“Will you please tell us where the house of Madame Le Gannec is?” “It is in front of you,” answered the fisherman, who indicated the house with a motion of hand and continued on his way.
I grew very pale … and I saw by the light of the lantern a small gloved hand resting on the handle of the stage door.
“Juliette! Juliette!” I shouted like a madman. “Mother Le Gannec, it’s Juliette! … Quick, quick … it’s Juliette!”
Running, tumbling down the stairway, I dashed to the street: “Juliette! My Juliette!”
Arms embraced me, lips pressed against my cheek, a voice breathed in my ears:
“Jean! My dear little Jean!”
And I swooned into the arms of Juliette.
It did not take me long to regain my senses, however. They put me to bed and Juliette, bent over me, embraced me, crying:
“Ah! Poor little thing. How you frightened me! How pale you still are! Is it all over, tell me? Speak to me, my Jean!”
I did nothing but look at her. It seemed as though my whole being, inert and rigid, smitten by a powerful blow, by some great suffering or happiness—I did not know which—had brought back and crowded into my glance all the life forces leaving me, dripping from my limbs, my veins, my heart, my brains. … I was looking at her! She was still beautiful, a little paler than in the past, but on the whole the same as ever, with her beautiful, sweet eyes, her lovely mouth, her deliciously childish voice. In her countenance, her gestures, the movements of her body, her words I wanted to find some sorrowful traces of her unknown existence, some blemish, some evidence of depravity, something new and more withered. But no, she was paler, and that was all. And I burst into tears.
“Sit still, I want to look at you more, my little Juliette!”
She drank in my tears and wept, holding me in a close embrace.
“My Jean! Ah, my adored Jean!”
Mother Le Gannec rapped at the door of the room. She did not speak to Juliette, pretending not to see her.
“What shall I do with the trunks, friend Mintié?” she asked.
“Have someone bring them up here, Mother Le Gannec.”
“You could not bring them all up here,” the old woman harshly replied.
“Have you got many of them, dearie?”
“Many? Why no! There are only six. These people are stupid!”
“Well, Mother Le Gannec,” I said, “keep them downstairs tonight. We shall see tomorrow.”
I got up, while Juliette examined the room, occasionally exclaiming:
“Why, it’s so nice here! There’s a lot of fun here, my dear. And you have a bed, too, a real bed. And I thought they slept in wardrobes in Brittany! Ah! What is that? Don’t stir, Jean, don’t stir.”
From the mantelpiece she took a large shell and put it to her ear.
“Wait!” she said with disappointment. “Wait now, it does not make that sh-sh-sh sound. Why is that?”
She suddenly rushed into my arms and covered me with kisses.
“Ah! your beard! You are growing whiskers, you villain! Ah how long your hair is! And how thin you are! And I, have I changed much! Am I still beautiful?”
She placed her arms around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder:
“Tell me what you have been doing here, how you have spent your time, what you have been thinking about. Tell it all to your little wifie. And don’t tell lies. Tell her everything, everything.”
Then I described my furious walks, my prostrations on the dune, my sobbing, the fact that I had been seeing her everywhere, calling her like a madman in the wind, in the tempest.
“Poor little thing!” she sighed. “And you probably have not even a raincoat.”
“And you? you, my Juliette? Did you ever think of me?”
“Ah! When I found you gone from the house I thought I would die. Celestine told me that a man had come to take you away! Still I waited. … He will come, he will come. … But you did not come back. The next morning I ran to Lirat! Oh, if you only knew how he received me! … how he treated me! And I asked everybody: ‘Do you know where Jean is?’ And no one could answer me. Oh, you naughty boy! To leave me like that … without a word! Don’t you love me anymore? Then, you understand, I wanted to forget myself. I was suffering too much.”
Her words had a sharp, curt ring in them:
“As for Lirat, you may rest assured, my dear, I’ll get even with him. You’ll see! It’ll be a farce! What a mean person your friend Lirat is! But you’ll see.”
One thing tormented me: how many days or weeks would Juliette stay with me? She had brought six trunks with her; hence she intended to remain at Ploch for a month at least—perhaps longer. Together with the great anticipated joy of possessing her without fear or obstacle, there mingled a keen uneasiness. I had no money, and I knew Juliette too well not to realize that she would not resign herself to a life like mine, and I foresaw expenditures which I was not in a position to make. What was to be done? Not having enough courage to ask her directly, I answered:
“We have plenty of time to think of it, my dear. In about three months from now when we shall go back to Paris.
“Three months! Why no, my poor little thing, I leave in a week. I am so sorry.”
“Stay here, my little Juliette, I implore you, stay here altogether. Stay longer! A fortnight!”
“It is impossible, really. Oh, don’t be sad, my dear! Don’t cry! If you cry I won’t tell you something very nice.”
She became more affectionate, nestled and resumed:
“Listen, my dear. I have only one thought, and that is to live with you!
