Nevertheless I finally had to bring this matter to a head. Juliette had seen in the window of a jewelry store on the Rue de la Paix, a string of pearls of which she spoke without end. One day when we were in that neighborhood:
"Let's go and see that beautiful jewel," she said to me.
With her nose pressed against the window pane and eyes shining, she looked at the string arranged in a triple circular row of pink pearls upon the velvet of the jewel case. I saw a tremor passing up and down her skin.
"Isn't that beautiful? And it isn't expensive at all! I have asked about the price ... fifty thousand francs.... That's an exceptional bargain."
I tried to draw her further on. But coaxingly, hanging on my arm, she held me back. And she sighed:
"Ah, how nice that would look on the neck of your little wifie!"
She added with an air of profound grief:
"Really! All the women have lots of jewels. Only I have none. If you were really nice, really kind to me, you would give them to your poor little Juliette.... There now!"
I stammered out:
"Certainly. I want to—very much ... but later ... next week!"