It was true, nevertheless. It really seemed as if for the last five months, I had forgotten all about poor Lirat. But had I really forgotten him? Alas no!... Shame kept me from going to him.... Shame alone estranged me from him.... I assure you that I would have never hesitated to announce to the whole world: "I am Juliette's lover!"; but I had not the courage to utter these words in Lirat's presence. At first I had a notion to confess all to him, no matter what happened to our friendship.... I would say to myself: "all right, tomorrow I am going to see Lirat" ... I would make up my mind firmly.... And the next day: "Not now ... there is nothing pressing.... tomorrow!..." Tomorrow, always tomorrow!... And days, weeks, months passed.... Tomorrow! Now that he had been told all about these things by Malterre, who even before my departure used to come and make his sofa groan, how could I broach the subject to him?... What could I say to him?... How endure his look, his contempt, his anger.... His anger, perhaps!... But his contempt, his terrible silence, the disconcerting sneer which I already saw taking shape at the corner of his mouth.... No, no, really I did not dare!... To try to mollify him, to take his hand, to ask his forgiveness for my lack of confidence in him, to appeal to the generosity of his heart!... No! It would ill become me to assume such a part, and then Lirat with just one word could throw a damper on me and stop my effusion.... What's the use!... Each day that passed separated us further, estranged us from each other more and more ... a few more months and there would no longer be any Lirat to reckon with in my life!... I should prefer that rather than cross his threshold and face him in person.... I replied to Juliette: "Lirat?... Oh yes.... I think I'll do that some of these days!" "No, no!" insisted Juliette.... "Today! You know him, you know how mean he is. God knows how many ugly things he must have said about us!" I had to make up my mind to see him. From the Rue de Balzac to Rodrigue Place is but a short distance. To postpone as long as possible the moment of this painful interview I made a long detour on my way, walking as far as the shop district of the Saint Honoré suburb. And I was thinking to myself: "Suppose I don't go to see Lirat at all. I can tell her, when I come back, that we have quarrelled, and I can invent some sort of a story that will forever relieve me of the necessity of this visit." I felt ashamed of this boyish thought.... Then I hoped that Lirat was not at home! With what joy could I then roll up my card into a tube and slip it through the keyhole! Comforted by this thought I at last turned in the direction of Rodrigue Place and stopped in front of the door of the studio--and this door seemed to fill me with fear. Still I rapped at it and presently a voice, Lirat's voice, called: "Come in!" My heart beat furiously, a bar of fire stopped my throat--I wanted to flee....