He showed me a hawthorn and said:
"That is where you used to come with your poor deceased father to lie in wait for the blackbirds. … Do you remember, Monsieur Jean?"
"Yes, yes, Felix!"
"And also the thrush?"
"Yes, yes, Felix!"
I walked away. I could not bear the sight of this old man any longer, this man who thought he was going to live to the end of his days at the Priory and whom I was about to drive out … and where was he to go? … He had served us faithfully, he was almost one of our family, poor, unable to gain a livelihood otherwise. And I was going to chase him out! … Ah! How could I bring myself to do that?
At breakfast Marie seemed nervous. She walked around my chair, unusually excited.
"Beg pardon!" she said to me at last, "I must clear up all my doubts about this matter. … Is it true that you are selling the Priory? … "
"Yes, Marie."
The old woman opened wide her eyes, stupefied, and, placing her hands on the table, repeated:
"You are selling the Priory?"
"Yes, Marie."
"The Priory where all your family was born? … The Priory where your father and your mother died? … The Priory, Holy Jesus!"
"Yes, Marie."
She recoiled as if frightened.
"Then you are a wicked son, Monsieur Jean!"
I made no reply. Marie left the dining room and did not speak to me any more.
Two days later, my business having been attended to, the deed signed, I left. … My money was hardly enough to last me a month. … I was done for! Overwhelming debts, ignoble debts was all that was left to me! … Ah! if the train could only carry me on and on, always further on, never to arrive anywhere! … It was only in Paris that I reminded myself that I had not even gone to kneel down at the grave of my father and mother.
Juliette received me tenderly. She embraced me passionately.
"Ah! dear, dear! … I thought you would never come back! … Five days, just think of it! … Next time if you have to go again I want to go with you."
She appeared so affectionate, so truly moved, her caresses gave me such confidence, and then the burden on my soul was so heavy, that I did not hesitate to tell her everything. I took her in my arms and put her on my lap.
"Listen to me, my Juliette," I said to her, "listen to me! … I am lost … ruined … ruined … do you hear, ruined! … We have only four thousand francs left! … "
"Poor boy!" Juliette sighed while placing her head on my shoulder, "poor boy! … "
I burst out sobbing, and cried out:
"You understand now that I must leave you. … And I am going to die if I do!"
"Come now, you are silly to talk that way. … Do you believe I could live without you, my dear? … Come now, don't cry, don't grieve so much. … "
She dried the tears from my eyes and continued in her voice which grew sweeter with every word.
"First of all we have four thousand francs. … We can live four months on that. … During these four months you'll work. … Let us see if you can't write a good novel in four months! … But don't cry, because if you cry, I won't tell you a great secret … a great, great secret. … Do you know what your little wifie did, who little suspected that herself—do you know? … Well, for three days she went to the riding school, she took lessons in horsemanship—and next year when she is well trained, Franconi will engage her. … Do you know what a woman rider in a fashionable riding school makes. … Two thousand, three thousand francs a month! … You see now, there isn't much to grieve over, my poor little boy!"
All nonsense, all folly seemed logical to me. I clung to it desperately as a shipwrecked sailor clings to the insecure wreckage tossed by the waves. Provided it kept me afloat for an instant, I did not care toward what dangerous reefs, toward what blacker depths it swept me on. I also cleaved to that absurd hope of one doomed to perish, which even on the slaughter stake, which even under the knife, still expects the impossible to happen: a sudden change, an earthly catastrophe which will deliver him from death. I permitted myself to be deluded by the pretty purring of Juliette's words! A firm resolve to work heroically filled my spirit and threw me into raptures. … I had visions of multitudes of people bending breathlessly over my books, of theatres where grave and painted men were coming forward and uttering my name to the boundless enthusiasm of the audience. Overcome with fatigue, worn out with emotion, I fell asleep.
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 table cloth 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 table cloth, 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!"