My mind was made up quickly.... I figured that I would come there before she could.... She perfectly understood that I was not taken in by that story of Gabrielle's illness.... My anxiety, my eagerness no doubt inspired her with the fear of being spied after, followed, and most likely she would not go to the place immediately. But why did just this abominable thought flash through my mind like lightning?... Why only this possibility and no other?... I still hope that my presentiments have deceived me, that Madame Rabineau "is nothing," that Gabrielle is really sick! Some kind of a small hotel hedged in between two tall buildings, a narrow door hollowed out in the wall at the end of three steps; a dark façade, whose closed windows let no light penetrate.... It's here!... It is here she is going to come, where she already came perhaps!... Rage drives me toward this door.... I should like to set this house on fire; I should like to make all those detestable ladies hidden there shriek and writhe in agony, in some hellish blaze.... Presently a woman enters, singing and swaying her body, her hands in the pockets of her light jacket.... Why did not I spit in her face?... An old man has come out of his coupé. He passed close to me, snorting, panting, supported under his arm by his valet.... His trembling feet are unable to carry him, between his flabby, swollen eyelids there glimmers a light of beastly dissipation.... Why did I not slash the hideous face of this profligate old faun?... Perhaps he is waiting for Juliette!... The door of the Inferno opened before him--and for an instant my eyes plunged into the pits of hell.... I thought I saw red flames, smoke, abominable embraces, the tumbling down of creatures horribly twisted together.... But no, it is only a gloomy deserted hallway, lit by the pale shine of a lamp; then at the end of it there is something black like a dark hole, where one feels impure things are stirring.... And carriages are stopping in front of the building, dumping out their haul of human dung into this sink of love.... A little girl barely ten years old follows me: "Nice violets! Nice violets!" ... I give her a gold piece. "Go away from here, little one, go away!... Don't stay here. They will get you!..." My mind is over-exerted. A thousand-toothed sorrow gnaws at my heart, a thousand claws sink into it, tears it to pieces in a frenzy of grief.... A desire to kill is kindled in me and makes my arms go through murderous motions.... Ah, to rush, whip in hand, into the midst of this lustful crowd and lash their bodies until ineffaceable marks are left on them, cause their warm blood to spurt, and scatter pieces of their living flesh all over the mirrors, carpets, beds!... And nail that Rabineau woman to the door of this house of ill-fame, like an owl on the doors of farm barns, nail her stripped, disemboweled, with her vitals out!... A hackney coach has stopped: a woman steps out. I recognize the hat, the veil, the dress.