We finished dinner. Juliette was even more affectionate than at the time when I came back. Nevertheless, I noticed a sort of uneasiness, a preoccupied air in her. She was sad and gay at one and the same time: What was going on behind this forehead over which clouds were passing? Did she decide to leave me, in spite of all her protestations, and did she want to make our separation easier by lavishing on me all the treasures of her caresses?
“How annoying, my dear!” she said, “I have to go out.”
“What do you mean, you have to go out? Now?”
“Why yes, just think of it. That poor Gabrielle is very ill. She is alone—I have promised to come to see her! Oh! but I won’t stay very long. … About an hour. …”
Juliette spoke very naturally. But I don’t know why, it seemed to me that she was lying, that she was not going to Gabrielle at all. And suspicion, vague, terrifying suspicion pierced my heart. I said to her:
“Can’t you wait till tomorrow?”
“Oh, that’s impossible! Don’t you understand, I have promised.”
“Please, do me a favor! Go tomorrow. …”
“That’s impossible! Poor Gabrielle!”
“All right! … I’ll go with you. … I’ll wait for you at the door! …”
Cunningly I studied her. … Her face was motionless. … No, really her muscles did not betray the least surprise. She answered gently:
“There is no sense in that! … You are tired. … Go to bed! …”
And forthwith I saw the train of her gown stream behind the drawn door curtain like a snake. … Juliette is in her dressing room. … And with eyes fixed upon the tablecloth where the red reflection of a bottle of wine is flitting, I recall that recently some women came to this house, fleshly squint-eyed women, women who had the air of dogs scenting ordure. … I remember I had asked Juliette who those women were. One time Juliette answered: “That’s the corset maker.” Another time she said: “That’s the embroiderer.” And I believed her! One day I picked up on the carpet a visiting card which read. … Madame Rabineau, 114 Rue de Sèze. “Who was this Mme. Rabineau?” Juliette answered: “That’s nothing … give it here. …” And she tore the card up. … And fool that I was, I did not even go to the Rue de Sèze to find out! … I recall all that. … Ah! how could I ever fail to understand? … Why didn’t I seize them by the neck, these vile dealers in human flesh? …
And suddenly a great veil is lifted from my eyes, behind it I see Juliette with defiled body, exhausted and hideous, selling herself to human vultures! … Juliette is there, putting on her gloves, in front of me, in a dark dress with a thick veil which hides her features. … The shadow of her hand dances upon the tablecloth, lengthens out, grows broader, shrinks again, disappears and comes back again. … I shall always see this diabolic shadow, always! …
“Kiss me, dearie!”
“Don’t go out Juliette, don’t go out, I implore you!”
“Embrace me … closer … closer yet. …”
She is sad. … Through the thick veil I feel on my cheek the moisture of a tear.
“Why do you cry, Juliette. … Juliette, for pity’s sake, stay with me!”
“Embrace me. … I adore you, my Jean. … I adore you! …”
She is gone. … Doors open, close again. … She is gone. … Outside I hear the noise of a rolling carriage. The noise grows fainter and fainter and dies out. … She is gone! …
And here I, too, am on the street. … A cab passes by—114, Rue de Sèze!
My mind was made up quickly. … I figured that I would come there before she could. … She perfectly understood that I was not taken in by that story of Gabrielle’s illness. … My anxiety, my eagerness no doubt inspired her with the fear of being spied after, followed, and most likely she would not go to the place immediately. But why did just this abominable thought flash through my mind like lightning? … Why only this possibility and no other? … I still hope that my presentiments have deceived me, that Madame Rabineau “is nothing,” that Gabrielle is really sick!
Some kind of a small hotel hedged in between two tall buildings, a narrow door hollowed out in the wall at the end of three steps; a dark façade, whose closed windows let no light penetrate. … It’s here! … It is here she is going to come, where she already came perhaps! … Rage drives me toward this door. … I should like to set this house on fire; I should like to make all those detestable ladies hidden there shriek and writhe in agony, in some hellish blaze. … Presently a woman enters, singing and swaying her body, her hands in the pockets of her light jacket. … Why did not I spit in her face? … An old man has come out of his coupé. He passed close to me, snorting, panting, supported under his arm by his valet. … His trembling feet are unable to carry him, between his flabby, swollen eyelids there glimmers a light of beastly dissipation. … Why did I not slash the hideous face of this profligate old faun? … Perhaps he is waiting for Juliette! … The door of the Inferno opened before him—and for an instant my eyes plunged into the pits of hell. … I thought I saw red flames, smoke, abominable embraces, the
