MY SECRET LIFE
MY SECRET LIFE
ten weeks nearly had gone; I said if Camille was not back next week she might let the rooms. It passed; a bill was put up in the window, and the next morning calling as a forlorn hope, there was a letter for me,— she would be back in a week. I was in a state of ex- citement that week, and kept myself chaste, with the idea of the virgin cunt, and Camille’s well paced roger- ing in anticipation.
The day came. I was so impatient, that I was there quite early; she arrived some hours earlier than she had said, and seemed surprised at finding me; my im- pression is that she did not want me to be there when she came back. She came in a hackney-coach; a stoutish full-sized young woman with a funny bonnet and long cloak on, got out of the coach with her, and in a free- and-easy way helped the things upstairs. She called her Louise. The wench put down a big box, and on my turning round after giving Camille a kiss, I saw she had seated herself on it, and hands on her knees was looking at me. “Uncord the box”, said Camille. Said the girl, “I am tired.” She uncorded it, again sitting down, and looking at me said, “Is that your young man ?—he’s a good-looking fellow.” Camille told her to hold her tongue, to go on unpacking, and that I un- derstood French, eying her at the same time in a savage way, and looking at me at times very uneasily. She was a rough sort of girl, she said, a relative of a friend of hers, had come as her servant, and in a short time would understand her place; smiling at me in a know- ing way as she said that. Camille always addressed her servant in French, me in English; but I understood French tolerably well.
Louise did as she was told, but bounced about in
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