Indeed，what sadder sight is there than vice in old age，especially in a woman？It has no dignity and is singularly unattractive.Those everlasting regrets，not for wrong turnings taken but for wrong calculations made and money foolishly spent，are among the most harrowing things that can be heard.I once knew a former woman of easy virtue of whose past life there remained only a daughter who was almost as beautiful as the mother had once been，or so her contemporaries said.This poor child，to whom her mother never said'You are my daughter'except to order her to keep her now that she was old just as she had been kept when she was young，this wretched creature was called Louise and，in obedience to her mother，she sold herself without inclination or passion or pleasure，rather as she might have followed an honest trade had it ever entered anyone's head to teach her one.
The continual spectacle of debauchery，at so tender an age，compounded by her continuing ill-health，had extinguished in the girl the knowledge of good and evil which God had perhaps given her but which no one had ever thought to nurture.
I shall always remember that young girl who walked along the boulevards almost every day at the same hour.Her mother was always with her，escorting her as assiduously as a true mother might have accompanied her daughter.I was very young in those days and ready enough to fall in with the easy morality of the times.Yet I recall that the sight of such scandalous chaperoning filled me with contempt and disgust.
Add to all this that no virgin's face ever conveyed such a feeling of innocence nor any comparable expression of sadness and suffering.
You would have said it was the image of Resignation itself.
And then one day，the young girl's face lit up.In the midst of the debauches which her mother organized for her，it suddenly seemed to this sinful creature that God had granted her one happiness.And after all why should God，who had made her weak and helpless，abandon her without consolation to struggle on beneath the oppressive burden of her life？One day，then，she perceived that she was with child，and that part of her which remained pure trembled with joy.The soul finds refuge in the strangest sanctuaries.Louise ran to her mother to tell her the news that had filled her with such happiness.It is a shameful thing to have to say-but we do not write gratuitously of immorality here，we relate a true incident and one perhaps which we would be better advised to leave untold if we did not believe that it is essential from time to time to make public the martyrdom of these creatures who are ordinarily condemned without a hearing and despised without trial-it is，we say，a matter for shame，but the mother answered her daughter saying that as things stood they scarcely had enough for two，and that they would certainly not have enough for three；that such children serve no useful purpose；and that a pregnancy is so much time wasted.
The very next day，a midwife（of whom we shall say no more than that she was a friend of the mother）called to see Louise，who remained for a few days in her bed from which she rose paler and weaker than before.
Three months later，some man took pity on her and undertook her moral and physical salvation.But this latest blow had been too great and Louise died of the after effects of the miscarriage she had suffered.
The mother still lives.How？God alone knows.
This story had come back to me as I stood examining the sets of silver toilet accessories，and I must have been lost in thought for quite some time.For by now the apartment was empty save for myself and a porter who，from the doorway，was eyeing me carefully lest I should try to steal anything.
I went up to this good man in whom I inspired such grave anxieties.
'Excuse me，'I said，'I wonder if you could tell me the name of the person who lived here？'
'Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier.'
I knew this young woman by name and by sight.
'What！'I said to the porter.'Marguerite Gautier is dead？'
'Yes，sir.'
'When did it happen？'
'Three weeks ago，I think.'
'But why are people being allowed to view her apartment？'
'The creditors thought it would be good for trade.People can get the effect of the hangings and the furniture in advance.Encourages people to buy，you understand.'
'So she had debts，then？'
'Oh yes，sir！Lots of em.'
'But I imagine the sale will cover them？'
'Over and above.'
'And who stands to get the balance？'
'The family.'
'She had a family？'
'Seems she did.'
'Thank you very much.'
The porter，now reassured as to my intentions，touched his cap and I left.
'Poor girl，'I said to myself as I returned home，'she must have died a sad death，for in her world，people only keep their friends as long as they stay fit and well.'And in spite of myself，I lamented the fate of Marguerite Gautier.
All this will perhaps seem absurd to many people，but I have a boundless forbearance towards courtesans which I shall not even trouble to enlarge upon here.
One day，as I was on my way to collect a passport from the prefecture，I saw down one of the adjacent streets，a young woman being taken away by two policemen.Now I have no idea what she had done.All I can say is that she was weeping bitterly and clasping to her a child only a few months old from which she was about to be separated by her arrest.From that day until this，I have been incapable of spurning any woman on sight.