Suddenly sobs from my throat. . . . I fling myself
on the couch, biting the cushion, and cry and cry! . . .
Minutes, hours pass and I am still crying! . . . Ah!
Juliette, vile Juliette! . . . Why did you do that? . . .
Why? . . . Could you not say to me: "Here now, you
are not rich any more and all I want of you is money.
. . . Leave me!" That would have been cruel, it might
have meant my death. . . . But what of it? . . . It
would have been better. . . . How can I look into
your face now? . . . How can our mouths ever touch
each other? . . . There is now between us the thick
wall of that wicked place! . . . Ah! Juliette! . . .
Wretched Juliette! . . .
I remember her going out. . . . I recollect everything! . . . I recall how she was dressed in her gray dress, the shadow of her hand dancing strangely on the back of her neck. . . . I see her as clearly as if she were before me now, and even more so. . . . She was sad, she was crying. . . . I am sure it was not mere imagination on my part. . . she was actually crying, for my cheek was wet with her tears! Whom was she crying over, me or herself? Ah! . . who knows? . . . I remember. . . . I said to her: "Don't go out, my Juliette! . . ." She replied: "Embrace me closely, very closely, more closely yet! . . ." And her caresses had the passion of despair in them, a kind of shrivelling grip, a sort of fear as if she had wanted to cling to me, to seek tremblingly protection in my arms. . . . I can see her eyes, her beseeching look. . . They seemed to implore me: "Something abominable is drawing me on. . . . Hold me back! . . . I am close to your heart. . . do not let me go! . . . And instead of taking her in my arms, carrying her away, hiding her and loving her so as to make her giddy with happiness, I opened up my arms and let her go! . . . She sought refuge in my love, and I denied it to her. . .
