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 Seze. "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 Seze 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? . . .
