All language subtitles for La Empleada

Those gloves again!
Those everlasting gloves!

I've told you again and again
to leave them in the kitchen.

No doubt that with such elegance
you hope to impress the milkman.

No, no, don't deny it.
There's no point in lying!

Hang them over your sink.

When will you understand that
this room must not to be polluted.

Everything, but everything that
comes out of the kitchen is spit!

Get out and take your mucus with you.

Oh, don't worry, give yourself a treat.
And above all, take your time,
there's no hurry... Go!

Is my gown ready?...
Are you there...
Claire!

I am so sorry, Madame.
I was preparing Madame's tea.

Lay out my evening things.
The white gown. The sequined one.
Ah, and the emeralds.

- All Madame's jewels?
- Lay them out. I should choose.

And, of course, my patent leather slippers...
The ones you've been coveting for years.

For your wedding, no doubt.

Admit... he seduced you!
Admit, you are pregnant.
Confess!

Claire, I've told you, kindly refrain from spitting?

How hideous you are.
You poor old thing.

Bend over more...
and look at yourself in my shoes.

Do you think I enjoy having my feet
veiled in the film of your saliva.

- In the mists of your swamps?
- My wishes for Madame to be lovely.
- Oh! You do hate me, don't you?

You smother me with your
attentions and your humility,
your gladioli and your hydrangeas.

It's really too cluttered in here.
Too many flowers live to.
Lively-lovely I shall be.

- My gown.
- Red! Madame will be in red!

- I did say: white! With sequins!
- Tonight Madame will wear the scarlet velour.
- Yes. Why?

Because Madame's breasts under the draped
velour are unforgettable. Particularly when she
sighs and speaks to Monsieur of my devotion!

Of course a black something
will be better for the widow.

- Oh!
- Do I really need to explain?

Ah! You're alluding... I see...

Threaten me. Add insult injuries. Oh, you're
alluding to Monsieur's misfortunes, are you?

I can see you coming.
I can hear the accusations,
humming in the beehive of your brain.

- I know you are longing for the moment you can spit in my face.
- Madame! Oh, we're not quite there! Yet the Monsieur is ...
- Monsieur...

is in prison thanks to me, go on,
say it. I dare you to say it.

I've given you freedom of speech... speak.

I... operate on the sly, in the shadow of my
flowers... and you have nothing on me...

- Madame thinks every word is a threat.
I am only the maid.
- Am I to be in your mercy simply for denouncing my lover?

Just for selling him to the police?
Oh, I could have done worse than that!

Claire, do you hear me? Forced my hand
to pen meticulously to the cops, steady, firmly,
no mistakes in spelling, no corrections in grammar,
the letter that sent my love to jail.

And you? Instead of upholding
me, you taunt me with it.

Widow, she said.

Monsieur isn't dead, Claire.

Monsieur will be led... alive... from
dungeon to dungeon, from prison to prison,

perhaps even to Devil's Island.

And I, his love, insane with grief, will folow.
I'll be part of the convoy,
I will share in his glory.

Widow, indeed!
White is the mourning of queens, Claire.

You're too ignorant to know that.

- You deny me the white gown.
- Madame will wear red!

Alright.

Hand me my robe.

I am so deserted, so friendless.

- I can read the hatred in your eyes.
- I love you.

As one loves one's mistress, no doubt.
You love me and you respect me.

- While you're waiting for a legacy, a clause
in my will, naming you a beneficiary.
- I will do the impossible things.
- Oh, I know! You'll threw myself in the fire for me.

Fasten hook.

Don't pull so hard.
Don't try to bind me up.

Stop... pawing at me.

Keep your distance.
You smell like an animal.

From what foul attic where lackeys defile
you at night, you do get that smell?

Ah! The attic! There between iron
beds, the night table between them.

There the two sisters dream of one another.

- Am I right?
- So miserable, I could weep.
- Ah, I am right.

Let us not insist upon your
prayers to Virgin in plaster,
your kneeling and your rosaries.

I will not even mention the paper flowers.
Paper... Well, and a branch of holy wood.

- Look at these petals opening for my glory.
Am I not an improvement on your plaster Virgin?
- Please!
- And there!

- The famous skylight from which
a half-naked milkman jumps into your bed!
- Madame's mind must be wandering! Madame...

Your hands! It's your hands that are wandering.

How often have I whispered that your hands smell of the sink.
- It's your fall!
- What?
- I'm arranging a fall, a fall of your gown!

Keep your mean old paws of me!

Look, if you must whimper, carry on in your attic.

Here, in my room, only noble tears are allowed.

A day will come when a hem of my gown will be
constellated with tears, as precious as pearls.
So arrange my fall, you fallen woman!

- Voilà! Madame's getting carried away!
- Madame's getting carried away by the devil!
In his fragrant arms! He is lifting me. I'm taking off.

I am high!

Ah! Stop down here!

Necklace... Oh, hurry, we won't have time!

If a trace is too long,
pin it up with safety pins!

Ah! Keep your hands off mine.
Your touch horrifies me.

- Get on with it.
- Don't overdo it. Your eyes are blazing.
You're crossing the river!

- What did you say?
- The limits, Madame! The bounds.
You must keep your distance.

Ah! What a language, child!

I mean, Claire...

I see... this is your revenge, isn't it?

- You feel that the moment is coming, when
leaving behind you the role of the maid...
- Madame understands me to perfection.
Madame sees straight through me.
- Leaving behind you the role of the maid, you become... Revenge!

Are you getting ready?
Are you sharpening your claws?

But, Claire, don't forget...

Claire, are you listening?

That the revenger is always born of
the maid, and that without it...

- Claire... you're not listening.
- I'm listening.

Only through me, because of me,
the maid has any existence.

- My voice, my gestures... Claire!
- I'm listening.

You only exist through me and you provoke me!

You do like see me naked in my
bath every night, don't you?

- And my tragic love makes me all the lovelier...
- Get on with this. Are you ready?

- Are you?
- Are you ready? I have enough of being
an object of contempt. I hate you... too!

Oh, easy, darling, easy.

I loathe you.

I despise you. You don't impress me any longer.

I hate the scented breathes of
your breasts, your ivory breasts,
your golden thighs, your amber feet!

- I hate you!
- Ah!

Yes, my lovely beauty. You thought you could
steal the beauty of the sky, to deprive me.

To choose your perfume, your powders,
your nail polish, your silks, your satin,
your lace, and deprive me...

Steal a milkman from me.
Yes, confess to milkman.

- His youth, his freshness upset you, don't they?
Because Solange, yes, shits on you...
- Claire! Claire!
- What?
- Claire, Solange, Claire.

Claire shits on you! Claire is here!
Claire more than ever! Translucent!

- Claire!
- Oh, Madame!

You thought you was protected behind a barrage
of flowers, spared by some special destiny,
to be saved by somebody else, his sacrifice.

She reckoned, without revolution of the maids... (- Oh!)
You can hear it. Well, here we are. It will burst!
It will engulf you!

- Your Monsieur was just a sad little thief!
- I forbid you!
- Forbid me, you!

What fun! It is Madame who is all folded.
Her face is falling, all puckered.
Look in the mirror.

Ah! The mark of a slap.

So becoming! More beautiful than ever!
Danger crowns my head with light, Claire.

- And you are only in the darkness!
- Infernal darkness. I know that your speach by heart.
I know from that expression on your face
what I am supposed to say so.

- I'll go all the way!
- Go out!

Oh, Madame!

Here are your two maids. Your faithful servants.
We are folding, we are merging in our fumes,
our revels, our hatred for you.

Don't laugh...

- Whatever you do, don't laugh at my eloquence.
- Get out!

Anything to accomodate Madame!
I'm going back to my kitchen, I am going
home to my sink and the smell of my teeth.

To soiled burps of my sink.

I have my sink.

As Madame has her flowers.

I'm only the maid, so you
cannot pollute me, while I...

I... I... am going back to my kitchen.

But first... I finish my task.

Keep your paws down!

So look at this fragile neck.

Shake in your higher pretence, spin, squash!

So soon!

Wake! Madame will be back. Help me!

- It's over already.
And you didn't get to the end.
- It is just the same at your fault.

- You are never ready in time.
I cannot finish you off.
- The preliminaries take too long.

- Mind you.
- Mind the window.

We'll have a little extra time.

I've set the clock ahead so
we'll put the room in order.

Ah, it was so close tonight.

It's been heavy all day.

Yes.

It's time now.

I'm going to make the tea.

Keep an eye on the window.

There's still time.

Still looking at yourself.

Claire, little one...

I am too tired.

Keep an eye on the window.

Thanks to your slovenly ways
the whole place is a mess.

I've got to clean a spit off the gown.

What is he matter with you?

You can look like yourself again.

Take your own face back again.
Come back, Claire. Be my little sister.

I am finished. This light is torture.

- Do you think the people across the street...
- Who cares?

You want this to organize in the dark?
Oh, close your eyes, Claire.
Close your eyes, rest.

Oh, when I said I'm finished...
it's just a figure of speech.

Don't you use it to patronize me.

- Don't try to dominate me.
- I only want you to rest.
That's the best help you can give me.

I read you, don't explain.

- I'll explain, alright! Now, you started this.
You think I can't see through you.
First of all, you mentioned a milkman.
- Ah!

So that boy whispers dirty whatnots passing by me.
Didn't he also say to you?

You did enjoy dragging in your own insults.

Better check if everything is in order.

Key... look, it was the other way round.

Look at the carnations... and the roses.

- It's impossible, says Monsieur...
- Now, you enjoyed dragging in your own insults...
- not to find maids' hairs...
- and details about our private life in...

In... In!?... Into what?...
Go on, name it... Give it a name.

The ceremony?

Never mind. There's no time to start an argument.

She... She'll be back.

Oh, but this time, Solange,
this time we've got her!
Oh, I envy you.

You were there when her lover was arrested.
You saw her face.

For once in my life, I really did
a beautiful job, you've got to admit it.

Thanks to me, thanks to my anonymous
letters, you feasted your eyes
on that lovely spectacle:

her lover in handcuffs and Madame in tears.

- Oh, she will die of it. This morning
she could hardly stand up.
- Fine. Let her drop dead!

And at last I will inherit!

Never again set foot in that garret, with those
two idiots, the bloody cook and the flunkey.

I was rather fond of our garret.

Soft on that. Oh, you really fond of
contradicting me and I loathe it.
I see it as it really is, sordid and mean and bare.

- A lot of spare space, in words of Madame.
Well, we are spare. We are garbage.
- Don't begin again.

Better look out of the window.

It's too dark.

I can't see anything.

Ah, don't you worry. In a prison you can go on
playing queen, doing your Marie-Antoinette,
parading at night around the apartment...

You're mad!

- I never parade at night.
- No... Never.

Mademoiselle never went for a little
royal procession draped in the curtain
or was it the lace bedcover.

Gracing the balcony with her presence
to thank at two o'clock in the morning.

- The populace is acclaiming her
beneath her window. No, never!?
- Solange!

Too dark outside to see Madame arriving,
so what's on your balcony at two in the morning,
you become invisible?

What do you take me for?
And don't tell me you walk in your sleep.

- Where we've got to, you might as well admit it.
- Solange, you're shouting. Please keep your voice down.
Madame might creep in any moment without a sound.

Don't touch the curtains.
Leave them alone!

I can't stand the way you touch them.

That morning to spy on the police
just before he was arrested, Monsieur,
he did that just like you.

Even a curtain stirring looks like a killer on the run.

You never dreamt of a convict. You never
dreamt about that particular man as a convict.
With a subject parting you miss your own invention.

Turn your face.

Ah... if you could see yourself...

I... bet you're planning his escape.

Hmph... I am not afraid of you.

I know you hate me.

I know you're a sneak but watch out!

- I am the eldest!
- Eldest! Does that mean strongest?

Honestly, you're making me
talk about this man to hide
my eyes on what's going on.

Do you think I'm blind?

You tried to kill her.

- You're accusing me?
- Don't deny it. I saw you.

Hey...

I was scared...

I was, Solange.

Through her, you were aiming at me.

I'm the one who's in danger.

When we get through that ceremony...
I'll protect my neck.

Alright, I did try.

Only to set you free.

I couldn't stand it.
It stifled me watching you stifling.

Go ahead, blame me for it.

For loving you too much.
If I kill her you'll be the first to denounce me.

- Solange...
- What are you afraid of? It's my neck!
- Solange, little sister, she'll be back.
- I killed no one.

I am a coward.

That's really mean...

I did my best... she moved in her sleep.

She was breathing softly.
It filled out the sheet into the shape.

- It was Madame.
- Stop it.
- Oh, not quite yet.

You wished to hear. Now you will know what
your sister is really like. What she is made of.
What a serving wench is made of.

I wanted to strangle her.

Ah, shut up. I am stifling. You stifle me.

- I need some fresh air.
- What do you want?
- The window.
- Not now.

I'm stifling too!

I want to play the game for the whole world to see.
I want to shout my truth from the rooftops.
I want to go down into the street dressed up as Madame!

- Yes! All I want is...
- Keep away from the window.

Open the door into the hall.

Open the door into the kitchen.

See if the kettle's boiling.

Alone?

Alright. It can wait.

Wait for her to come back.

Bringing her stars, her tears, her smiles, her sighs.
Bringing her sweetness to corrupt us.

Yes.

Monsieur?

It's Monsieur!

This is Claire, Monsieur.

Oh well... of course.

Madame will be so happy to
hear that Monsieur is free.

Of course, Monsieur.

I will... Without fail.

Monsieur will be waiting for her
at The Bilboquet.

Thank you, Monsieur.

Bye.

He's out?

Tbe judge let him out on bail.

Then it's all over with it.

- You said it.
- Judge has the effrontery.
This is contempt of judge!

Oh, this is all your handiwork, isn't it?

Your letters, your denunciations.
Fine job! Congratulations.

If Monsieur is free, he will conduct the investigation,
he will tear this place apart and they will find your
pathetic scribbles. Congratulations!

- Don't! Why should he suspect?
- Why do you think he is going to The Bilboquet,
instead of coming straight here? Explain that!
- Please don't crush me.

If you are so clever, why did you botch it
with Madame. Ah, the night was dark.
The air thick with perfume. It was Madame!

You were afraid.

Carry on with this life.
Carry on with the game!

Even the game is dangerous.

We've left the traces. I know we have left
them every time. A snail trail everywhere.
I'll never be able to clear up the mess.

She walks through all this, tames it step by step.

She deciphers the clue. She unravels the coil.
Her pink toe points unerringly to our traces,
one by one. All things leaning her unto us.

Madame will love.
She has a little ring for service.

She'll know we've been stealing her garments,
her attitude. Yes, just patiently ensnaring
her lover, salivating our cocoon of nonsense
around him. Everything is lost.

It's all lost because you weren't strong enough.

Enough... to...

Kill her.

I can find all the strength I need.

Where? Where?

I couldn't see her face.

Because I couldn't see her hateful face.

I felt too near to her.
Near her sleep.
All my strengh left me.

If I have been able to see her neck... to get at it...

But I would have first to lift
the sheet and it was heaving gently...

The sheet was warm, the night was dark...

This sort of things has to be done in broad daylight.

The night is too terrible for you.

You're not capable of that.

I am.

- You stop it. I'll go through that.
- Oh, now, come, darn, you only gamble.
- Gamble!? What have I got to lose?

And first of all, don't mix
your hairpins up with mine!

Ah! ... What the hell!

It's all stinks with my muck.

All right, it's my tatters.

It's all stink of the maids.

- Claire...
- Please, I know what I'm saying.

I'm Claire, Claire!

And I'm ready!

I've had enough.

I'm tired of being the spider, the umbrella stand,
sordid nun without God, without family.

I'm tired of the kitchen stove for altar.

- I'm that sullen girl of smells, of pimples.
In your eyes too.
- Claire, you're too nervous.

Why, isn't she here?

Well, I can't stand it either. I can't stand
our looking so alike. I can't stand my hands,
my face, my hair, my black stockings.

- Oh, I'm not blaming you for anything,
little one, your midnight walks help...
- Not again!

How can I help?

How can I be of comfort when
I know you find me repulsive.

I disgust you, I know, because you disgust me.

When slaves love each other, it's not love.

No... but it's just as serious.

I too am sick of it all.

Scaring mirror that throws my image
back at me like a bad smell.

You... are my bad smell.

I'm ready. I will bite. I have my crown.

And at night a freedom to walk about the apartments.

- It's not enough to kill her for...
- Oh, yes! Why not? Please...
What other reason?

When shall we have a better excuse?

- Taking her own life. The sleeping pills.
- Monsieur... arrest...
- The despair, the disgrace...

He's free.

Well...

- She'll have her tea the moment she comes in.
She'll never find out.
- If she does, tonight Madame will watch our shame like play.

She'll laugh to tears, she'll gasp
her flabby gasps. Thank you!

I'd rather have my crown.
I'd rather be the poisoner
that you failed to be.

I'll dominate you!

- My turn!
- I never tried!
- Now, I order the world about. You assist me.

My little sister!

Where's the book about the Marquise
de Venosa who poisoned her children?

We learn how, as she was approaching her bed,
she was suddenly lifted up, supported
in the arms of her dead lover!

- My angel, my little fairy sister.
- I'll be supported by the big arm of the milkman.

My left hand on his neck.
He won't draw away.

But you will come with me.

Even far away, Solange, even sent far away,
even to Devil's Island, you will come with me,
you'll join me on board.

Let's escape you were planning
for him we'll use it to save me.

We'll be the eternal couple, Solange.

Just the two of us! The eternal couple
of the criminal and his saint.
We are saved, Solange...

- saved, I promise...
- Calm, darling... Go to your bed to sleep.
I have to take you upstairs.

Let me alone. Put out the light.

Rest. Rest, my sister.

Rest your feet.
On my shoulder.

- Solange...
- Rest... Sleep.

We were... beautiful...

- Ah... what... beautiful hair... Hers...
- No more talk of her.

Hers is... false.

Remember?...

Under the tree... feet in the sun...
just the two of us?... Solange?

I'm here. I'm your big sister.

No!... No weakness!

Put on the light!
Put them on!

This is a great moment!

Hold on! Wait a minute. Let's eat.

What's in the fridge? Must eat.
Must eat to keep us strong.

Come along, you will advise us.

- Sleeping pills...
- Exhausted...
- Sleeping pills! Seconal!

We'll carry her down to the woods
under the dark fir trees and chop her

into tiny little bits, singing to the moon.

We'll bury her her bones like
planting stones beneath the flowers...

at darkest midnight...

We will water all we can with
our little watering can.

It's her. But she's back.
Let's straighten the bed!

Are you sure you can go through with it?

- How many?
- Ten.

- Put the pills in her cup of the tilleul.
- Yes... Ten... Ten.

Nine might not be enough.
More can make her vomit.

Make her tea. Very strong.

- Can you hear what I am saying?
- Yes.

Lots of sugar.

Flowers... everywhere.

These horrible Gladioli.

Such a debilitating color... and mimosas.

Some weak lunatics. You probably
hunt the market for the break of dawn
to get them wholesale.

All this cared attention for an unworthy
mistress. Roses for me, when Monsieur
is treated like a criminal, because...

Solange, I am going to give you the proof
of my confidence in you and in your sister.

This time I give up hope.
Monsieur is incarcerated good and well.

In the most infernal circumstances...

your mistress steeped in a sordid
and idiotic affair with the police.

And while Monsieur sleeps on a straw mattress,
you were elevating a flower chapel for me.

Prisoners are not what they used to be.
Madame must be thinking
of the French Revolution.

The straw in the metros
is no longer damp, I know.

Oh, did I think of him!

My imagination invents the worst
possible tortures for him.

And then, prisons are full of
the most depraved elements.

The Monsieur, who is a delicate,
would have to... live with them.
Oh, I could die of shame.

Here am I, walking about this Sylvan Arbor,
this floral display, despair in my heart.

One of these days I shall collapse dead under
your roses. All these funeral blossoms.
You've been constructing me a mortuary.

Madame's hand is frozen.

I've been freezing all night. But how can I complain?
I've been trailing around icy corridors,
meeting frozen men with stony faces. Ah...

But I did catch one... glimpse of Monsieur.

Oh, from a great distance, across the court.
And I waved to him just the tips of my fingers.

- I had just left the wife of a magistrate. Claire!
- She's preparing Madame's tea.

- She's taking her time.
- Oh...

Oh, forgive me! I'm so ashamed,
clamoring for tea, when Monsieur
has no tea, no food, no friends.

People don't realize what prisons are like.
They lack imagination.

I have too much... and suffer.

You are so lucky.
You and Claire to have each other.

The modesty of your situation spares
you so many disappointments.

- They will soon know - Monsieur is innocent.
- In fact he is, he is.

But innocent or guilty I would
never desert him. Never!

This idiotic story has made me realize how
attached I am to him. What was meant to
separate us has brought us closer than ever.

Of course Monsieur is innocent...

But if he had been thief,
I would become his accomplice.

Oh, what the bliss to carry his cross from
station to station, from prison to prison,
from Devil's Island to Siberia!

- On foot if necessary.
- They wouldn't let you!

Not even the sister. Only the mother or
wife of a thief is allowed to follow him.

Thief? Language my dear!

A convict is no longer a thief.
Anyway I would force my way past guards.

- I would charm my way past them.
- Madame should not get such ideas into her head.
- I would be utterly fearless.

- I have my natural weapons. I would use
them... naturally. Who do you think I am?
- Madame is so courageous.

Up to this day... you have known
a woman needing... care and tenderness.

Minding her diet and a lace.

Now all my little obsessions have gone.

I am strong and I am ready... for the fight.

First of all with the police.

And with the mysterious spy who works
with the police from within these walls.

- Madame mustn't get panicky.
I've known much worse cases.
- Worse cases?

And what do you know of Monsieur's case?

Me? Nothing only what Madame said just now.

I feel sure that it is OK.

How? Of dream?

And what do you know on acquittals?
You go to trials, do you?

- No, I read the reports.
- And the official recording?
- Just the newspapers.

- And there was a man whose case, well...
- Monsieur's case is incomparable.

He is accused of theft of all idiotic things.

Now, you know theft... It's insane...

as insane as the childish letters to denounce it.
- Madame should rest.
- I'm not tired!

Stop treating me like an invalid.
You pamper me, you spoil me.
You treat me as I were dying.

Thank heavens I still have my wits
about me and I am ready... for the fray.

Oh, come, come, don't be cross with me.

Well, it's better this way. Sometimes you're so sweet
I can't stand it. It crushes me, it stifles me. And all these
flowers in celebration of the opposite of a wedding.

Perhaps Madame would like
to see the day's accounts?

You certainly pick your time!

You must be deranged.

Do you deny me all delicacy?
You think I have time to look at figures when
all I want is to be left alone with my grief.

Show them to me tomorrow.

This lining's torn.

- Oh, I should take this to the furrier.
- Ah, do what you like. It hardly worth it.

Anyhow... I'm an old woman.

Yes, isn't it true, Solange?

- I'm an old woman.
- Those gloomy thoughts again?
- All ideas of mourning... not surprising.

- Solange... if you find this house too melancholy...
- We would never leave Madame alone.

- After all Madame has done for us...
- No... Solange, you've not been
too unhappy, have you?

- Oh!
- You're a little like my daughters.

Perhaps we should live in the country.

With you near, life might be kinder.
You could have all the flowers you wish.

In the garden...

You don't enjoy games I know.
So young and I've never heard you laugh.

The country would offer you a tranquil life. And I will
spoil you. And one day I will leave you the little that I have.
I've always given you everything you wanted, haven't I?

And and with my old gowns alone you
could both have dressed like royalty.

My gowns... what use of gowns to me?

I'm giving up this elegant life, this social role.
I'm giving it all up.

- Tea's ready.
- Farewell to dancing, to the Opera...
and all night parties. You inherit all that.

- Madame, not tonight.
- Well, one day.

Madame should keep her gowns.

- What?
- Madame should even order more beautiful ones.

- Oh, you expect me to run to fashion show.
- Madame will be very elegant.
Her very sorrow will give her some new ideas.

Of course... I will need a little black
something... for the visiting hours.

Perhaps I should try even harder... for his sake.

Perhaps elegance is the only
mourning worthy of his exile.

- Tea is ready.
- You're fatiguing Madame with your chatter.

Oh, just leave it there.
I'll drink it presently.

You... should have my gowns...
All is over... for me.

Oh!... My lovely... "Fascination".
What a beauty! Ah, poor beauty!

Lanvin himself designed it for me... especially.

Here, you can have it.

Claire, it is a present.

- Wear it.
- Madame is giving it to me?
- But of course! Didn't I say so?

You say "thank you" to Madame.
You've been admiring it long enough.

But I shall never dare wear it!

- It's too beautiful for me.
- I know you prefer more sensible material.

But you could have it altered. There is enough
velvet in the train to make your sleeves.
It could be quite warm.

And, Solange, what shall I give you?

I will give you... my furs.

Ah, the ceremonial coat.

What?

She means, Madame always wears
it on special occasions.

No, not in the least.
Oh, never mind.

Oh, you are so lucky to be
able to accept things.

- I have to buy them.
- Madame is so...
- No please, don't thank me.

It's a pleasure to make people happy.

Now... I must get undressed.

What I think... but I wish every human being well...
who could be so cruel as to want to punish me.

But punish me for what?

I feel so protected from life and life's evils, protected
by your devotion, protected by Monsieur, with all this
conspiracy of love could not erect a barrier against despair...

because I am in despair.

Let us... let us about what I...
alone should know.

Solange?

Madame?

I didn't know you were on
curtsying terms with your sister.

- How amusing! I always thought
you less frivolously disposed.
- Tea, Madame.

What I really wanted, Solange...

Strange...

This key... who?

What I wanted, was your own opinion...

Who could have sent these letters?

You don't know.

Naturally... like me, dumbfounded.

I want that handwriting exam analyzed.
I want find out who could so brilliantly have...

- The receiver... who left the receiver off the hook?
- I did.

- Somebody phoned?
- Phoned Monsieur...

Monsieur? Monsieur who?

Speak!

When... Monsieur phoned...

What are you talking about?

From prison?
Monsieur has telephoned from prison?

We only wanted to surprise Madame.

- He's out on bail.
- Waiting for Madame at the Bilboquet.
- We know Madame will never forgive us
but we wanted to surprise her.

And you said nothing!

Get taxi, Solange, quick, quick, get me a taxi.

My furs!

Don't waste time!

And you, I think, must both be deranged!
Or I am losing my mind.

When did he call?

- Just a few moments before Madame came in.
- You should have told me.
You know this tea is cold.

Oh, I can never wait until Solange returns.
What did he say... exactly?

- Just what I told you.
He was very calm.
- Oh, him, he always is.

If he were condemned to death he would
look as though it were no concern of his.

- What a creature! Something more?
- Nothing. Just that the judge had let him out.

- Judge... at midnight. Magistrates work so late?
- Yes, sometimes they work very late hours.

- Late hours? And how do you know that?
- I know these things.

- I read justice in "Detection".
- Oh, you do?

How curious! What a strange
little creature you are, Claire.

Oh, she might hurry!

Do you work to get the lining of my furs repaired?

I will take them to the furrier
first thing in the morning.

The accounts. What about the day's
accounts. Show them to me.

- I have the time! Show them to me.
- It's Solange who attends to that.

That is true.
I don't know where my head is.
I will see them tomorrow.

Claire!... Claire! Come here.

Come a little closer.

There... you've got makeup on!

- You're all rouged up.
- Madame...
- You could tell me!

Besides, why not!
You have a right.
Live, my child, live.

Is it in honor of someone?

- We have a crush on someone special? Confess.
- The powder is a little dark.
- That is not a powder. It's rouge.

It's "Ashes of Roses", the one I'm no longer wearing.

Ah, nothing wrong with a little rouge.
You're young. Make yourself attractive.

We all, the women... have to work... at our looks.

What can she be up to?
Midnight, and she's not back yet!

There aren't many taxis at this time tonight.

- Perhaps she had to run to the rank at the station.
- Oh you think so.

I'm losing all track of time.
Happiness comes so suddenly.
Monsieur calling to say he's free, just like this.

- Madame should have a seat.
I'll make some fresh tea.
- Don't bother.

Tonight we drink champagne.

- We may not come back at all!
- That's just a cup.

- Oh I'm overexcited as it is.
- It might calm.

Don't wait up for us. Do whatever you do.
You must both go to bed right away.

That clock... what is it doing there?

Where did that arrive from?

The alarm clock.
It's the kitchen clock.

- It must be! I've not met it before.
- It's always been on the kitchen shelf.
It belongs there.

I suppose I am rather stranger in the kitchen.
That is your realm.
Down there you are the sovereigns. But...

- I wonder why did you bring it up here.
- It was Solange for the cleaning up.
She never trusts the clock in the hall.

How peculiar. Well, she is punctuality itself.

- Oh, I'm looked after by the most faithful of servants.
- I wil bring some fresh hot water.

Yet, how peculiar... Ah... She is taking her time.
Find a taxi on any street corner.

And you... You have it, fool?
You're beautiful tonight?
To deserve. No wrinkles.

You've never been separated for so long before.

It seems like thousand years.

Now... look... at me... Huh?

Wistful perhaps? Gay? Soothing?

Oh, you... idiot talking to yourself.
Happiness always makes me like that.
And Solange simply disappears.

And these flowers!

These girls worship me.

But... they haven't dusted the dressing table.

Their housekeeping always astonishes me.
It combines luxury with filth.

Oh, my mind was wandering.
Claire, I'm rambling. Do forgive me.
Today was impossible.

- Madame is not satisfied with the service.
- But of course. It's simply heavenly, delicious.
- Madame is making fun of us.

Now don't you bully me after such a day.
I've deserved a right to a little lunacy.

And then this affair of those letters.
Who could possibly have written those letters?

You don't know... naturally, of course not.

All day I've been groping as though blind.

I'd like to know, that's all.

All that is over.

- Monsieur is free.
- Oh, thank heavens for that.
Which still doesn't account for those letters.

- Why didn't you tell me immediately that
Monsieur had called. He'll be furious by now.
- We wanted to break it gently to Madame.

- We were concerned.
- Really?

Claire, what do you think of my hair?

Do you like it like this?

- If I might venture...
- Ah-ha-ha... If you might... venture?
Venture, my dear.

I have great confidence in your opinion.
So, my hair?

If I might risk for suggestion, Madame
might wear it a little... fluffier... besides.

- You think so?
- It would make the face look softer.

You mean...

Like this. Oh, you're right, Claire.
You are an Oracle.

You know, I always thought you had
very good taste and were meant for
something... better than the maid.

- Oh, I'm not complaining.
- No, no, of course not, but you do have
a rather more sensitive nature than...

the others. Oh, it can't be much fun for you
having to live with them, but fortunately, you
do have your sister near and that makes a family.

- Still... with a bit of luck...
- Oh, if I'd only wanted...
- Yes, yes, I'm sure.

- Listen! It's a car, it's here.
- It's so cold outside.

Madame must have her tea.

Oh, you've been my death with your
flowers, and your tea and your concern,
you really are too much for me. Oh...

I never felt so full of life...

Look, you've served it in the best tea set.
This is a cup for state occasions.
How elegant, how solemn!

Madame must drink it if she does...

Ah, Madame is still here.

I ran everywhere for taxi. No one
would come at this time of night.

Did you one?

- A taxi!
- It's here downstairs, Madame.

So let's go.

- It's understood, you both go straight to bed,
and tomorrow we'll sleep and sleep forever.
- But, Madame...
- Oh, take these flowers away.

Take them to your room.

Close the front door after me.
But don't latch it.

- Madame...
- Madame is escaping.
Oh, only these flowers...

Because Madame is beautiful.
Madame is kind.
Madame is good.

Madame is always giving us
what she doesn't need.

Madame lets Claire and Solange live together.

Whenever Claire is ill, Madame
looks after her or Solange, because
Madame is always confusing them.

On Sundays we can go to church
with her and kneel on prayings
staying next to her pew.

She smothers us with the flowers.

She goes on and on about
Monsieur until we feel deprived.

Madame is beautiful.
Madame is good.
Madame is kind.

She didn't' drink it.

Of course not. I should have known better.

- I'd like to see what you've done.
- You sneered at me. How did you let her go.

Don't crush me.
I've put the pills in her cup.
She didn't drink it.

- It's not my fault.
- It never is.

- If your tongue was on fire
to announce the Monsieur was released...
- Your little tongue started it.
- You finished it.

To give you time...

I went down the steps one by one. I walked out
into the street as slowly as a blind woman.
I went along back streets with the least traffic.

Clouds of taxis came at me.
I tried to run and run. Finally I must have
stopped in front of one without noticing.

And while I was gaining time you lost it all!
You let her go!

The only thing left for us is to run.
Take our things and vanish.

- Ah, things are against us.
- Oh, you think objects bother about you and me?
- Not only they do! They betray us.

Solange, I saw Madame,

saw her discover the clock we
forgot to take back to the kitchen,

saw her notice the powder on the dressing table,

the makeup on my cheeks, "The Crime Report".
- Let us go. Come on, Claire, quick, run for your things.
- Where do we head?
- Train, boat. Anywhere. Anyhow, but go.
- Where shall we go? How shall we live? We're poor.

We could take... Claire, let's take...

Money? ... I can't let that. We're not thieves.

- No...
- Money will denounce us.

I've seen the objects betray us one after another.

Solange, I'm afraid of them.
We must be very guilty if objects
abuse us so relentlessly.

Naturally, maids are guilty
when Madames are innocent.

Oh, Madame...

If I had been your executioner
I would have carried out your
sentence to the last drop.

That tea you have refused to drink...
I would have broken your jaw open
and poured it down your throat.

Refuse to die... I would have begged you on
my knees and kiss the hem of your garment.

- Where you up to?
- Sleep.

Claire... Claire!

- I'm calling you.
- So what?
- Did you' hear me? Come here.

What do you want now?
We're beaten.

So you propose just sit and wait... in agony?

She's meeting him! They'll work
out where the letters came from.

They'll be back on us tomorrow drunk as
a conquering army and as vicious.
They'll all know! They... I hate her.

I hate her.

And you... just sit there.
You saw how she glittered with her foul joy?
Her happiness feeds on our shame.

The red in that dress is the red of our shame!
Her lipstick is the red of our shame!

And you just sit there.

- How don't you howl? Are you dead?
- What you want of me?

- She got away. You came back too soon.
- She gets away and you just sit there!

What are you trying to do?
Make a scene?

Eh? Solange?

You want a scene?
Tell me?

Just tell me. We've got time now.
We've got all night.

Let's get on with it.

No... let us do it in slow motion.

Shall we?

You keep the apron.
It's your turn.

- Never mind.
- It's my turn to be Madame.

- Take the apron.
- Claire!
- I'm used to it. Here.

You really think... I have too much rouge, huh?

Rouge? There is some.
But Madame is not just rouged.
Madame is made up.

- That's what she said.
- She... is finished.

This forced on me again.

I aim to be a real maid.

Put the light out.

- You don't expect us, do you,
to... organize in the dark?
- Do as I say.

Solange... Let's wait a little.
What if she comes back?

Suppose she's forgotten something.

Nights like this people do forget things.

- A purse or money.
- Innocent!
- She walked out to quickly. It's a trap.

- Madame suspects something.
- Something what?
- She is suspicious.

- We're... being watched.
- No, we've gone too far.
We are above suspicion.

Ah, Solange, you're not listening to me.
Believe me we're being watched.
I feel it.

I'm sure she'll be back any moment,
without warning. Her gloves, her compact,
and only God knows what.

But I know... there is something in this room...

some... object that mirrors every gesture we
make and can record it and play it back.

- Remember, she wanted the front door left unlatched.
- Ah, you're raving.
- Oh no, please, wait, we must wait, it is serious.

- If she comes back...
- Well, she'll regret it.

Solange... you're growing monstrous.

- A... At least if...
- What?
- We could say a prayer.

- You... dare bring God...
- Maybe to the Virgin...
- The Mother of God into the ceremony...

- Really you have more nerve than I credited.
No sense of shame.
- More softly, Solange...

the walls are frail.
- You're going mad.
God is listening.

We may know the final ceremony
is to be performed for Him,
but we must not admit it to Him. We...

must go all the way and lose ourselves in it.
- Not so loud!
- These walls are the ear of God.

Then I should wear white.

Ah, as you like it.

It hardly matters now.

But hurry... Let's skip all the opening
formalities, all the preliminaries,
get straight in to the transformation.

No more hesitations and twists.
We stopped needing all those lies long ago.
Oh, be quick.

I cannot stand the shame and humiliation any longer.

Let the whole world smile and shake their
heads and call me envious and insane.

I am quivering.
I am shuddering with delight.
Claire!

Begin!

- You're beautiful!
- Skip that.

You said we were skipping the preliminaries.
Begin the insults.

Couldn't ever...
You dazzle me.

Solange... or Claire, because
you all look the same to me.

You irritate me and you risk my displeasure.

I said insults.

Let them swell... and be low,
unfurl and drown me, because
I've never made a scratt of it.

- I... hate... servants.
- Oh.

Odious and vile species.
I hate them.

Servants do not belong to the human race.

Servants ooze disgusting charge, flowing along
our corridors, into our rooms, entering into us,
entering our mouths to corrupt us. Well, I vomit you.

No one has to have them like what has
to have gravediggers and policemen.

That beautiful world are putrefaction.
Waste!

I... I hate her.

Madame had her love song,
her dove song, her milkman, her lovers.

- Solange...
- Shh. Be quiet.

Her morning milkman, her pale messenger
of dawn, her charming dawn clarion,
her pale and ravishing master. It's all over!

Ready? For the ball.

- What are you doing?
- Stopping your flow.
Down on all fours... all fours.

Ah, you were so beautiful. Your precious
arms writhing, your tears, your petals,
heavy pearls down your lovely face.

All fours!

And you amuse me, my dear!

Crawl... Crawl hideously.

Hideously!

You did a sail in the wake of a ship,
cross the seas to comfort your exile charmer.
Take a go and look at yourself.

That role is reserved for the fairest of the fair.

The guards would snicker and point at you.
Your lover would turn pale with shame.

And strong Madame... strong enough to carry his bag.

No Madame, no Madame, you know,
I'm not jealous. I don't need him.

I don't need your thief to achieve
the entire I have set myself.

I am myself thief and slave shadow.
I will land alone on the shores of life.

Erect! I will marry you erect.
Ah, groveling at a man's feet.

- Our exit is to end in beauty.
- Oh, Solange, you're killing me.
- Mind your movements.

Off the deep end.
We must get out of this.
I'm up to my neck.

Cor, that's neck.

Throat of a queen.

Throat of a dove!

- It's late.
- Never too late.
- Madame is...

- drinking champagne with Monsieur
who has returned from Devil's Island.
- She will be here any moment.
- She is waltzing, she's whirling,
she is swilling the finest wine. She is blissful.
- Solange, listen to me. It's very dangerous. Let's get out of this.

Go into the vestry.

To the vestry.
You, you haven't finished the linoleum.

Don't cry. It's useless.

Death is present, stalking you.

I'm here, I, who embroidered my belly
with pins to burst all those fetuses
I swilled down the gutter.

- Just to save you up, to keep you alive.
- Ah, Solange, ah, Solange, you're out of your right mind.
- Mind yourself!

- No one, you know well, can hear you there in
the world. We have crossed to the other side.
- Oh, oh, I'm ill.

- Everyone is listening, but no one will hear.
- I'm ill.
- I'll take care of you in there.
- I'm going to be sick.

Claire, are you really ill?

Can't...

Not here, my dear, for God's sake.

You see... you see...

Lean on me... Ah, there, there.

Better in there...
in our kingdom of withered flowers.

I have the perfect way to end all suffering.

Madame...

At last!

Madame is dead!

She's lying in... on the linoleum…
strangled by the dishwashing gloves.

What?

Please Madame, remain seated.

Oh, Madame may call me Mademoiselle Solange.

Precisely because of what I have done
Madame and Monsieur will call me
Mademoiselle Solange.

And really Madame should not have turned
up wearing black. It is grotesque.

Here am I... reduced to wearing
mourning for my maid.

After the funeral all the domestic help of
the neighborhood paraded to condone
with me as if I were one of the family.

I had so often treated her as one of the family.
Death would see the joke through to the bitter end.

Hmm... Madame needn't feel sorry for me.
I'm Madame's equal. I walk with my head high.

Yes, so Monsieur doesn't know the half of it.
He never realized he obeyed our orders.
He was really a perfect little boy.
Under our threats he always did his duty.

No, Inspector.

I will tell you nothing of my work.

Our common work,
our collaboration in this crime.

Gowns... I wish Madame had kept them.

My sister and I had our own gowns.
Yes, those we made our own every night in secret.

Now I have earned my dress and I am your equal.

Red dress of crime.

Monsieur laughs at me?

Monsieur smiles at me.

Monsieur thinks I am insane. He obviously
thinks maid should have the good taste
not to strike attitudes reserved for ladies.

Monsieur really will make allowances, ha-ha.

He is the soul of kindness but he is trying
to compete with me in grandeur and
I have conquered the most savage.

I see Madame appreciates how lonely I must be.

Yes, I am.

At last I am all alone, awesome.

I could speak with utter cruelty,
hmm, but I can be kind.

Madame will recover from her fright.

She will recover only too well.

With her flowers, her gowns,
her perfumes, her jewels, her lovers.

As for me... I have my sister.

Yes I do. I dare. There is nothing I dare not.
Do, and who is there who can silence me!
Who is there so bold as to call me daughter?

I have served... good.

I used the motions servants used to serve.

I smiled at Madame. I bent over to make
the beds. I bent over to scrub the tiles,
to peel the veg, to glue my ear to keyholes.

Now... I do not bend.
I stand upright, solid.
I am the strangler.

Mademoiselle Solange Lemercier,
the one who strangled her sister.

Be quiet?... Me?

Really, Madame's too delicate.

Tonight I feel sorry for Madame.

I pity her whiteness, her silky skin,
her small ears, her frail little wrists.
Me, I am the one black hen.

What is my name?

I am the monstrous conscience of servitude.

No, Inspector.

I will say nothing more in front of them.

It would be a strange world if masters could
penetrate the dusk where servants live.

That, little woman... is our night, our darkness, ours.

Neither you, nor anyone should know.
Just say this time Solange went all the way.

Look at her now... dressed all in red for her exit.

Her exit... down the great staircases,
escorted by the police.

I'll turn your balconies to watch her...
advance between the hoodied penitents.

In the heart of noon... barefoot...
carrying a nine pound candle.

The hangman follows.

He whispers words of love into my ear.

The hangman is my escort.
Claire, the hangman is my escort.

Keep your hands to yourself!
Really, you'd like a kiss? Let me be!
The hangman will have his fun.

She will lead the procession of all
the maids in the city. All the servantry
who followed Claire to her final rest,

wearing crowns, coronets, flowers,
banners, banderoles, while the bell... tolls.

The funeral unfolds.
It's pageant, it is beautiful, isn't it?

First come the butlers in grand liveries
without the silk lapels, wearing crowns.

Then come the footmen and flunkies in white
stockings and knee breeches wearing coronets.

Then come the valets and
chambermaids in our colors.

Then come the the porters and then
the delegations from heaven,
and I am leading them!

I am acclaimed.

The hangman rocks me.

I'm pale and I have to die!

All these flowers... they did give her
a lovely funeral, didn't they?

Oh, Claire... my poor little Claire.

What?

Really, Madame, this is pointless.

I only obey the police, so the police understand me,
they too belong to the world of outcasts, the world
you wouldn't touch even through your gloves.

We are Mademoiselle Solange Lemercier,
La Lemercier, that Lemercier woman.
The famous criminal.

So gentlemen, you can recover your peace of mind.

I was no ordinary maid.

I have a noble soul.

And despite my forbidding it, Madame
is still parading about the apartment.
She will sit down and listen to me!

Claire... we're raving!

You're simply talking too much, child.

But, lately, too much.

The windows... Close the windows.

Good, Claire.

Ah, it's late.

Everyone's asleep.

- This is a game of fools.
- Claire, pour me a cup.

- But...
- I said... a cup.

- We're dead tired. Better stop.
- Oh no!

Poor servant girl, do not expect
to get out of it so simply.

We... are alone in this world.

I think exists... only this altar...
where one of the two maids will sacrifice...

I said: my tea.

Oh... you have served it in
the most precious... the richest cup.

The orchestra... is playing the brilliant music.

The groom lifts the red velvet curtain. He bows.

Madame goes down the stairs.

Her furs caress the green potted plants.

She steps into the car.

Monsieur whispers the words of love into her ear.

Madame would like to smile, but she is dead.

She rings the bell downstairs.

The night porter yawns, gets up, opens the door.

Madame is coming upstairs.
She's coming home to murder.
Who is dead?

Her two maids however... are alive.

They have just risen, emerging
free from Madame's icy corpse.

All the maids were there.

Not in themselves of course, but in
the infernal anguish of their names.

Nothing then remains except...
floating around Madame's corpse...
delicate perfume of those saintly maidens...

which they were in secret...

We are beautiful, drunk with joy, and free!