back, my Jean, or else take me along!" And silhouettes
flitted and disappeared in the cars; fantastic shadows
crept along and split against the walls; long whitish
columns of smoke spread out under the vaulted roof. . .
"Embrace me, my dear Mintie. Embrace me!"
Lirat drew me close to his breast. He was crying. "Write to me as soon as you get there. Good bye!"
He pushed me into a car and drew the door curtain.
"Good bye!"
A whistle, then a dull rolling. . . then lights chasing one another. . . things receding somewhere. . . then nothing. . . except black night. Why did Juliette not come? Why? And in the midst of rumpled skirts on the carpets, in her dressing room, in front of her looking glass, I clearly see her, bare-shouldered, applying rice powder to her face. Celestine with her soft flaccid fingers is sewing on a band of crepe at the bottom of the low cut waist, and a man whom I don't know, reclining on the sofa, with crossed legs, watches Juliette with eyes in which desire is gleaming. The gas is burning, candle lights are blazing, a bouquet of roses which someone has just brought, mingles its more delicate perfume with the violent odors of dresses! And Juliette takes a rose, twists its stem, straightens out its petals and sticks it in the button-hole of the man with a tender smile. A bonnet with hanging strings is perched on top of a chandelier. . . .
And the train is moving on, puffing, panting. The night is ever black, and I am plunging into nothingness. . . .
