At first I had a notion to confess all to him, no matter what happened to our friendship. … I would say to myself: “all right, tomorrow I am going to see Lirat” … I would make up my mind firmly. … And the next day: “Not now … there is nothing pressing … tomorrow! …” Tomorrow, always tomorrow! … And days, weeks, months passed. … Tomorrow!
Now that he had been told all about these things by Malterre, who even before my departure used to come and make his sofa groan, how could I broach the subject to him? … What could I say to him? … How endure his look, his contempt, his anger. … His anger, perhaps! … But his contempt, his terrible silence, the disconcerting sneer which I already saw taking shape at the corner of his mouth. … No, no, really I did not dare! … To try to mollify him, to take his hand, to ask his forgiveness for my lack of confidence in him, to appeal to the generosity of his heart! … No! It would ill become me to assume such a part, and then Lirat with just one word could throw a damper on me and stop my effusion. … What’s the use! … Each day that passed separated us further, estranged us from each other more and more … a few more months and there would no longer be any Lirat to reckon with in my life! … I should prefer that rather than cross his threshold and face him in person. … I replied to Juliette:
“Lirat? … Oh yes. … I think I’ll do that some of these days!”
“No, no!” insisted Juliette. … “Today! You know him, you know how mean he is. God knows how many ugly things he must have said about us!”
I had to make up my mind to see him. From the Rue de Balzac to Rodrigue Place is but a short distance. To postpone as long as possible the moment of this painful interview I made a long detour on my way, walking as far as the shop district of the Saint Honoré suburb. And I was thinking to myself: “Suppose I don’t go to see Lirat at all. I can tell her, when I come back, that we have quarrelled, and I can invent some sort of a story that will forever relieve me of the necessity of this visit.” I felt ashamed of this boyish thought. … Then I hoped that Lirat was not at home! With what joy could I then roll up my card into a tube and slip it through the keyhole! Comforted by this thought I at last turned in the direction of Rodrigue Place and stopped in front of the door of the studio—and this door seemed to fill me with fear. Still I rapped at it and presently a voice, Lirat’s voice, called:
“Come in!”
My heart beat furiously, a bar of fire stopped my throat—I wanted to flee. …
“Come in!” the voice repeated.
I turned the door knob.
“Ah! Is that you, Mintié,” Lirat exclaimed. “Come on in.”
Lirat was seated at his table, writing a letter.
“May I finish this?” he said to me. “Just two more minutes and I’ll be through.”
He resumed writing. It was a relief not to feel upon myself the chill of his look. I took advantage of the fact that his back was turned to unburden my soul to him.
“I have not seen you for such a long time, my good Lirat.”
“Why, yes, my dear Mintié!”
“I have moved.”
“Ah, is that so!”
“I live on the Rue de Balzac.”
“Nice place!”
I was suffocating. … I made a supreme effort to gather all my strength … but by a strange aberration I thought I would succeed better by adopting a flippant method of approach. Upon my word of honor! I railed, yes, railed at myself.
“I have come to tell you some news which will amuse you. … Ha! … Ha! … which will amuse you … I am sure … I … I … live with Juliette. … Ha! … Ha! … with Juliette Roux … Juliette, you know. … Ha! Ha!”
“Congratulations!” He uttered this word “congratulations” in a perfectly calm, indifferent voice. … Was it possible! No hiss, no anger, no jumping at me! … Just “Congratulations! …” As one might say: “how do you expect that to interest me?” And his back bent over the table remained motionless without straightening up, without stirring! … His pen did not slip from his hand; he continued to write! What I told him just now he had known long ago. … But to hear it out of my own mouth! … I was stupefied—and shall I confess it?—I was wounded by the fact that the matter did not seem to affect him at all! … Lirat rose and rubbing his hands:
“Well! what’s new?” he asked.
I could not stand it any longer. I rushed toward him with tears in my eyes.
“Listen to me,” I shouted sobbing. “Lirat, for God’s sake, listen to me. … I did not act fairly toward you. … I know it … and I ask your forgiveness. … I should have told you all. … But I did not have the courage to. … You frighten me. … And then … you remember Juliette, the one you told me about, right here … you remember … she is the one who kept me from doing that. … Do you understand?”
“My dear Mintié,” interrupted Lirat, “I did not want you to tell me anything. I am neither your father nor your confessor. Do what you please, that does not concern me in the least.”
I became excited.
“You are not my father, that is true … but you are my friend … and I owe you all the confidence in the world. … Forgive me! … Yes, I live with Juliette, and I love her and she loves me! … Is it a crime to seek a little happiness? … Juliette is not the kind of a woman you thought she was … she has been calumniated most odiously, Lirat. … She is kind and honest. … Oh, don’t smile … she is honest! … She has some childish ways about her that would touch even you, Lirat. You don’t like her because you
