would not share a particle of this glory, and that I
pitilessly pushed her off my lofty plane entirely.
I went down, and for the first time in two years felt a delicious pleasure in being on the street. I walked fast, with supple movements, a victorious gait, interested in the simplest things about me which seemed so new. And I asked myself with amazement how in the world I could have been unhappy so long, why my eyes had not opened to the truth much sooner than they did. . . . Ah, that despicable Juliette! How she must have laughed at my submission, my blindness, my pitifulness, my inconceivable folly! No doubt, she told her casual lovers of my idiotic grief. But I was going to have my revenge and it would be terrible! Juliette would soon lie prostrate at my feet begging my pardon.
"No, no, you miserable creature, never! . . When I cried, did you comfort me? . . . Did you spare me a single suffering, a single one? Did you ever for a moment consent to share my misery, to live my life with me? You don't deserve to share my glory. No. . . go!"
And to show my absolute contempt for her, I would throw millions in her face.
"Here are your millions! You said you wanted millions? Here are some more!"
Juliette would wring her arms in despair.
"Have mercy, Jean! Have pity on me! I don't want your money! What I want is to live in obscurity and humbly in your shadow, happy if a single ray of light surrounding you will some day come to rest upon your poor Juliette. Have pity on me!"
"Did you have pity on me when I asked for it! No! Women like you should be killed with blows of gold. Here! Have some more! Here! Some more still!"
