While she was talking in a gentle, even voice I took her hand, her beautiful hand which I pressed with feeling, at the sad points of the story. I was indignant over the action of her father. And I cursed the mother for abandoning her child. I felt the stirrings of a self-sacrificing devotion, and a vindictive desire to avenge her wrongs. When she had finished I wept with burning tears.... It was an exquisite hour. Juliette received very few people; some of Malterre's friends, and two or three of Malterre's feminine friends. One of them, Gabrielle Bernier, a tall, pretty blonde woman, always entered the house in the same fashion. "Good morning, Monsieur, good morning, dearie. Don't trouble yourself, I'll be gone in a minute." And she would sit down on the brace of the armchair, smoothing her muff with a brusque motion of her hand. "Just think of it, I have just had another scene with Robert. If you only knew what sort of a man he is! He comes to my house and says whimpering: 'My dear little Gabrielle, I must leave you, my mother told me so this morning, she won't give me any more money.' 'Your mother! I wish I had a chance to answer her. Well, you can tell your mother in my name, that whenever she is ready to give up her lovers, I'll quit you that very day. But in the meantime, she'll have to dig into her pockets alright.' And I don't believe it's true either--a dirty trick like that! I think it's Robert who has cooked it up! We are going to the Ambigu tonight. Are you going?" "Thank you." "Well, I must be off! Don't trouble yourself. Good day, Monsieur; good day, dearie." Gabrielle Bernier irritated me very much. "Why do you receive such women?" I would say to Juliette. "What harm is there, my friend? She amuses me." Malterre's friends, on the other hand, spoke of races and high life; they always had club and women stories to tell and never tired of discussing theatrical matters. It seemed to me that Juliette took an exaggerated pleasure in these conversations, but I excused her, ascribing it to excessive politeness. Jesselin, a very rich young man, considered a serious fellow, was the leader of the circle and all bowed before his evident superiority. "What will Jesselin say? We must ask Jesselin. Jesselin did not advise that." He was very much sought after. He had traveled widely and knew better than anyone else the best hotels. Having been in Afghanistan, he remembered one particular thing of the entire trip through Central Asia, namely that the Emir of Caboul, with whom he had had the honor of playing chess one day, played as fast as the French. "Why that Emir certainly amazed me." Quite often he would also offer this information: "You know how much I enjoy travel. Well, I can say this much. In sleeping cars, in cabins, in a Russian telega, no matter how or where I was, at half past seven every evening I was in my dress suit!"