MANO
A MANO.

Lost in my sadness, I call you to mind and see that you were nothing but a good woman in my poor outcast life. Your stylish presence brought warmth to my nest; you were good and steadfast, and I know you loved me as you loved no one else, as you never will again.

Our affair began when you, poor girl, were dodging poverty in that boarding house. Now you live in luxury; life smiles and sings for you, and you gamble away your fool's cash at random, as a sly cat toys with a wretched mouse.

Now your head is full of ill-fated dreams; the fools, your girlfriends and your lover have taken you in. The dance hall among the wealthy, with its wild temptations, where dancers' ambitions triumph and give way, has worked its way deep into your poor heart.

I owe you no thanks: we have settled our accounts; I don't care what you have done, what you do or what you'll do... I believe I've repaid the favors I received, and if I've unwittingly forgotten some small debt, charge it to the fool you're with now.

Meanwhile, may your victories—poor, fleeting victories— be a long succession of riches and pleasure; may the wealthy man who keeps you never run out of money, may you steer clear of those dance-hall pimps, and may the lads say: She is a good woman.

And tomorrow, when you're an old piece of furniture cast aside and your poor heart has no hope left, if you need some help, if you need advice, remember this friend, who will risk his own skin to help however he can when the time comes.