the booths, strolling in spite of the sun, which was
like a niggardly and pallid smile of December still
permeated with fog; the air was cold and piercing.
On the sidewalk women were passing, shivering with
cold, wrapped in long cloaks of otter skin, some of
them dressed in small drawn bonnets of fur like Juliette's, and every time these cloaks and bonnets attracted my attention I observed them with genuine pleasure. I liked to follow them with my glance until
they were lost in the crowd. At the corner of the Rue
Taitbout, I remember, I came upon a tall slender
woman, pretty and resembling Juliette so closely that
I brought my hand to my hat ready to greet her. I
was excited oh, it was not the violent beating of
the heart which halts your breathing, weakens the
flow of blood in your veins and stuns you; it was a
light touch, a caress, something very sweet, which
brings a smile upon the lips and a cheerful surprise to
the eyes.
But this woman was not Juliette. I felt somewhat peeved and avenged myself by thinking her very ugly. Two o'clock already! . . . Shall I go to see Lirat? Why? To make him talk about Juliette, to compel him to admit that he had lied to me, to make him tell me of her traits of character, sublime and poignant, tell me some touching stories of her devotion, sacrifice that tempted me. I thought the matter over, however, knowing that Lirat would be angry, that he would mock at me, at her, and I had a horror of his sarcasms; I already heard sinister words, abominable phrases coming out of a twisted corner of his mouth with a hissing sound.
At the Champs-Elysees, I called a hackney-coach and proceeded toward the Bois. Why dissemble? There I hoped to meet Juliette. Yes, certainly I hoped it, but at the same time I feared it. Not to see
