I was thinking:
"She'll be here in a minute!"
I waited. No one came! I continued waiting. Nobody came! Time passed. And still no one came!
"The contemptible creature! And she was still smiling! And she looked gay! And she knew that I was going to kill myself at six o'clock!"
I ran to the Rue de Balzac. Celestine assured me that Madame had just gone out.
"Listen, Celestine, you are a nice girl. I like you very much. Do you know where she is? Go and find her and tell her that I want to see her."
"But I don't know where Madame is."
"Yes, you do, Celestine. I implore you. Please go! I suffer so!"
"Upon my word of honor! Monsieur, I don't know where she is."
I insisted:
"Perhaps she is at her lover's? At the restaurant. Oh, tell me where she is! . . ."
"But I don't know!"
I was getting impatient.
"Celestine, I have been trying to be nice to you. Don't make me lose my temper. . . because. . . ."
Celestine crossed her arms, shook her head and in the drawling voice of a blackguard:
"Because what? Oh, I am getting tired of you, you miserable wretch, you! And if you don't betake yourself from here in a hurry, I am going to call the police, do you hear?"
And pushing me rudely toward the door she added:
"Yes, I mean it! These sluts here are worse than dogs!"
I had sense enough not to start a quarrel with Celestine and, burning with shame, I went down the stairway.
