At five o'clock in the morning, as the light began to appear through the
curtains, Marguerite said to me: "Forgive me if I send you away; but I
must. The duke comes every morning; they will tell him, when he comes,
that I am asleep, and perhaps he will wait until I wake."

I took Marguerite's head in my hands; her loosened hair streamed about
her; I gave her a last kiss, saying: "When shall I see you again?"

"Listen," she said; "take the little gilt key on the mantelpiece, open
that door; bring me back the key and go. In the course of the day
you shall have a letter, and my orders, for you know you are to obey
blindly."

"Yes; but if I should already ask for something?"

"What?"

"Let me have that key."

"What you ask is a thing I have never done for any one."

"Well, do it for me, for I swear to you that I don't love you as the
others have loved you."

"Well, keep it; but it only depends on me to make it useless to you,
after all."

"How?"

"There are bolts on the door."

"Wretch!"

"I will have them taken off."

"You love, then, a little?"

"I don't know how it is, but it seems to me as if I do! Now, go; I can't
keep my eyes open."