiences in youth，and laughs at in no time at all.
Besides，there would have been no merit in vanquishing her memory，for I had lost sight of Marguerite since the time of her departure and，as I have explained to you，when she passed close to me in the passageway of the Theatre des Varietes，I did not recognize her.
She was wearing a veil，it is true；but two years earlier，however many veils she had been wearing，I would not have needed to see her to recognize her：I would have known her instinctively.
This did not prevent my heart form racing when I realized that it was her.The two years spent without seeing her，together with the effects which this separation seemed to have brought about were sent up in the same smoke by a single touch of her dress.