your bread, your sun. Look! Society which is so cruel
to you, which tries to make ever heavier the
chains that hold you riveted to eternal misery, that
society offers them protection and riches; the drops of
your blood it transforms into gold with which to
cover the flabby bosoms of these despicable creatures.
It is in order that they may live in palaces that you
are spending your strength, that you are dying from
hunger or that they break your head on the barricades.
Look! When you beg for bread on the streets the
police beat you with clubs, you poor wretch! But see
how they make way for their coachmen and horses!
Look! What a juicy grape-gathering they have! Ah!
these vintage tubs of blood! And how on earth can
the pure wheat grow tall and nourishing in the soil
where these creatures rot!"
Suddenly I saw Juliette. I saw her for a second, in profile. She wore a pink hat, looked fresh, was smiling; she seemed happy. Answering greetings with a slow motion of her head, Juliette did not see me. . . . She passed on.
She is going to my house! She has come back to her senses. She is going to my house!
I was sure of it. An empty carriage passed by. I went in. Juliette had disappeared.
"If I could only get there at the same time she does. For I know she is going to my house! Hurry up, driver, hurry up!"
There is no carriage in front of the door of the furnished house. Juliette is already gone. I rushed down to the caretaker.
"Was there someone here a minute ago asking about me? Was it a lady? Mme. Juliette Roux?"
"Why no, Monsieur Mintié."
"Well, is there a letter for me?"
"Nothing, Monsieur Mintié."
