The more I saw of this woman，the more enchanted I was.She was entrancingly beautiful.Even her thinness became her.
I was lost in contemplation.
I would be hard put to explain what was going on inside me.I was full of indulgence for the life she led，full of admiration for her beauty.Proof of her disinterestedness was provided by the fact that she could turn down a fashionable and wealthy young man who was only too ready to ruin himself for her，and this，in my eyes，acquitted her of all past faults.
There was in this woman something approaching candour.
She was visibly still in the virgin stage of vice.Her confident bearing，her supple waist，her pink，flared nostrils，her large eyes faintly ringed with blue，all pointed to one of those passionate natures which give out a bouquet of sensuality，just as flasks from the Orient，however tightly sealed they might be，allow the fragrance of the fluids they contain to escape.
In short，either because it was her nature or else an effect of her state of health，her eyes flickered intermittently with flashes of desires which，if spoken，would have been a heaven-sent relevation to any man she loved.But those who had loved Marguerite were beyond counting，and those whom she had loved had not yet begun to be counted.
In other words，one could detect in this girl a virgin who had been turned into a courtesan by the merest accident of chance，and a courtesan whom the merest accident of chance could have turned into the most loving，the most pure of virgins.Marguerite still had something of a proud spirit and an urge to imdependence-two sentiments which，when violated，are quite capable of achieving the same results as maidenly modesty.I said nothing.It was as though my soul had flowed completely into my heart，and my heart into my eyes.
'So，'she went on suddenly，'it was you who came for news of me when I was ill？'
'Yes.'
'You know，that is really quite sublime！And what can I do to thank you？'
'Allow me to come and call on you from time to time.'
'Come as often as you like，between five and six，and from eleven to midnight.I say，Gaston，do play the Invitation to the Waltz！'
'Why？'
'Firstly because I should like it，and secondly because I can never manage to play it when I'm by myself.'
'What do you find difficult with it？'
'The third part，the passage with the sharps.'
Gaston got to his feet，sat down at the piano and began to play Weber's splendid melody，the music of which lay open of the stand.
Marguerite，with on hand resting on the piano，looked at the score，her eyes following each note which she accompanied in a soft singing voice and，when Gaston reached the passage which she had mentioned，she hummed it and played it with her fingers on the back of the piano：
'Re，mi，re，doh，re，fa，mi，re……that's the part I can't get.Again.'
Gaston played it again，after which Marguerite said to him：
'Now let me try.'
She took his place and played in turn；but still her stubborn fingers tripped over one or other of the notes which we have just mentioned.
'It's inconceivable，'she said with a quite childlike ring in her voice，'that I can't manage to play this passage！You won't believe it，but sometimes I sit up working on it until two in the morning！And when I think that fool of a Count can play it without music，and admirably well at that，then I do believe that's why I get so cross with him.'
And she began again，and still with the same result.
'The hell with Weber，music and pianos！'she said，flinging the score to the other end of the room.'Would anybody believe that I simply can't play eight sharps in a row？'
And she crossed her arms，glaring at us and stamping her foot.
The blood rushed to her cheeks and a small cough parted her lips.
'Come now，'said Prudence，who had removed her hat and was smoothing her hair in a mirror，'you'll only get angry an make yourself ill.Let's have supper.It's much the best thing：I'm absolutely starving.'
Marguerite rang again，then she turned back to the piano and began quietly crooning a squalid song-without making any mistakes in the accompaniment.
Gaston knew the song，and they truned it into a sort of duet.
'I really wish you wouldn't sing such vulgar rubbish，'I said to Marguerite casually，making it sound like a request.
'Oh，how innocent you are！'she said，smiling and holding out her hand to me.
'It's not for my sake but yours.'
Marguerite made a gesture which meant：'Oh！it's a long time since I had anything to do with innocence.'
At this juncture，Nanine appeared.
'Is supper ready？'asked Marguerite.