against her own, I clasped her in a furious embrace.
She abandoned herself to me entirely and in a very low, choking voice:
"Come tomorrow!" she said.
CHAPTER V
I wish I did not have to continue this story. I wish I could stop here. … Ah, how I wish I could do that! At the thought that I am about to disclose so much ignominy, my courage fails me, I blush for shame, a feeling of cowardice instantly seizes me and agitates the pen in my hand. … And I sue for mercy from myself. … Alas! I must clamber to the top of this ascending, sorrowful Golgotha, even though my flesh be torn to bleeding pieces, even though my living body be broken against the rocks and stones! Sins like mine, which I am not trying to justify by hereditary defects or by the pernicious effects of an education so contrary to my nature, call for terrible atonement, and the atonement which I have chosen is a public confession of my life.
I say to myself that merciful and noble hearts will think kindly of my self-imposed humiliation and I also say to myself that my example will perhaps serve as a lesson to others. … Even if there were only one young man who, on the verge of falling, should happen to read these pages and feel so horrified and so disgusted as to be forever saved from evil, it seems to me that the salvation of his soul would signify the beginning of the redemption of my own. And then again, I hope, although I no longer believe in God, I hope that in the depth of those sanctuaries of peace where in the silence of soul-redeeming nights there rises to heaven the sad and soothing chant of those who pray for the dead, I hope that there, too, I may be granted my share of compassion and of Christian forgiveness.
I had an income of twenty-two thousand francs; furthermore, I was certain that by doing literary work I could earn an equal sum, at least. Nothing seemed difficult to me, the path lay straight before me without a single obstacle, I had but to march on. … My shyness, my fears, my doubts, exhaustingly painful efforts, spiritual agonies oh, those things no longer mattered! A novel, two novels a year, a few plays for the theatre. … What did that amount to for a young man in love as I was? … Weren't people talking about X … and Z … two hopeless and notorious idiots who in a few years amassed a large fortune? … Ideas for a novel, a comedy, a dramatic play came to me in droves … and I indicated their arrival by a broad and haughty gesture. …
I saw myself already monopolizing all the libraries, all the theatres, all the magazines, the attention of the whole world. … In the hours when inspiration should prove slow and painful, all I would need to do would be to look at Juliette and masterpieces would come forth from her eyes as in a fairy-tale. I did not hesitate to demand Malterre's departure and complete charge of Juliette's affairs. Malterre wrote heart-rending letters, begged, threatened and finally departed. Later on Jesselin, displaying his usual vaunted tact, told us that Malterre, grief-stricken, had taken a trip to Italy.
"I accompanied him as far as Marseilles," he told us. "He wanted to kill himself and was crying all the time. You know I am not a gullible sort of a chap … but he actually made me feel sorry for him. Now really!"
And he added:
"You know. He was ready to fight you. … It was his friend, Monsieur Lirat, who kept him from doing that. … I, too, dissuaded him from it because I believe only in a duel to death."
Juliette listened to all these details silently and with apparent indifference. From time to time she drew her tongue across her lips, and in her eyes there was something resembling a reflection of inner joy. Was she thinking of Malterre? Was she happy to learn that someone was suffering on account of her? Alas! I was no longer in a position to ask myself such questions.
A new life began.
I did riot like the apartment where Juliette lived; there were in her house neighbors whom I did not like, and above all the apartment concealed memories which I thought it more convenient to forget. For fear that my plans might not be agreeable to Juliette I did not dare to reveal them too abruptly, but at the very first words I said about the matter she grew enthusiastic.
"Yes! yes!" she cried out with joy. "I have been thinking of it myself, dearie. And do you know of what else I have been thinking? Guess, guess quickly, what your little wifie has been thinking of?"
She placed both hands on my shoulders, and smiling:
"Don't you know? … Really you don't? … Well! she has been thinking of having you come and live with her. … Oh! It'll be so nice to have a pretty little apartment where we shall be alone, just the two of us, to love each other, isn't that right, my Jean? … You'll work and I'll sit right next to you and do some needle work without making a stir, and from time to time, I'll embrace you to inspire you with great ideas. … You shall see, my dear, whether I am a good housekeeper or not, whether I can take care of all your little matters. … In the first place, I'll arrange your things in the bureau. Every morning you will find a fresh flower on it. … Then Spy will also have a nice little niche, all new, with red top-knots. … And then we shall hardly go out at all. … And we'll sleep as late as we wish. … And then … and then. … Oh, how wonderful it will be! … "
Then getting serious again, she said in a grave voice:
"Not to mention the fact that it will be a good deal cheaper. Just about half!"
We rented an apartment on the Rue de Balzac and we busily fixed it up. That was an important task. We were shopping the whole day, examining rugs, choosing hangings, discussing arrangements and estimating things. Juliette would have liked to buy everything she saw, but she professed a preference for elaborate furniture, for loud-colored draperies and heavy embroidery. The glitter of new gold, the dazzling effect of harsh colors attracted, fascinated her. Whenever I ventured to remark something to her, she would say at once:
"How do men come to know about these things? … Women know better."
She was obdurate in her desire to buy a kind of Arabian chest, frightfully daubed up, set with mother-of-pearl, ivory imitation stones, and of immense size.
"You can see for yourself that it's too large, that it won't get into our house at all," I said to her.
"Do you really think so? Well how about sawing off the legs, dearie?"
And more than twenty times during the day she stopped in the middle of her conversation to ask me:
"Well, do you really think it is too large? … That beautiful chest I mean."
In the carriage, as soon as she got in, Juliette nestled close to me, offered me her lips, smothered me with caresses, happy, radiant.
"Oh! you naughty boy, who never said a word to me, and who stood just looking at me, with his sad eyes … yes, your beautiful sad eyes that I love … you naughty! … I had to start it all myself! … hadn't I? … otherwise you would have never dared, would you? … Were you afraid of me, tell me? Do you remember when you took me in your arms, that evening? I did not know where I was, I could no longer see anything. … My throat, my chest felt as though I had swallowed something very hot … isn't that funny. … I thought I was going to die … burned by you. … It was so sweet, so sweet! … Why, I have loved you since the first day we met. … No, I was in love with you before. … Ah, you are laughing! … You don't believe then that you can love someone without knowing or seeing him? … Well I do! … I am sure of it! … "
My heart was
