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Updated: June 25, 2025
"A private carriage." What could it all mean? I rang at the next door. "Where are you going, sir?" asked the porter, when he had opened to me. "To Mme. Duvernoy's." "She has not come back." "You are sure?" "Yes, sir; here's a letter even, which was brought for her last night and which I have not yet given her." And the porter showed me a letter which I glanced at mechanically.
Duvernoy's box. We had scarcely opened the door leading into the stalls when we had to stand aside to allow Marguerite and the duke to pass. I would have given ten years of my life to have been in the old man's place. When they were on the street he handed her into a phaeton, which he drove himself, and they were whirled away by two superb horses.
I went into the dressing-room, opened the window, and called Prudence several times. Mme. Duvernoy's window remained closed. I went downstairs to the porter and asked him if Mlle. Gautier had come home during the day. "Yes," answered the man; "with Mme. Duvernoy." "She left no word for me?" "No." "Do you know what they did afterward?" "They went away in a carriage." "What sort of a carriage?"
Duvernoy's question, "Isn't she coming to-day?" when I had said that Marguerite was ill. I remembered at the same time how embarrassed Prudence had appeared when I looked at her after this remark, which seemed to indicate an appointment. I remembered, too, Marguerite's tears all day long, which my father's kind reception had rather put out of my mind.
Next day Marguerite sent me away very early, saying that the duke was coming at an early hour, and promising to write to me the moment he went, and to make an appointment for the evening. In the course of the day I received this note: "I am going to Bougival with the duke; be at Prudence's to-night at eight." At the appointed hour Marguerite came to me at Mme. Duvernoy's.
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