MY father was sitting in my drawing-room in his dressing-gown. He was writing.

I knew at once, from the way he looked up at me as I entered, that serious matters were about to be broached.

I went up to him, however, as though I had no inkling of anything from his expression, and I embraced him.

'When did you arrive, father?'

'Last night.'

'And you're putting up here as usual?'

'Yes.'

'I'm so sorry I wasn't here to welcome you.'

I expected that these words would unleash the lecture which my father's cool expression clearly promised. But he did not answer, sealed the letter he had just written, and gave it to Joseph to post.

When we were alone, my father stood up and, leaning against the mantelpiece, said:

'The two of us, my dear Armand, have serious matters to discuss.'

'I'm listening, father.'

'Will you promise to be frank with me?'

'I'm never anything else.'

'Is it true that you are living with a woman named Marguerite Gautier?'

'Yes.'

'Do you know what sort of woman she was?'

'She was a kept woman.'

'Was it on her account that you neglected to come down to see your sister and me this year?'

'Yes, father, I admit it.'

'So you love this woman very much?'

'You can see I do, father, since she made me forget a sacred duty, for which I now humbly ask your pardon.'

Clearly, my father had not been expecting such plain answers, for he appeared to reflect for a moment before saying:

'You must have know, of course, that you couldn't go on living like this forever?'

'I was afraid it might be so, father, but I knew no such thing.'

'But you must have known, ' my father continued in a slightly sharper tone of voice, 'that I would never allow it.'

'I told myself that, as long as I did nothing to prejudice the respect which I owe to your name and the time- honoured probity of the family, then I could behave as I have ?and this went some way to reassuring me about the fears I had.'

Passion arms us against sentiment. I was ready to fight any battle, even against my father, to keep Marguerite.

'Well, the time has come to behave differently.'

'But why, father?'

'Because you are on the point of committing actions which undermine the respect which you say you have for your family.'

'I don't understand what you're saying.'

'Then I'll explain what I said. If you have a mistress, all well and good. If you pay her like any gentleman pays to be loved by a kept woman, even better. But when you neglect your most sacred obligations on her account; when you allow rumours of your scandalous conduct to travel all the way down to my part of the world and cast the shadow of a stain on the honourable name I have given you, then that is something which cannot continue, nor shall it continue.'

'Allow me to say, father, that whoever told you all this about me was badly informed. I am Marguerite Gautier's lover, I live with her: it's really quite simple. I have not given Mademoiselle Gautier the name I received from you. I spend on her no more than my means permit, I haven't run up any debts and I haven't got myself into any of the predicaments which entitle a father to say to his son what you have just said to me.'

'A father is always entitled to turn his son from the ill-considered path on which he sees him set his foot. You have not done anything wrong as yet, but you will.'

'Really, father!'

'Sir, I know life better than you do. Wholly pure sentiments are to be found only in women who are wholly chaste. Every Manon can turn a man into a Des Grieux, and times and manners have changed. It would be pointless if the world grew older without growing wiser. You will leave your mistress.'

'It distresses me to disobey you, father, but that is out of the question.'

'I shall compel you.'

'Unfortunately, father, there aren't any St-Margaret's Islands nowadays where courtesans can be transported, and, even if there were, I should follow Mademoiselle Gautier there if you managed to have her sent away. I'm sorry, it may be wrong of me, but I can be happy only on the condition that I remain her lover.'

'Come, Armand, open your eyes and see your father who has always loved you and who wants only your happiness. Is it honourable for you to live as man and wife with a woman who's been had by everybody?'

'What does it matter, father, if no one else shall have her again? What does it matter if she loves me, if she has been transformed by the love she has for me and the love I feel for her? What can it possibly matter if there has been a spiritual change in her?'

'And do you think, sir, that the mission of a gentleman is to bring about spiritual changes in courtesans? Do you imagine that God has given life so grotesque a purpo............