Not a muscle in her body moved in response to my supplication. Her nape exasperated me more than ever. Amidst locks of silky hair I now saw eyes which railed at me and a mouth which mocked me. And I had an impulse to strike her, to belabor her with my fists, to beat her till she bled. "Juliette!" I shouted. And my fingers, shriveled, spread apart and hooked like talons of a bird of prey, came close to her, in spite of myself, ready to claw this nape, impatient to tear it to pieces. "Juliette!" Juliette slowly turned her head, looked at me with contempt, without fear. "What do you want?" she asked. "What do I want?... What do I want?" I was going to threaten her.... I half arose in bed, I was gesticulating violently.... And suddenly my rage subsided, I came close to Juliette, crouched before her, filled with repentance, and kissing that perfumed and beautiful nape: "What I want, my dear, is that you should be happy.... That you shall receive your friends.... It was so foolish on my part to demand of you what I did!... Aren't you the best of women?... Don't I love you?... Ah, hereafter I shall have no other wish than yours, I promise you!... And you'll see how nice I am going to be to them!... Wait.... Why should you not invite Gabrielle for dinner?... And Jesselin also?" "No! No! You say it now, but tomorrow you'll reproach me for it.... No! No!... I don't want to force upon you people whom you despise--nasty women and idiots!" "I don't know where my head was when I said that.... I don't despise them at all ... on the contrary I like them very much.... Invite both of them.... And I'll go and get a box at the Vaudeville." "No!" "I implore you!" Her voice became less harsh, she closed the book. "Well! We'll see tomorrow." Really, at that moment I loved Gabrielle, Jesselin, Celestine--I even thought I loved Malterre. I no longer worked. Not that love of work deserted me, but I no longer had the creative faculty in me. I used to sit down at my desk every day, with blank sheets of paper before me, searching for ideas, and failing to find them, I would again relapse into anxieties of the present, which meant Juliette, into dread of the future, which again meant Juliette!... Just as a drunkard clutches and turns his empty bottle to get the last drop of liquor out of it, so I searched my brains in the hope of squeezing the least bit of an idea out of it.... Alas! My head was empty!