What was also tormenting was the thought that Juliette would never forgive me the loss of Spy. She would be horrified at the mere sight of me. I wrote her letters of repentance, assured her that from now on I was going to be satisfied with what little attention she might give me, that I would never again complain, that I was not going to reproach her for her behavior; my letters were so humble, so self-degrading, so vilely submissive that a person other than Juliette would feel disgusted on reading them. I sent them with a messenger whose return I would anxiously await on the corner of the Rue de Balzac. "No answer!" "Are you sure you did not give it to the wrong person? Did you deliver it to the party on the first floor?" "Yes, Monsieur. The maid even said to me: 'No answer!'" I went to her house. The door was opened only to the extent allowed by the chain lock which Juliette, fearing me, had ordered put on, since the evening of that terrible scene; and through the half-opened space I could see the mocking and cynical face of Celestine. "Madame is not in!" "Celestine, my good Celestine, let me in, please!" "Madame is not in!" "Celestine! My dear little Celestine. Let me go in and wait for her. I'll give you a lot of money." "Madame is not in!" "Celestine, I beg of you! Go and tell Madame that I am here, that I am all right now ... that I am very sick ... that I am going to die! And you shall have a hundred francs, Celestine ... two hundred francs!" Celestine looked at me slyly, with a mocking air, happy to see me suffer, happy above all to see a man reduced to her own level, begging servilely to her. "For just one minute, Celestine. I'll just look at her and go away!" "No, no, Monsieur! She'll scold me!" The ringing of a bell was heard. I heard the noise of it quicken. "You see, Monsieur, she is calling me!" "Well, now! Celestine, tell her that if she does not come to my house by six o'clock, if she does not write to me by six o'clock ... tell her that I am going to kill myself! Six o'clock, Celestine! Don't forget now ... tell her that I am going to kill myself!" "All right, Monsieur!" The door was shut behind me with the clang of a chained lock. It occurred to me to see Gabrielle Bernier, to tell her my troubles, to ask her advice, and use her offices for a reconciliation with Juliette. Gabrielle was finishing breakfast with a friend of hers, a short, skinny woman of dark complexion, with a pointed chin like a mouse which when speaking seemed always to be nibbling at something. In a morning robe of white silk, soiled and rumpled, her hair kept from falling by a comb stuck across it on top of her head, her elbows resting on the table, Gabrielle was smoking a cigarette and sipping chartreuse from a glass. "Why, Jean! And so you have come back?" She showed me into her dressing room which was very untidy. At the very first words which I spoke of Juliette, she exclaimed: