Paalam sa Pagkabata ni Santiago Pepito salin ni Nazareno D. Bas

Paalam sa Pagkabata
("Panamilit sa Kabantanon ni Santiago Pepito") Paalam sa PagkabataSalin ni Nazareno D. Bas
(Part I)
Wala akong nakikitang pagbabago. Tulad nang nagdaang mga madaling-araw: ang ginaw, katahimikan, dilim – iyon din ang bumubuo ng daigdig ng aking kamalayan. Maraming bagay ang dapat mailarawan. Ngunit alam kong iisa lamang ang kahulugan ng mga iyon. Alam ko.
Sa kabilang silid, sa kwarto nina Nanay at Tatay, naririnig ko ang pigil ng paghikbi. Umiiyak na naman si Nanay. Ang sunod-sunod na paghikbi ay tila pandagdag sa kalungkutan ng daigdig. Napabuntung-hininga ako. Umiiling-iling. Hanggang ngayon hindi ko pa nakikita ang tunay na dahilan ng damdaming iyon na matagal nang umalipin sa kanya.
Walang malinaw sa aking isipan. Mula sa aking pagkamulat ang pagkainip ay kakambal ng aking buhay. Sa aking pag-iisa di ko maiwasan ang pangarap na magkaroon ng batang kapatid na nag-aangkin ng mabangong hininga at taglay ang ngiti ng isang anghel. Ngunit ang damdamin ko’y tila tigang na lupang pinagkaitan ng ulan.
Maliwanag na ang silangan nang ako’y bumangon. May bago na namang umaga. Ngunit ang tanawin sa bahay ay walang pagbabago. Tulad ng dati, nakikita ko si Nanay na nakaupo at nag-iisip sa may hagdanan. Nakatitig siya sa sampayan ng lambat ni Tatay. At madalas ang kanyang pagbubuntong-hininga.
Matagal ko nang nakikita ang sampay na lambat. Ngunit hindi ko nakikitang ito’y ginagamit ni Tatay. Noon ay walang halaga ito sa akin. Nagsimula ang pagpansin ko sa lambat noong ito’y tinapon ni Nanay mga dalawang taon na ang nakakaraan. Galit na galit si Tatay sa ginawa ni Nanay. Pinagbuhatan ni Tatay ng kamay si Nanay. Pagkatapos ipinabalik kay Nanay ang lambat sa sampayan.
"Hanggang ngayon ba’y hindi ka pa nakakalimot, Tomas? Alam ng Diyos na wala akong kasalanan. Ang kanyang ginawa ang siya mong ginagawa tuwing ikaw ay darating sa madaling-araw. Ang kanyang amoy ay siya ring amoy na galing sa dagat. Magkatulad ang inyong ikinikilos. Sino ang hindi mag-aakala na siya ay hindi ikaw? Huli na nang malaman ko ang katotohanan. Huli na nang siya ay aking makilala. Totoong lumigaw siya sa akin. At mula noon ay alam mo iyon. Ikaw ang aking iniibig, Tomas. Kailan mo pa malilimutan ang nangyari?"
[Pangkat II]
Tuluyang umiyak si Nanay. Umungol lamang si Tatay. Nanlilisik ang matang tumingin sa lambat at pagkatapos ay bumaling sa akin. May ibig sabihin ang tingin niyang nag-aapoy. Maliban sa takot na aking nararamdaman ay wala akong naintindihan sa pangyayaring iyon.
Mula noon ay hindi na ginalaw ni Nanay ang lambat. Naluma na ito ngunit buong-buo pa rin sa aking paningin. Buong-buo pa rin sa paningin ni Nanay. Ano kaya ang misteryong napapaloob sa lambat na iyon? Alam kong alam ni Nanay ang hindi ko nalalaman. At kailangang malaman ko ito. May karapatan akong malaman.
Nilapitan ko si Nanay na malalim pa rin ang iniisip. Hinalikan ko ang kanyang kamay. May ibig akong itanong tungkol sa misteryo ng lambat. Ngunit nauntol ang ibig kong sabihin nang magpatuloy ang kanyang pagluha.
"Lakad na Celso, malapit nang dumating ang Tatay mo."
Sa labasan, sumalubong sa akin ang bagong araw. Tumingin ako. Maliwanag ang langit. Langit? May gumugulo sa aking kalooban. Kalawakan. Iyan ang sabi sa aking guro sa ikaapat na baitang ng primarya. Iyan ay hindi langit kundi hangganan lamang ng pananaw ng tao. Ang langit ay nasa tao. Hindi nakikita. Hindi nahihipo. Hindi naaabot. Naabot na kaya ni Nanay ang langit?
"Ano pa ang hinihintay mo, Celso?"
Ipinahid ko sa mukha ang suot kong sando. Humakbang pagkatapos. Maya-maya’y tumakbo na ako ng matulin.
Nasa dalampasigan ang mamamili ng isang dala ng mga bangkang galing sa laot. Masasaya silang nagkukuwentuhan habang hinihintay ang mga mangingisda. Sumalampak ako sa buhangin, malapit sa kinauupuan ng dalawang lalaking may katandaan na. Sa laot ako nakatingin at pinagmamasdan ang galaw ng mga alon na pandagdag sa kagandahan ng kalikasan.
Napalingon ako nang makarinig ng tugtog ng gutara mula sa di-kalayuang bahay-pawid. At sabay kong narinig ang malungkot na awiting nagsasaad ng kasawian sa pag-ibig. At mula na namang naantig ang aking damdamin. Habang pinakikinggan ko ang malungkot na kundiman umalingawngaw ang mahinang pag-uusap ng dalawang lalaki sa tabi[o] ko.
"Naririyan na naman siya."
"Talagang pambihira ang kanyang pagmamahal. Naniniwala akong nagpapatuloy ang kanyang pangarap habang di pa namamatay ang babae sa kanyang buhay. Hindi nawawala ang kanyang pag-asa. Kung kailan natutupad ang kanyang pangarap Diyos lamang ang nakakaalam."
[Pangkat III]
Dinig na dinig ko ang mga kataga habang nagpapatuloy ang malungkot na kundimang naging bahagi na ng aking buhay. Tumayo ako at ibinaling ang paningin sa bahay-pawid sa ilalim ng kaniyugan. Patuloy ang awitin. Humakbang ako ngunit biglang napatigil sa harap ng dalawang lalaking may katandaan na. Naalala ko ang sabi ni Tatay. Bawal pumunta sa bahay-pawid na iyon. Mahigpit ang utos ni Tatay. Nagbabanta ng parusa.
Lumingon ako sa laot. Nasa malayo ang mga bangka ng mga mangingisda. Bumaling ako sa pinanggalingan ng awit na ngayo’y gumaganda sa aking pandinig. At para akong hinihila. Nakalimutan ko ang ipinagbabawal ni Tatay. Mabilis ang aking paglakad at sa ilang saglit kaharap ko na ang taong naggigitara at umaawit. May luha ang kanyang mga mata.
Tumitig siya sa akin. Inilapag ang gitara sa ibabaw ng papag na kinauupuan. Tumayo siya at dahan-dahang lumapit sa akin. Kinabahan ako. Umakma akong tumakbo ngunit nahawakan niya ang isa kong kamay. Nagpumiglas ako upang makawal sa kanyang pagyapos sa akin. Ngunit lalong humigpit ang kanyang pagyakap. Umiiyak ako.
Ngumiti siya at pinahid ang aking mga luha. Hinimas ang aking ulo. Unti-unting lumuwag ang aking paghinga. Nararamdaman ko ang kanyang pagmamahal nang tumingin ako sa kanya. Muli niya akong niyapos.
"Dalawin mo ako palagi, ha?"
Hindi ako kumibo. Tinitigan ko siya. Ang kanyang mga mata, ang ilong, ang labi – lahat parang nakita ko na. Saan? Alam ko na, sa salamin. Talagang siya ang nakita ko sa salamin na nakasabit sa dingding ng aming bahay.
Napatingin ako sa dalampasigan nang marinig ko ang hiyawan. Nagdatingan na pala ang mga bangka at nag-uunahan ang mga mamimili ng isda. Nagmadali akong tumakbo upang salubungin ang Tatay. Malayo pa ako ng makita ko siyang nakatayo sa may dinaungan ng kanyang bangka. Natanawan niya ako. Masama ang titig niya sa akin. Galit. Kinabahan ako.
"Lapit rito, Celso!"
Malakas ang sigaw ni Tatay. Nanginginig akong lumapit. At bigla akong sinampal.
"Di ko gusto ang batang matigas ang ulo! Di lang sampal ang matitikman mo kapag umulit ka pa. Hala, kunin mo ang mga isda at sumunod ka kaagad sa akin."
Habang naglalakad ay sinalat ko ang pisnging nakatikim ng sampal. Talagang mahirap intindihin si Tatay. Wala namang dahilan upang iwasan ko ang taong nasa bahay-pawid. Di naman dapat katakutan ang kanyang mukha at boses. Bakit kaya hinihigpitan ako ni Tatay?
[Pangkat IV]
Matapos akong mag-almusal, nandoon na naman si Tatay sa sampayan ng lambat. Nakatabako at nagtatagpi ng punit na bahagi ng lambat. Alam kong aabutin siya ng tanghali bago matapos ang kanyang gawain. Matapos makapananghalian siya’y matutulog. Pagkagising maghahapunan. At di pa man ganap ang gabi balik na naman sa dagat. Iyan ang buhay ni Tatay. At iyan ang bahagi ng aking buhay.
Sa aking kinauupuan sa may bintana nakikita ko sa Nanay na nakaupo sa may hagdanan. Tahimik at nakatingin na naman sa sampayan ng lambat. Luhaan na naman ang kanyang mga mata. At naalala ko ang pangyayari noong itinapon ni Nanay. Lahat may itinatagong kahulugan. At naalala ko ang nangyari kanina sa dalampasigan. Naalala ko iyong tao.
Lumapit ako sa salamin sa dingding. Pinagmasdan ko ang aking sarili. Nakita ko sa aking isipan ang mukha ng tao. Unti-unting lumiwanag ang aking kamalayan. Biglang kumulo ang aking dugo habang iniisip ang nakasampay na lambat. Nagdilim ang aking paningin. Nadama kong inihahanap ko ang katarungan ang aking kalagayan.
Nagpunta ako sa kusinaan. Hinanap ko ang itak ni Nanay na pangsibak ng kahoy. Bitbit ko ito at pinuntahan ang sampayan ng lambat. Pinagtataga ko ang lambat.
"Huwag, Celso!" saway ni Nanay na nanginginig ang boses. "Huwag!"
Naiiba sa aking pandinig ang pagsigaw ni Nanay. Pati si Tatay ay natigilan at nabigla sa aking ginawa ay hindi ko pinansin. Hinalibas ko ng itak ang lambat at saka lang ako tumigil nang ito’y magkagutay-gutay na at nagkalat sa aking paanan.
"Celso!"
Nag-aapoy ang mga mata ni Tatay na humarap sa akin. At sa unang pagkakataon ay hindi ko inalis ang aking tingin sa kanya. Nilabanan ko siya ng titigan. Di ako nagagalit kundi humihingi lamang ng pang-unawa. Ngunit bigla akong napatimbuwang nang matamaan ng malakas na suntok at napahiga sa pira-pirasong wasak na lambat.
Nahihilo ako, parang ibig himatayin. Umiikot ang aking paningin. Parang may nakita akong anino – si Tatay na sumusurot kay Nanay.
"Ngunit, Tomas," nagmamakaawa si Nanay. "Wala siyang kasalanan. Maawa ka sa kaniya."
"Pumanhik ka, Isidra!" singhal ni Tatay. "Pumanhik ka na habang ako’y nakapagpipigil pa."
[Pangkat V]
Dahan-dahan akong bumangon at sumuray-suray na lumapit kay Tatay. Ngunit isang tadyak ang sumalubong sa akin. Napatihaya ako ngunit tinangka kong makatayo. Mabigat ang pakiramdam ko sa aking katawan at ako’y gumagapang. Ngunit sinabunutan ako ni Tatay at iningudngod sa lupa ang aking mukha. Humihingal ako ngunit di ko makuhang umiyak. Nasasalat ko ang magkahalong dugo at pawis sa aking pisngi.
Di ko pansin ang mga gasgas sa dalawang siko. Sa labis na panghihina’y umusad ako nang umusad. Hanggang sa nangangatog kong mga bisig ay yumapos sa mga binti ni Tatay. Naramdaman ko ang panlalamig ng katawan at ako ay napahandusay sa kanyang paanan.
Hindi ko na alam kung gaano katagal ang pagkawala ng aking malay. Naramdaman ko na lamang may maiinit na mga bisig na yumayakap sa akin. Kinusot ko ang aking mga mata. Sumalubong sa aking paningin ang maamong mukha ni Tatay. Pagsisisi. Pag-unawa. Lahat ay kasalungat sa dati niyang gawa. Lalong humigpit ang kanyang pagyakap at kinabig ang aking mukha sa kanyang dibdib sa tapat ng kanyang puso. Matagal.

The Diamond Necklace by Guy de Maupassant

The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.
She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.
Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.
When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, "Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that," she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.
She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.
She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.
But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.
"There," said he, "there is something for you."
She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:
The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.
Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:
"What do you wish me to do with that?"
"Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every one wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there."
She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:
"And what do you wish me to put on my back?"
He had not thought of that. He stammered:
"Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me."
He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he answered.
By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:
"Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am."
He was in despair. He resumed:
"Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions--something very simple?"
She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.
Finally she replied hesitating:
"I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs."
He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.
But he said:
"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown."
The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:
"What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days."
And she answered:
"It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all."
"You might wear natural flowers," said her husband. "They're very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses."
She was not convinced.
"No; there's nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich."
"How stupid you are!" her husband cried. "Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate enough with her to do that."
She uttered a cry of joy:
"True! I never thought of it."
The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.
Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:
"Choose, my dear."
She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:
"Haven't you any more?"
"Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what you like."
Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.
Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:
"Will you lend me this, only this?"
"Why, yes, certainly."
She threw her arms round her friend's neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.
The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.
She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman's heart.
She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.
He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.
Loisel held her back, saying: "Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab."
But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance.
They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.
It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock that morning.
She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!
"What is the matter with you?" demanded her husband, already half undressed.
She turned distractedly toward him.
"I have--I have--I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace," she cried.
He stood up, bewildered.
"What!--how? Impossible!"
They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it.
"You're sure you had it on when you left the ball?" he asked.
"Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house."
"But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab."
"Yes, probably. Did you take his number?"
"No. And you--didn't you notice it?"
"No."
They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes.
"I shall go back on foot," said he, "over the whole route, to see whether I can find it."
He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.
Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.
He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies--everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.
She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.
Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing.
"You must write to your friend," said he, "that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round."
She wrote at his dictation.
At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:
"We must consider how to replace that ornament."
The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was found within. He consulted his books.
"It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case."
Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.
They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.
So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.
Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.
He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.
When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly manner:
"You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it."
She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for a thief?
Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.
She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.
Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.
Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.
This life lasted ten years.
At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.
Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households--strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.
What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!
But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.
Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?
She went up.
"Good-day, Jeanne."
The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:
"But--madame!--I do not know---- You must have mistaken."
"No. I am Mathilde Loisel."
Her friend uttered a cry.
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!"
"Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty--and that because of you!"
"Of me! How so?"
"Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?"
"Yes. Well?"
"Well, I lost it."
"What do you mean? You brought it back."
"I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad."
Madame Forestier had stopped.
"You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?"
"Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar."
And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.
Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!"