“It was more terrible,” she said, and then had to remain silent for a second to gain strength to continue: “The way in which these apartments had been selected ought long ago to have told me that Jacques used them for others as well as me. They are in a large double house, the rooms face the street and are far enough from the porter’s lodge for any one to ascend the staircase without being seen. What would be the use of all these precautions if I were the only person to go there? Am I not free? Am I afraid of any one but mother seeing me enter? Then there was the porter’s glances, his indefinable expression of politeness and irony, and his servility to Jacques, all of which would have proved to any one else that the rooms had been for years in his occupation. I can see it so clearly while I am talking to you! I cannot realize how I was so long deceived! But I am losing myself, ideas keep rushing into my head. I had got as far as the Rue Nouvelle with my dress torn. I had no key. Jacques had never given it to me in spite of my requests. What another sign, too! I knew that the porter kept one key so that he and his wife might look after the place. An inside bolt allowed, when once a person was inside, of the door being fastened against any intruder, so that very often Jacques did not trouble to take the second key which was kept in one of his drawers, and you may imagine I went to the porter’s lodge as little as possible. I preferred, when I followed Jacques there, to go straight upstairs and ring. Without these details what happened to me would be unintelligible to you though it is so simple. This time I went to the lodge for the key. There was no one there. The porter and his wife were probably busy elsewhere, and the last person who went out had neglected to shut the door. I saw our key in its usual place and took it without the least scruple, and making as I did so a little motion of joy at avoiding the porter. I must repeat—I swear it to you—that I was absolutely ignorant of the incident I was about to encounter. I entered the rooms with a certain feeling of melancholy, as you may imagine! It was a fortnight since I had been there with Jacques. The windows were closed. The little drawing-room with its tasteful tapestry and furniture was still the same, and so was the bedroom with its red furniture. I found out, on looking in a drawer where I had put my work-basket with my odds and ends, that it was no longer there, and I was somewhat astonished. But there was still a dressing-room and a little room which we sometimes used as a dining-room. I thought that perhaps the porter, when cleaning, had moved the things into the little room and forgotten to replace them. I looked there, found the work-basket, and began to mend my skirt. I took it off to do it more quickly. Suddenly I seemed to hear the opening of doors. I had taken the key out of the lock without shooting the bolt. My first thought was that Jacques was the unexpected visitor.