"She won't come!"
And while saying to myself: "She won't come," I hoped that Juliette would be in shortly. Oh, how many times I had rolled on the sofa, crying: "She won't come!" And Juliette always came. Always at the moment when I most despaired, I heard a carriage stop, then steps on the stairway, a creaking noise in the hallway, and Juliette would appear smiling, adorned with plumes, filling the room with a strong odor of perfume and the rustling of silk in motion.
"Come on, get your hat, my dear."
Irritated by her smile, by her dress, by the perfume, exasperated by the long waiting, I used to upbraid her severely:
"Where have you been? In what joints have you been? Yes, tell me, in what joints?"
"Ah! You are trying to make a scene. Well, thanks! I am leaving. Good night! And here I have taken all the pains in the world to snatch a moment to look you up!"
Then pointing my finger to the door, my muscles contracted, I would burst out:
"Well, go ahead! Go to the devil! And never come back again, never!"
With the door scarcely shut behind Juliette, I would run after her.
"Juliette! Come back, please! Juliette! Wait.... I am going with you."