So I came home."
"But where--where is Pasquale?" I asked.
"He went five, six months ago. He gave me some money and said he
would send some more. But he did not send any. He went to South
Africa. He said there was a war and he wanted to fight, and he
said he was sick of me. Oh, he was very unkind," she cried with
the quiver of her baby lips. "I wish I had never seen him."
"Are you married?"
"No," said Carlotta.
"Damn him!" said I, between my teeth.
"He was going to marry me, but then he said it did not matter in
Paris. At first he was so nice, but after a little--oh, Seer
Marcous dear, he was so cruel."
There was a short silence. Antoinette wept by the door, uttering
little half-audible exclamations _"la pauvre petite, le cher
ange!"_
Carlotta regarded me wistfully. I saw a new look of suffering in
her eyes. For myself I felt numb with pain.
"What kind of a pension were you living in?" I asked, unutterable
horrors coming into my head.
"It was a French family, an old lady and two old daughters, and
one fat German professor.
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