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He　was　packing　his　overnight　bag　when　Marie…Claude　came　into　the　room；　chatting　about　the　guests　at　the　party；　energetically　endorsing　the　views　of　some　and　laughing　off　the　views　of　others。
Franz　looked　at　her　for　a　long　time　and　said；　There　isn't　any　conference　in　Rome。　
She　did　not　see　the　point。　Then　why　are　you　going？　I've　had　a　mistress　for　nine　months；　he　said。　I　don't　want　to　meet　her　in　Geneva。　That's　why　I've　been　traveling　so　much。　I　thought　it　was　time　you　knew　about　it。　
After　the　first　few　words　he　lost　his　nerve。　He　turned　away　so　as　not　to　see　the　despair　on　Marie…Claude's　face；　the　despair　he　expected　his　words　to　produce。
After　a　short　pause　he　heard　her　say；　Yes；　I　think　it's　time　I　knew　about　it。　
Her　voice　was　so　firm　that　Franz　turned　in　her　direction。　She　did　not　look　at　all　disturbed；　in　fact；　she　looked　like　the　very　same　woman　who　had　said　the　day　before　in　a　raucous　voice；　That　pendant　is　ugly！　
She　continued：　Now　that　you've　plucked　up　the　courage　to　tell　me　you've　been　deceiving　me　for　nine　months；　do　you　think　you　can　tell　me　who　she　is？　
He　had　always　told　himself　he　had　no　right　to　hurt　Marie…Claude　and　should　respect　the　woman　in　her。　But　where　had　the　woman　in　her　gone？　In　other　words；　what　had　happened　to　the　mother　image　he　mentally　linked　with　his　wife？　His　mother；　sad　and　wounded；　his　mother；　wearing　unmatched　shoes；　had　departed　from　Marie…Claude—or　perhaps　not；　perhaps　she　had　never　been　inside　Marie…Claude　at　all。　The　whole　thing　came　to　him　in　a　flash　of　hatred。
I　have　no　reason　to　hide　it　from　you；　he　said。　If　he　had　not　succeeded　in　wounding　her　with　his　infidelity；　he　was　certain　the　revelation　of　her　rival　would　do　the　trick。　Looking　her　straight　in　the　eye；　he　told　her　about　Sabina。
A　while　later　he　met　Sabina　at　the　airport。　As　the　plane　gained　altitude；　he　felt　lighter　and　lighter。　At　last；　he　said　to　himself；　after　nine　months　he　was　living　in　truth。

8
Sabina　felt　as　though　Franz　had　pried　open　the　door　of　their　privacy。　As　though　she　were　peering　into　the　heads　of　Marie…Claude；　of　Marie…Anne；　of　Alain　the　painter；　of　the　sculptor　who　held　on　to　his　finger—of　all　the　people　she　knew　in　Geneva。　Now　she　would　willy…nilly　become　the　rival　of　a　woman　who　did　not　interest　her　in　the　least。　Franz　would　ask　for　a　divorce；　and　she　would　take　Marie…Claude's　place　in　his　large　conjugal　bed。　Everyone　would　follow　the　process　from　a　greater　or　lesser　distance；　and　she　would　be　forced　to　playact　before　them　all；　instead　of　being　Sabina；　she　would　have　to　act　the　role　of　Sabina；　decide　how　best　to　act　the　role。　Once　her　love　had　been　publicized；　it　would　gain　weight；　become　a　burden。　Sabina　cringed　at　the　very　thought　of　it。
They　had　supper　at　a　restaurant　in　Rome。　She　drank　her　wine　in　silence。
You're　not　angry；　are　you？　Franz　asked。
She　assured　him　she　was　not。　She　was　still　confused　and　unsure　whether　to　be　happy　or　not。　She　recalled　the　time　they　met　in　the　sleeping　compartment　of　the　Amsterdam　express；　the　time　she　had　wanted　to　go　down　on　her　knees　before　him　and　beg　him　to　hold　her；　squeeze　her；　never　let　her　go。　She　had　longed　to　come　to　the　end　of　the　dangerous　road　of　betrayals。　She　had　longed　to　call　a　halt　to　it　all。
Try　as　she　might　to　intensify　that　longing；　summon　it　to　her　aid；　lean　on　it；　the　feeling　of　distaste　only　grew　stronger。
They　walked　back　to　the　hotel　through　the　streets　of　Rome。　Because　the　Italians　around　them　were　making　a　racket；　shouting　and　gesticulating；　they　could　walk　along　in　silence　without　hearing　their　silence。
Sabina　spent　a　long　time　washing　in　the　bathroom；　Franz　waited　for　her　under　the　blanket。　As　always；　the　small　lamp　was　lit。
When　she　came　out；　she　turned　it　off。　It　was　the　first　time　she　had　done　so。　Franz　should　have　paid　better　attention。　He　did　not　notice　it；　because　light　did　not　mean　anything　to　him。　As　we　know；　he　made　love　with　his　eyes　shut。
In　fact；　it　was　his　closed　eyes　that　made　Sabina　turn　out　the　light。　She　could　not　stand　those　lowered　eyelids　a　moment　longer。　The　eyes；　as　the　saying　goes；　are　windows　to　the　soul。　Franz's　body；　which　thrashed　about　on　top　of　hers　with　closed　eyes；　was　therefore　a　body　without　a　soul。　It　was　like　a　newborn　animal；　still　blind　and　whimpering　for　the　dug。　Muscular　Franz　in　coitus　was　like　a　gigantic　puppy　suckling　at　her　breasts。　He　actually　had　her　nipple　in　his　mouth　as　if　he　were　sucking　milk！　The　idea　that　he　was　a　mature　man　below　and　a　suckling　infant　above；　that　she　was　therefore　having　intercourse　with　a　baby；　bordered　on　the　disgusting。　No；　she　would　never　again　see　his　body　moving　desperately　over　hers；　would　never　again　offer　him　her　breast；　bitch　to　whelp；　today　was　the　last　time；　irrevocably　the　last　time！
She　knew；　of　course；　that　she　was　being　supremely　unfair；　that　Franz　was　the　best　man　she　had　ever　had—he　was　intelligent；　he　understood　her　paintings；　he　was　handsome　and　good—but　the　more　she　thought　about　it；　the　more　she　longed　to　ravish　his　intelligence；　defile　his　kindheartedness；　and　violate　his　powerless　strength。
That　night；　she　made　love　to　him　with　greater　frenzy　than　ever　before；　aroused　by　the　realization　that　this　was　the　last　time。　Making　love；　she　was　far；　far　away。　Once　more　she　heard　the　golden　horn　of　betrayal　beckoning　her　in　the　distance；　and　she　knew　she　would　not　hold　out。　She　sensed　an　expanse　of　freedom　before　her；　and　the　boundlessness　of　it　excited　her。　She　made　mad；　unrestrained　love　to　Franz　as　she　never　had　before。

117
Franz　sobbed　as　he　lay　on　top　of　her；　he　was　certain　he　understood：　Sabina　had　been　quiet　all　through　dinner　and　said　not　a　word　about　his　decision；　but　this　was　her　answer。　She　had　made　a　clear　show　of　her　joy；　her　passion；　her　consent；　her　desire　to　live　with　him　forever。
He　felt　like　a　rider　galloping　off　into　a　magnificent　void；　a　void　of　no　wife；　no　daughter；　no　household；　the　magnificent　void　swept　clean　by　Hercules'　broom；　a　magnificent　void　he　would　fill　with　his　love。
Each　was　riding　the　other　like　a　horse；　and　both　were　galloping　off　into　the　distance　of　their　desires；　drunk　on　the　betrayals　that　freed　them。　Franz　was　riding　Sabina　and　had　betrayed　his　wife；　Sabina　was　riding　Franz　and　had　betrayed　Franz。
9
For　twenty　years　he　had　seen　his　mother—a　poor；　weak　creature　who　needed　his　protection—in　his　wife。　This　image　was　deeply　rooted　in　him；　and　he　could　not　rid　himself　of　it　in　two　dys。　On　the　way　home　his　conscience　began　to　bother　him：　he　was　afraid　that　Marie…Claude　had　fallen　apart　after　he　left　and　that　he　would　find　her　terribly　sick　at　heart。　Stealthily　he　unlocked　the　door　and　went　into　his　room。　He　stood　there　for　a　moment　and　listened：　Yes；　she　was　at　home。　After　a　moment's　hesitation　he　went　into　her　room；　ready　to　greet　her　as　usual。
What？　she　exclaimed；　raising　her　eyebrows　in　mock　surprise。　You？　Here？　
Where　else　can　I　go？　he　wanted　to　say　（genuinely　surprised）；　but　said　nothing。
Let's　set　the　record　straight；　shall　we？　I　have　nothing　against　your　moving　in　with　her　at　once。　
When　he　made　his　confession　on　the　day　he　left　for　Rome；　he　had　no　precise　plan　of　action。　He　expected　to　come　home　and　talk　it　all　out　in　a　friendly　atmosphere　so　as　not　to　harm　Marie…Claude　any　more　than　necessary。　It　never　occurred　to　him　that　she　would　calmly　and　coolly　urge　him　to　leave。
Even　though　it　facilitated　things；　he　could　not　help　feeling　disappointed。　He　had　been　afraid　of　wounding　her　all　his　life　and　voluntarily　stuck　to　a　stultifying　discipline　of　monogamy；　and　now；　after　twenty　years；　he　suddenly　learned　that　it　had　all　been　superfluous　and　he　had　given　up　scores　of　women　because　of　a　misunderstanding！
That　afternoon；　he　gave　his　lecture；　then　went　straight　to　Sabina's　from　the　university。　He　had　decided　to　ask　her　whether　he　could　spend　the　night。　He　rang　the　doorbell；　but　no　one　answered。　He　went　and　sat　at　the　cafe　across　the　street　and　stared　long　and　hard　at　the　entrance　to　her　building。
Evening　came；　and　he　did　not　know　where　to　turn。　All　his　life　he　had　shared　his　bed　with　Marie…Claude。　If　he　went　home　to　Marie…Claude；　where　should　he　sleep？　He　could；　of　course；　make　up　a　bed　on　the　sofa　in　the　next　room。　But　wouldn't　that　be　merely　an　eccentric　gesture？　Wouldn't　it　look　like　a　sign　of　ill　will？　He　wanted　to　remain　friends　with　her；　after　all！　Yet　getting　into　bed　with　her　was　out　of　the　question。　He　could　just　hear　her　asking　him　ironically　why　he　didn't　prefer　Sabina's　bed。　He　took　a　room　in　a　hotel。
The　next　day；　he　rang　Sabina's　doorbell　morning；　noon；　and　night。
The　day　after；　he　paid　a　visit　to　the　concierge；　who　had　no　information　and　referred　him　to　the　owner　of　the　flat。　He　phoned　her　and　found　out　that　Sabina　had　given　notice　two　days　before。
During　the　next　few　days；　he　returned　at　regular　intervals；　still　hoping　to　find　her　in；　but　one　day　he　found　the　door　open　and　three　men　in　overalls　loading　the　furniture　and　paintings　into　a　van　parked　outside。
He　asked　them　where　they　were　taking　the　furniture。
They　replied　that　they　were　under　strict　instructions　not　to　reveal　the　address。
He　was　about　to　offer　them　a　few　francs　for　the　secret　address　when　suddenly　he　felt　he　lacked　the　strength　to　do　it。　His　grief　had　broken　him　utterly。　He　understood　nothing；　had　no　idea　what