It does not do
to tell everything--besides, it would have distressed her.
"Monsieur, I was happy with my lover, the great judge. He was charming.
He had that charm of manner which you English lack. Faithful? I do not
know. Often we were together, and often we wrote letters when to meet was
impossible. He kept my letters--they amused him so, he said--they were so
French, so piquant, so different to English ladies' letters. Alas,
monsieur, there had been others--many others there must have been, for he
understood my sex so well.
"One afternoon I was out for a walk looking in the great shops in Regent
Street, when I felt a hand placed on my shoulder, and looking round I saw
Pierre, my husband. He was pleased at the meeting, but I was not pleased.
He took me to a cafe where we could talk. It was what he always did talk
about--money, money, money. He always wanted money. He said I must find
him some, and when I told him I had none he said I must find some way of
getting it, or he would come to the house and expose my secret. I walked
away out of the cafe and left him there. But I soon saw him again, and
again. He followed me and talked to me against my will.
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