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Camille by Alexandre Dumas (fils), Chapter 20

Chapter 20

My father was seated in my room in his dressing-gown; he was writing, and I saw at once, by the way in which he raised his eyes to me when I came in, that there was going to be a serious discussion. I went up to him, all the same, as if I had seen nothing in his face, embraced him, and said:

"When did you come, father?" "Last night." "Did you come straight here, as usual?" "Yes." "I am very sorry not to have been here to receive you." I expected that the sermon which my father's cold face threatened would begin at once; but he said nothing, sealed the letter which he had just written, and gave it to Joseph to post. When we were alone, my father rose, and leaning against the mantel-piece, said to me:

"My dear Armand, we have serious matters to discuss." "I am listening, father." "You promise me to be frank?" "Am I not accustomed to be so?" "Is it not true that you are living with a woman called Marguerite Gautier?" "Yes." "Do you know what this woman was?" "A kept woman." "And it is for her that you have forgotten to come and see your sister and me this year?" "Yes, father, I admit it." "You are very much in love with this woman?" "You see it, father, since she has made me fail in duty toward you, for which I humbly ask your forgiveness to-day." My father, no doubt, was not expecting such categorical answers, for he seemed to reflect a moment, and then said to me:

"You have, of course, realized that you can not always live like that?" "I fear so, father, but I have not realized it." "But you must realize," continued my father, in a dryer tone, "that I, at all events, should not permit it." "I have said to myself that as long as I did nothing contrary to the respect which I owe to the traditional probity of the family I could live as I am living, and this has reassured me somewhat in regard to the fears I have had." Passions are formidable enemies to sentiment. I was prepared for every struggle, even with my father, in order that I might keep Marguerite.

"Then, the moment is come when you must live otherwise." "Why, father?" "Because you are doing things which outrage the respect that you imagine you have for your family." "I don't follow your meaning." "I will explain it to you.


Chapter 20

My father was seated in my room in his dressing-gown; he was writing, and I saw at once, by the way in which he raised his eyes to me when I came in, that there was going to be a serious discussion. I went up to him, all the same, as if I had seen nothing in his face, embraced him, and said:

"When did you come, father?" "Last night." "Did you come straight here, as usual?" "Yes." "I am very sorry not to have been here to receive you." I expected that the sermon which my father's cold face threatened would begin at once; but he said nothing, sealed the letter which he had just written, and gave it to Joseph to post. When we were alone, my father rose, and leaning against the mantel-piece, said to me:

"My dear Armand, we have serious matters to discuss." "I am listening, father." "You promise me to be frank?" "Am I not accustomed to be so?" "Is it not true that you are living with a woman called Marguerite Gautier?" "Yes." "Do you know what this woman was?" "A kept woman." "And it is for her that you have forgotten to come and see your sister and me this year?" "Yes, father, I admit it." "You are very much in love with this woman?" "You see it, father, since she has made me fail in duty toward you, for which I humbly ask your forgiveness to-day." My father, no doubt, was not expecting such categorical answers, for he seemed to reflect a moment, and then said to me:

"You have, of course, realized that you can not always live like that?" "I fear so, father, but I have not realized it." "But you must realize," continued my father, in a dryer tone, "that I, at all events, should not permit it." "I have said to myself that as long as I did nothing contrary to the respect which I owe to the traditional probity of the family I could live as I am living, and this has reassured me somewhat in regard to the fears I have had." Passions are formidable enemies to sentiment. I was prepared for every struggle, even with my father, in order that I might keep Marguerite.

"Then, the moment is come when you must live otherwise." "Why, father?" "Because you are doing things which outrage the respect that you imagine you have for your family." "I don't follow your meaning." "I will explain it to you.