第1章

IT is my considered view that no one can invent fictional characters without first having made a lengthy study of people，just as it is impossible for anyone to speak a language that has not been properly mastered.

Since I am not yet of an age to invent，I must make do with telling a tale.

I therefore invite the reader to believe that this story is true.All the characters who appear in it，with the exception of the heroine，are still living.

I would further add that there are reliable witnesses in Paris for most of the particulars which I bring together here，and they could vouch for their accuracy should my word not be enough.By a singular turn of events，I alone was able to write them down since I alone was privy to the very last details without which it would have been quite impossible to piece together a full and satisfying account.

It was in this way that these particulars came to my knowledge.

On the 12th day of March 1847，in the rue Laffitte，I happened upon a large yellow notice announcing a sale of furniture and valuable curios.An estate was to be disposed of，the owner having died.The notice did not name the dead person，but the sale was to be held at 9 rue d'Antin on the 16th，between noon and five o'clock.

The notice also stated that the apartments and contents could be viewed on the 13th and 14th.

I have always been interested in curios.I promised myself I would not miss this opportunity，if not of actually buying，then at least of looking.

The following day，I directed my steps towards 9 rue d'Antin.

It was early，and yet a good crowd of visitors had already gathered in the apartment-men for the most part，but also a number of ladies who，though dressed in velvet and wearing Indian shawls，and all with their own elegant broughams standing at the door，were examining the riches set out before them with astonished，even admiring eyes.

After a while，I quite saw the reason for their admiration and astonishment，for having begun myself to look around I had no difficulty in recognizing that I was in the apartment of a kept woman.Now if there is one thing that ladies of fashion desire to see above all else-and there were society ladies present-it is the rooms occupied by those women who have carriages which spatter their own with mud every day of the week，who have their boxes at the Opera or the Theatre-Italien just as they do，and indeed next to theirs，and who display for all Paris to see the insolent opulence of their beauty，diamonds and shameless conduct.

The woman in whose apartments I now found myself was dead：the most virtuous of ladies were thus able to go everywhere，even into the bedroom.Death had purified the air of this glittering den of iniquity，and in any case they could always say，if they needed the excuse，that they had done no more than come to a sale without knowing whose rooms these were.I had read the notices，they had wanted to view what the notices advertised and mark out their selections in advance.It could not have been simpler-though this did not prevent them from looking through these splendid things for traces of the secret life of a courtesan of which they had doubtless been given very strange accounts.

Unfortunately，the mysteries had died with the goddess，and in spite of their best endeavours these good ladies found only what had been put up for sale since the time of death，and could detect nothing of what had been sold while the occupant had been alive.

But there was certainly rich booty to be had.The furniture was superb.Rosewood and Buhl-work pieces，Severs vases and blue china porcelain，Dresden figurines，satins，velvet and lace，everything in fact.

I wandered from room to room in the wake of these inquisitive aristocratic ladies who had arrived before me.They went into a bedroom hung with Persian fabrics and I was about to go in after them，when they came out again almost immediately，smiling and as it were put to shame by this latest revelation.The effect was to make me even keener to see inside.It was the dressing-room，complete down to the very last details，in which the dead woman's profligacy had seemingly reached its height.

On a large table standing against one wall-it measured a good six feet by three-shone the finest treasures of Aucoc and Odiot.It was a magnificent collection，and among the countless objects each so essential to the appearance of the kind of woman in whose home we had gathered，there was not one that was not made of gold or silver.But it was a collection that could only have been assembled piece by piece，and clearly more than one love had gone into its making.

I，who was not the least put out by the sight of the dressing-room of a kept woman，spent some time agreeably inspecting its contents，neglecting none of them，and I noticed that all these magnificently wrought implements bore different initials and all manner of coronets.

As I contemplated all these things，each to my mind standing for a separate prostitution of the poor girl，I reflected that God had been merciful to her since He had not suffered her to live long enough to undergo the usual punishment but had allowed her to die at the height of her wealth and beauty，long before the coming of old age，that first death of courtesans.