Perhaps you know the inn I mean：it is a hotel during the week and pleasure garden on Sundays.From the garden，which is raised and stands as high as an ordinary first floor，you get a magnificent view.On the left，the Marly aqueduct commands the horizon；on the right，the view unfolds across a never-ending succession of hills；the river，which at this point hardly moves at all，stretches away like a wide ribbon of shimmering white silk between the plain of Les Gabillons and the lle de Croissy，and is rocked ceaselessly by the whisper of its tall poplars and the soughing of its willows.
Far off，picked out in a wide swathe of sunlight，rise small white houses with red roofs，and factories which，shorn by distance of their grim，commercial character，complete the landscape in the most admirable way.
And，far off，Paris shrouded in smoke！
As Prudence had told us，it was really the country and，I must say，it was a real lunch we had.
It is not of gratitude for the happiness I have to thank the place for that I'm saying all this.Bougival，in spite of its unattractive name，is one of the prettiest spots you could possibly imagine.I have travelled a great deal and seen great sights，but none more charming than this tiny village cheerfully nestling at the foot of the hill which shelters it.
Madame Arnould offered to arrange for us to take a boat out on the river，and Marguerite and Prudence accepted with alacrity.
The countryside has always been associated with love，and rightly so.Nothing creates a more fitting backdrop to the woman you love than the blue sky，the fragrances，the flowers，the breezes，the solitary splendour of fields and woods.However much you love a woman，however much you trust her，however sure of the future her past life makes you，you are always jealous to some degree.If you have ever been in love，really in love，you must have experienced this need to shut out the world and isolate the person through whom you wished to live your whole life.It is as though the woman you love，however indifferent she may be to her surroundings，loses something of her savour and consistency when she comes into contact with men and things.Now I experienced this more intensely than any other man.Mine was no ordinary love；I was as much in love as mortal creature can be.But I loved Marguerite Gautier，which is to say that in Paris，at every turn，I might stumble across some man who had already been her lover，or would be the next day.Whereas，in the country，surrounded by people we had never seen before who paid no attention to us，surrounded by nature in all her springtime finery，which is her annual gesture of forgiveness，and far from the bustle of the city，I could shelter my love from prying eyes，and love without shame or fear.
There，the courtesan faded imperceptibly.At my side，I had a young and beautiful woman whom I loved，by whom I was loved and whose name was Marguerite：the shapes of the past dissolved and the future was free of clouds.The sun shone on my mistress as brightly as it would have shone on the purest fiancee.Together we strolled through delightful glades which seemed as though they were deliberately designed to remind you of lines by Lamartine and make you hum tunes by Scudo.Marguerite was wearing a white dress.She leaned on my arm.Beneath the starry evening sky，she repeated the words she had said to me the previous night，and in the distance the world went on turning without casting its staining shadow over the happy picture of our youth and love.
Such was the dream which that day's burning sun brought me through the leafy trees and I，lying full-length in the grass of the island where we had landed，free of all human ties which had hitherto bound me，allowed my mind to run free and gather up all the hopes it met with.
Add to this that，from the spot where I lay，I could see，on the bank，a charming little two-storied house which crouched behind a railing in the shape of a semi-circle.Beyond the railing，in front of the house，was a green lawn as smooth as velvet，and，behind the building，a small wood full of mysterious hideaways，where each morning all traces of the previous evening's passage would surely be all mossed over.
Climbing flowers hid the steps leading up to the door of this empty house，and hugged it as far up as the first floor.
Gazing long and hard at the house，I convinced myself in the end that it belonged to me，so completely did it enshrine the dream I was dreaming.I could picture Marguerite and me there together，by day walking in the wood which clothed the hill and，in the evenings，sitting on the lawn，and I wondered to myself if earthly creatures could ever be as happy as we two should be.
'What a pretty house！'said Marguerite，who had been following the direction of my eyes and perhaps my thoughts.
'Where？'said Prudence.
'Over there.'And Marguerite pointed to the house in question.
'Oh，it's lovely，'replied Prudence.'Do you like it？'
'Very much.'
'Well，then，tell the Duke to rent it for you.He'll rent it for you all right，I'm sure of it.You can leave it all to me if you want.'
Marguerite looked at me，as though to ask what I thought of the suggestion.
My dream had been shattered with these last words of Prudence，and its going had brought me back to reality with such a jolt that I was still dazed by the shock.
'Why，it's an excellent idea，'I stammered，not knowing what I was saying.
'In that case，I'll arrange it，'said Marguerite，squeezing my hand and interpreting my words according to her desires.'Let's go this minute and see if it's to let.'
The house was empty，and to let for two thousand francs.
'Will you be happy here？'she said to me.
'Can I be sure of ever being here？'
'Who would I choose to bury myself here for，if not for you？'
'Listen，Marguerite，let me rent the house myself.'
'You must be mad！It's not only unnecessary，it would be dangerous.You know perfectly well that I can only take money from one man.So don't be difficult，silly boy，and don't say another word.'
'This way，when I've got a couple of days free，I can come down and spend them with you，'said Prudence.
We left the house and set off back to Paris talking of this latest decision.I held Marguerite in my arms and，by the time we stepped out of the carriage，I was beginning to view my mistress's scheme with a less scrupulous eye.
