I wished that Marguerite
had declined the assistance of Simoneau. I had seen him three or four
times during my brief illness, for he occupied a room close to ours and
had been civil and neighborly. Mme Gabin had told us that he was merely
making a short stay in Paris, having come to collect some old debts due
to his father, who had settled in the country and recently died. He was
a tall, strong, handsome young man, and I hated him, perhaps on account
of his healthy appearance. On the previous evening he had come in to
make inquiries, and I had much disliked seeing him at Marguerite's side;
she had looked so fair and pretty, and he had gazed so intently into her
face when she smilingly thanked him for his kindness.
"Ah, here is Monsieur Simoneau," said Mme Gabin, introducing him.
He gently pushed the door ajar, and as soon as Marguerite saw him enter
she burst into a flood of tears. The presence of a friend, of the
only person she knew in Paris besides the old woman, recalled her
bereavement. I could not see the young man, but in the darkness that
encompassed me I conjured up his appearance. I pictured him distinctly,
grave and sad at finding poor Marguerite in such distress. How lovely
she must have looked with her golden hair unbound, her pale face and her
dear little baby hands burning with fever!
"I am at your disposal, madame," he said softly.
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