I have had very little time to make my
arrangements; since three o'clock this afternoon I have been busy
signing documents, setting my affairs in order; there was no one whom
I could send to . . ."
She broke off.
"He was sure to be . . ."
Again she broke off; the weight of her sorrow was more than she could
bear. In such moments as these everything is agony, and some words are
impossible to utter.
"And so I counted upon you to do me this last piece of service this
evening," she said. "I should like to give you some pledge of
friendship. I shall often think of you. You have seemed to me to be
kind and noble, fresh-hearted and true, in this world where such
qualities are seldom found. I should like you to think sometimes of
me. Stay," she said, glancing about her, "there is this box that has
held my gloves. Every time I opened it before going to a ball or to
the theatre, I used to feel that I must be beautiful, because I was so
happy; and I never touched it except to lay some gracious memory in
it: there is so much of my old self in it, of a Madame de Beauseant
who now lives no longer. Will you take it? I will leave directions
that it is to be sent to you in the Rue d'Artois.
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