She cried to me: "I adore you, I adore you! . . ."
And I stood there like a fool, amazed as is a child
at the unexpected flapping of the wings of a captive
bird that has just escaped. . . . I did not understand
that sadness, those tears, those caresses, those words
more tender than usual, that trembling. . . . It is only
now that I hear those silent, melancholy words: "My
dear Jean, I am a poor little woman, a little foolish
and so weak! . . . I had no idea of anything big or
worth while. . . . Who was there to teach me what
chastity, duty, virtue meant! . . . When I was a child
yet, evil surroundings contaminated me, and vice was
taught to me by the very people who were supposed to
be my guardians. . . Still I am not wicked and I
love you. . . . I love you more than I ever loved
you! . . . My beloved Jean, you are strong, you know
many beautiful things which I don't. . . . Well, protect me! . . . An overpowering desire draws me
there. . . . The trouble is I have seen too much
jewelry, too many gowns and other exquisite and expensive trifles which you can't buy me any longer but which others have promised to get me! . . . I have an instinctive feeling that it's wrong and that it will
cause you suffering. . . . Well, subdue me! . . . I ask
for no other chance than to be good and virtuous. . . .
Teach me how! . . . Beat me. . . if I resist! . . ."
Poor Juliette! . . . It seems to me that she is down on her knees before me, with clasped hands. . . . Tears are rolling from her eyes, from her big eyes downcast and sweet. . . . Tears are streaming from her eyes endlessly as they used to stream from the eyes of my mother in the past. . . . And at the thought that I wanted to kill her, that I wanted to disfigure her delightful and sorrowful face through horrible mutilation, I am seized with remorse and my wrath gives way to pity. . . . She goes on. . . . "Forgive
