Men who, like you, have millions, must be unhappy!
They must be always doubting and full of suspicions, they can never be
sure whether it is themselves or their gold which is loved, and this
awful doubt makes them mistrustful, jealous, and cruel. Oh my dearest,
why did we leave our dear little room? There, we were happy. Why did you
not leave me always where you first found me? Did you not know that the
sight of happiness irritates mankind? If we had been wise, we would have
hid ours like a crime. You thought to raise me, but you only sunk me
lower. You were proud of our love; you published it abroad. Vainly I
asked you in mercy to leave me in obscurity, and unknown. Soon the whole
town knew that I was your mistress. Every one was talking of the money
you spent on me. How I blushed at the flaunting luxury you thrust upon
me! You were satisfied, because my beauty became celebrated; I wept,
because my shame became so too. People talked about me, as those women
who make their lovers commit the greatest follies. Was not my name in
the papers? And it was through the same papers that I heard of your
approaching marriage. Unhappy woman! I should have fled from you, but I
had not the courage.
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