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Updated: May 9, 2025
If, at the end of that month, we have not changed our way of living, I will kill myself, since there is no other honorable issue left to my life. "And she left the room. "At the end of a month the Comtesse Samoris had resumed her usual entertainments, as though nothing had occurred. The next day she purchased more, and every time she went out she managed to procure small doses of the narcotic.
"Madame Samoris is the type of these adventuresses, elegant, mature and still beautiful. Charming feline creatures, you feel that they are vicious to the marrow of their bones. You find them very amusing when you visit them; they give card parties; they have dances and suppers; in short, they offer you all the pleasures of social life.
Many courtesans are born to be virtuous women, they say; and many women called virtuous are born to be courtesans is that not so? Now, Madame Samoris, who was born a courtesan, had a daughter born a virtuous woman, that's all." "I don't quite understand you." "I'll explain what I mean. The comtesse is nothing but a common, ordinary parvenue originating no one knows where.
"They did not see her approaching; but she heard what they were saying. And this was what they said: "'But who is the father of the girl? "'A Russian, it appears, Count Rouvaloff. He never comes near the mother now. "'And who is the reigning prince to-day? "'That English prince standing near the window; Madame Samoris adores him.
"A month later Mademoiselle Yvette Samoris died mysteriously, and here are all the details of her death I could gather from Joseph, who got them from his sweetheart, the comtesse's chambermaid. "It was a ball night, and two newly arrived guests were chatting behind a door. Mademoiselle Yvette, who had just been dancing, leaned against this door to get a little air.
"And your Crucifix," said Boisrene, "that beautiful Renaissance Crucifix which you showed me last year?" The man smiled and answered: "It has been sold, and in a very peculiar manner. There is a real Parisian story for you! Would you like to hear it?" "With pleasure." "Do you know the Baroness Samoris?" "Yes and no. I have seen her once, but I know what she is!" "You know everything?" "Yes."
Many courtesans are born to be virtuous women, they say; and many women called virtuous are born to be courtesans is that not so? Now, Madame Samoris, who was born a courtesan, had a daughter born a virtuous woman, that's all." "I don't quite understand you." "I'll explain what I mean. The comtesse is nothing but a common, ordinary parvenue originating no one knows where.
"Would you mind telling me, so that I can see whether you are not mistaken?" "Certainly. Mme. Samoris is a woman of the world who has a daughter, without anyone having known her husband. At any rate, she is received in a certain tolerant, or blind society. She goes to church and devoutly partakes of Communion, so that everyone may know it, and she never compromises herself.
But her adoration of any one never lasts longer than a month or six weeks. Nevertheless, as you see, she has a large circle of admirers. All are called and nearly all are chosen. That kind of thing costs a good deal, but hang it, what can you expect? "'And where did she get this name of Samoris?
If, at the end of that month, we have not changed our way of living, I will kill myself, since there is no other honorable issue left to my life. "Then she took herself off. "At the end of a month, the Comtesse Samoris was giving balls and suppers just the same as ever. The next day she purchased more; and, every time she went out, she managed to procure small doses of the narcotic.
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