"Juliette! my Juliette!... Speak to me, please!... Speak to me! Did I offend you, was I too harsh with you? I know I was.... Well, I am sorry and I ask your forgiveness.... But only speak to me."
My impression was that Juliette was not listening to me at all. She was cutting the pages of the book, and the noise of the friction of the knife against the paper annoyed me terribly.
"My Juliette.... Please understand me.... It is because I love you that I said that.... It is because I wish to see you pure, respected, and because it seems to me that all those are unworthy of you.... If I did not love you, would that make any difference to me?... And you think that I don't want you to go out!... Why no.... We shall go out often, every evening.... Ah, please don't be like that!... I was wrong!... Scold me, strike me.... But only speak to me, please speak to me!"
She continued turning the pages of the book. The words were throttled in my throat.
"It is not fair to act the way you do, Juliette. It is not nice at all to be like that.... Since I admitted my guilt! Ah, what pleasure do you get out of torturing me like this?... Didn't I say I was sorry? Come on, Juliette, I admit I was wrong!"
Not a muscle in her body moved in response to my supplication. Her nape exasperated me more than ever. Amidst locks of silky hair I now saw eyes which railed at me and a mouth which mocked me. And I had an impulse to strike her, to belabor her with my fists, to beat her till she bled.
"Juliette!" I shouted.
And my fingers, shriveled, spread apart and hooked like talons of a bird of prey, came close to her, in spite of myself, ready to claw this nape, impatient to tear it to pieces.
"Juliette!"
Juliette slowly turned her head, looked at me with contempt, without fear.