. . . Is that what you want? . . . Well that's going to be very amusing. . . . We shall never go out any more. . . we shall live like beasts! . . ."
"That's not the question at all, my dear. . . . I have some friends. . . I'll ask them to come. . . ."
"Oh yes, I know your friends. . . . I can see them right before me, writers, painters. . . people whom one doesn't understand when they talk. . . and who borrow money from us. . . Thank you very much! . ."
I felt offended and quickly replied:
"My friends are honest people, do you hear, with talent, whereas that idiot and that nasty woman! . . ."
"I think we have had enough of this," Juliette imperiously said. "Is that your wish? . . . All right. I shall close my door to them. Only when you insisted on my living with you, you should have told me that you wanted to bury me alive. I would have known what to do then. . . ."
She rose. I was not even thinking of telling her that, on the contrary, it was she who had wished that we keep house together. Realizing that it was useless to argue any further I took her hand:
"Juliette," I entreated her.
"Well, what do you want?"
"Are you angry?"
"I, on the contrary, I am very much contented. . . ."
"Juliette!"
"Come, let go of me . . . quit . . . you hurt me."
Juliette was sulky all day; when I said something to her she did not answer or contented herself with articulating monosyllables curtly and with irritation. I was unhappy and angry at the same time; I would have liked to embrace her and to beat her, to shower kisses and kicks on her. At dinner she still kept the air of an offended woman, with her lips firmly closed and a disdainful look in her eyes. In vain did I try
