shall be left to you my soul, it belongs to you, for it
has never forsaken you, for it loves you. . . . See how
white and pure it is. . . ."
A knife glistens in Juliette's hands. . . . She is going to kill herself with it. . . . I grasp her arms, I shout: "No, no, Juliette, no, I don't want you to! . . . I love you! . . . No, no. . . . I don't want you to!"
My arms are brought together in an embrace, but I enclose nothing but space. . . . I look around me, frightened, the place is empty! . . . I look again. . . . The gas is burning with a yellow flame over the dressing table. . . rumpled skirts are strewn all over the carpet. . . shoes lie scattered about. . . . And pale daylight is stealing into the room through the open spaces in the shutters. . . . I begin to fear in earnest that Juliette may kill herself, for otherwise why should this vision arise before me? . . . On tiptoe, quietly I walk toward the door and listen. . . . A feeble sigh reaches my ear, then a wailing, then a sob. . . . And like a fool I rush into the room. . . . A voice speaks to me in the darkness, the voice of Juliette:
"Ah! my Jean! My dear little Jean!"
And chastely, as Christ kissed Magdalene, I kissed her on the forehead.
