The child, your son, was born there, in that asylum of wretchedness, among the very poor, the outcast, and the abandoned.
Once, at least, I had to cry aloud, to let you know How dearly bought was the child, this boy who was my delight, and who now lies dead.
I shall never speak of them again.
For eleven years I have kept silence, and shall doon be dumb for evermore.
I had forgotten those dreadful hours, forgotten them in his simles and his voice, forgotten them in my happiness.
Now, when he is dead, the torment has come to life again, and I had, this once, to give it utterance.
But I do not accuse you, only God, only God who is the author of such purposeless affliction.
Never did I repent the nights when I enjoyed your love, never did I cease to love you, or to bless the hour when you came into my life.
Our boy died yesterday, and you never know him.
His bright little personality has never come into the most fugitive contact with you, and your eyes have never rested on him.
I did not wish to divide myself between you and him, and so I did not give myself to you, who were happy and independent of me.
But to boy who needed me, whom I had to nourish, whom I could kiss and fondle.
I seemed to have been healed of restless yearning for you.
The doom seemed to have been lifted from me by the birth of this other you, who was truly my own.
One thing only-on your birthday I have always sent you abunch of white roses, like the roses you gave me after our first night of love.
Has it ever occured to you, During those ten or eleven years to ask yourself who sent them?
Have you ever recalled having given such roses to a girl? I do not know, and never shall know.
For me it was enough to send them to you out of darkness, enough once a year, to revive my own memory of that hour.
You never know our boy. I blame myself today for having hidden him from you, for you would have love him.
You have never seen him smile when he first opened his eyes after sleep, his dark eyes that were your eyes, the eyes with which he looked merrily forth at me and the world.
He was so bright, so lovable.
You will wonder how I could manage to give boy So costly an upbringing, how it was possible for me to provide for him an entry into this bright and cheerful life of the well-to-do.
Dear one, I am speaking to you from the darkness.
Uashamed, I will tell you.
Do not shrink from me, I sold myself. My friends, my lovers, were wealthy men.
They all became my grateful admires. They all loved me-except you, except you whom I loved.