All language subtitles for The.Maids.1975.1080p.BluRay.H264.AAC

♪suspenseful
orchestral music♪

♪suspenseful
orchestral music♪

♪♪♪

-Oh!

Those gloves again.

Those everlasting gloves.

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

No doubt 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 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'm so sorry, Madame, I
was preparing Madame's tea.

-Lay out my evening
things: the white gown,

the sequined one, the
band, the emeralds.

-All
Madame's jewels?

-Leave them out!

I shall choose.

And of course my patent leather
slippers -- the ones you've been

coveting for years...

for your wedding, no doubt.

Admit he said you to
admit you are pregnant.

Confess.

Claire, I told you
kindly, refrain from spitting.

Mm, 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 midst of your swamps?

-I wish this for
Madame to be lovely.

-Mm, you do hate
me, don't you?

You smother me with your
intentions and your humility and

your gladiolus and
your hydrangeas.

It's really too
cluttered in here,

too many flowers.

Leathally lovely I shall be.

My gown--

-Is 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
would be better for a widow.

Do I really need to explain?

Ah!

You're alluding, I see.

Threaten me,
add insult to injury.

So you're alluding to
Monsieur's misfortune, 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, ooh!

We're not quite there yet.

Monsieur is--

-Monsieur is in
prison thanks to me.

Go on and 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 at your
mercy simply for denouncing my

lover?

Just for sending
him to the police?

Oh, I could have
done worse than that, Claire.

Do you hear me?

Forced my hand to pen that
pistol to the cops -- steadily,

firmly, no mistakes on spending,
no corrections on grammar.

The letter that
sent my love to jail.

And you.

Instead of upholding
me, you taunt me with it!

"Widow," she says.

Monsieur isn't dead, Claire.

Monsieur will be lead
alive, dungeon to dungeon,

from prison to prison,
perhaps even to Devil's Island,

and I, his love,
insane with grief,

will follow any
part of the convoy.

I will share in his
glory, we do 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.

All right.

Hand me my robe.

I'm so deserted, so friendless.

Hm, I can read the
hatred in your eyes.

-I love you.

Mm, 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 beneficiary.

-I would do the
impossible for you--

-Oh, I know you'd throw
yourself into the fire for me.

Fasten up.

Don't pull so hard,
you're trying to bind me up.

Stop pawing at me, and
keep your distance,

you smell like an animal.

From what foul attic your
lackeys defile you at night did

you get that smell?

The attic!

There, the twin iron beds, the
night table between them where

the two sisters
dream of one another,

am I right?

-It's so
miserable, I could weep.

-I am right.

Let us not insist upon your
prayers to a virgin in plaster,

your kneeling,
and your rosaries.

I will not even mention your
paper flowers ever and well the

branch of holy wood.

But look at these
petals opening for my glory.

Am I not an improvement
on your plaster virgin?

-Please!

-And there!

The famous skylight through
which a half-naked milkman jumps

into your bed.

-Madame's
mind must be wondering, Madame!

-Your hands.

It's your hands
that are wondering.

How often must I whisper?

Your
hands smell of the sick.

-That's your fault!

-What?

-I am arranging your fall
-- the fall of your gown!

Keep
your mean old paws off me!

Ow!

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

Here in my room, only
noble tears are allowed.

A day will come where the hem
of my gown will be constellated

with tears, but
precious as pearls.

So arrange my fall,
you fallen woman.

-Madame is
getting carried away.

-I am getting carried away by
the Devil and his fragrant arms.

He's lifting me, I'm
taking off, I'm high!

Oh, stuck down here.

My necklace.

Oh, hurry up, we
don't have time!

The train's too long.

Pin it up with safety pins!

Keep your hands off mine!

Your touch horrifies me!

Get on with it.

-Don't over-do it.
Your eyes are blazing.

You're crossing the river.

-What did you say?

-The limits,
Madame, the boundaries.

You must keep your distance.

-Oh, what 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 maid--

-Madame
understands me to perfection.

Madame sees straight through me!

-Leaving behind you
the role of 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 a maid and that without--

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 seeing me
naked in my bath every night,

don't you?

And my tragic love
makes me all the lovelier.

Get on with it!

Are you ready?

-Are you?

I'm ready.

I've had enough of being
an object of contempt.

I hate you too.

-Oh, easy, darling, easy.

-Oh, I loathe you.

I despise you.

You don't impress me any longer!

I hate the scented
breezes of your breasts,

your ivory breasts,
your golden thighs,

your amber feet.

I hate you!

-Oh!

-Yes, my lovely beauty.

You thought you could steal the
beauty of the sky to deprive me.

Choose your
perfumes, your lotions,

your nail varnish,
your silks, your satin,

your lace to deprive me?

Steal the milkman from me.

You must confess the
milkman, his youth,

his freshness
upsets you, don't they?

Because Solange says--

Claire!

Claire!

Claire Solange.

Claire!

-Claire sits on you!

-Claire is here,
clearer than ever,

translucent!

- Oh!
- Whoo!

Oh, Madame thought she was
protected behind her barrage of

flowers to be spared by
some special destiny,

to be saved by
somebody else's sacrifice,

she reckoned, without the
revolution of the maid--

-You can hear
it swelling up.

It will burst!

Oh!

-It will engulf you!

Your Monsieur was
just a sad little thing.

-I bid you!

-Oh, bid me?

Oh, what fun!

It is Madame
who's all forbidden,

her face falling apart.

Would you like a mirror?

-Oh, the mark of a slap.

So becoming.

More beautiful than ever.

Danger crowns my
head with light,

Claire, and you
are only the dark!

-The eternal dark.

Sure, I know that
speech by heart.

I know by the expression on your
face what I'm supposed to say,

so I'll go all the way.

Behold, Madame!

Here are your two maids,
your faithful servants.

We are folding, we are merging
in our fumes, our rebels,

our hatred for you!

Don't laugh.

Whatever you do, don't
laugh at my eloquence.

Get out!

-Anything to
accomodate Madame.

I am going back to my kitchen,
I am going home to my sink,

to the silent burps of my sink.

I have my sink as
Madame has her flowers.

I am 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!

Look at
that fragile neck.

Stop shaking.

I operate with
speed and discretion.

-So soon?

Quick!

Madame will be back?

Help me!

It's over already and
you didn't get to the end.

So what
you're saying it's your fault?

You're never ready in time.

I can never finish you off.

The
preliminaries take too long.

-Mind you,
we have a little extra time.

I set the clock ahead so we
can put the room in order.

Oh...

we're so close tonight.

It's been heavy all day.

-Yes.

It's time now.

- I'm
going to make the tea.

-I'll keep an eye
on the window.

-There's still time.

-Still looking at yourself?

Claire, little one.

-I'm too tired.

-Keep an eye on the window.

Thanks to your slummy ways,
the whole place is a mess.

I've got to keep the
spit off the gown.

What's the matter?

You can look like
yourself again...

take your own face back again.

Come back, Claire.

Be my little sister.

I'm finished.

This light is torture.

Do you think the
people across the street--

-Who cares?

They want us to
organize in the dark.

Oh, close your eyes,
Claire, close yours eyes,

rest.

-Oh, when
I say 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 all I'll like.

Now you started this,.

You think I can't
see through you?

First off all, you
mentioned the milkman.

-So that boy whispers dirty
words as I pass him by in

evening and he does the same to
you, you just enjoy dragging in

your own insults.

-Better check
if everything's in order.

That key, I thought it
was the other way around.

And the
carnations and the roses.

It's
impossible, says Monsieur.

Hush, now you enjoy
dragging in your own insults and

details of our private life in--

In?

In?!
Into what?

Go on, name it!

Give it a name!

The ceremony?

Oh, never mind, this is 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.

But 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 sight: her lover

in handcuffs, and
Madame in tears.

Oh, should I 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,
Lady Cock and her flunky.

-I was rather
found of our garret.

Don't go
soft on that hole.

You're only fond of
contradicting me and I loathe

it.

I see it as it really is: sordid
and mean and bare -- rather

spares in Madame.

When we are
spare, we are garbage!

-Don't begin again.

Let me look out of the window.

It's still dark, I
can't see anything.

Oh, don't worry.

Even in 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 cotton?

Or was it the lace bed cover
gracing the balcony with her

presence to thank at two
o'clock in the morning?

The populace are claiming
her beneath her window.

No, never--

-Solange!

-Too dark outside to
see Madame arriving, eh?

So once at your
balcony at two in 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 the curtains
stirring looks like a killer on

the run.

-You never
dreamt of a convict.

You never dreamt of that
particular man as a convict.

-But the subject of
our dream was your invention.

Turn your face.

Oh, I wish you
could see yourself.

I bet you're
planning his escape!

-Hmm, I'm not afraid of you.

I know you hate me, I
know you're a snake.

But watch out, I am the eldest.

-The eldest?

Does that mean strongest?

Honestly, you're making me talk
about this man to hide my eyes

from 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!

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.

All
right, I did try,

only to set you free.

I couldn't stand it.

It stifled me
watching you stifling.

And 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's little
sister, she'll be back!

I killed no one!

I am a coward.

That's what you mean.

I did my best.

She moved in her sleep.

She was breathing softly.

It filled out the
sheet into a shape.

It was Madame.

-Stop it!

-Oh, not quite yet.

You wish 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--

Solange, I'm stifling--
you're stifling me.

Can I let in some fresh air?

-If you want.

-The window.
-Not now.

I am 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!

Stop it!

All I wanted--

-Keep
away from the window.

Open the door into the hall.

Open the door into the kitchen.

See if the kettle's boiling.

Alone?

-All right, then wait.

Wait for her to come
back, bringing her stars,

her tears, her smiles, her
size, bringing her sweetness to

corrupt us.

♪suspenseful
orchestral music♪

-Yes?

Monsieur.

It's Monsieur.

This is Claire, Monsieur.

I will.

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, goodbye.

He's out.

The judge
let him out on bail.

-Then it's all over with--

-You said it.

-Judge
has the effrontery.

This is contempt.

The judge-- oh, this
is all your handiwork,

isn't it?

Your letters,
your denunciations.

A 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's coming to the

Bilboquet instead of
coming straight here?

Explain that.

-Please
don't crush me!

If you were so clever, why
did you botch it with Madame?

The night was dark,
thick with perfume.

It was Madame, you were afraid.

-Carry on with this
life, carry on with the game.

-Even the
game is dangerous.

You left traces, I know we have,
we leave them every time -- a

snail trail everywhere.

I'll never be able
to clear up the mess.

She walks through all of
this and tames it step by step.

She deciphers the
clues, she unravels the coil.

Her pink toe unerringly
to our traces one by one.

All things lead to us.

Madame will laugh.

She has a little
ring for service.

She'll know we've
been stealing her gowns.

Her attitude suggests she is
patiently ensnaring her lover,

salivating our cocoon
of nonsense around here.

Everything is lost.

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

Enough to...

-Kill her.

♪brooding
suspenseful music♪

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 so near to
her, near her sleep.

All my strength left me.

If I had been able
to see her neck,

to get at it, but I would have
first lift the sheet and it was

heaving gently.

-The sheet was warm.

The night was dark.

This sort of thing has to
be done in broad daylight,

and that is too
terrible for you.

You are not capable of that.

I am.

-You stopped,
I'll go through.

-Oh, now calm down.

You'll only gamble.

-Gamble?

What have I got to lose?

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

Oh, what the hell?

Mix your filth with my muck,
your rags with my tatters.

Mix it all in the
stink of the maids.

-Claire!

-Please, I know
what I'm saying.

I am Claire the
Clear and I'm ready.

I've had enough.

I'm tired of being the
spider, the umbrella stand,

the sordid nun without
guard, without family.

I am tired of the
kitchen stove for altar.

I am that sullen girl of
smells and pimples in your eyes,

too.

-Oh, Claire, we're too nervous.

Oh, 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.

this scary mirror
that throws my

image back at me
like a bad smell.

You...

are my bad smell.

When I'm ready, I will bite.

I'll have my
crown and, at night,

the freedom of the palace.

-It's not
enough to kill her for!

-Oh, yes!

Why not, please?

For what other reason?

And when shall we
have a better excuse?

-Her own
life, the sleeping pills.

-Monsieur arrested.

-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 a

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
poison you fail to be.

I'll dominate you!

My turn.

-I've never tried!

Now, I will order about.

You will assist me.

-My little sister.

In the book about the
Marquis de Brinvilliers poisoned

her children, we learn how.

As she was
approaching their bed,

she was suddenly lifted up,
supported in the arms of her

dead lover.

-My little angel, my
little fairy sister.

I'll be
supported by the thick 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, if I'm sent far
away, even to Devil's Island.

You will come with me,
you'll join me onboard.

That 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!

-Calm down!

-I'm going to take you upstairs!

-Rest, rest, little sister.

Rest your feet on my shoulder.

Shush.

-Solange.

-Sleep.

-Oh, you have beautiful hair.

Oh, what
beautiful hair you have.

Hers--

-No more talk of her.

-Hers is...

Mm...

remember under the tree,

our feet in the sun,

just the two of us, Solange.

-I'm here,
I'm your big sisters.

No, no wickedness.

Put on the light, come on!

♪suspenseful orchestral music♪

This is
a great moment!

What do we eat?

Lets eat!

What's in the fridge?

Must eat!

Must eat to keep
our strength up.

Come along, you will advise us.

The sleeping pills.

-I'm exhausted.

-The sleeping pills!

Secanols.

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

trees and chop
her up into tiny little bits.

Singing to the moon.

We'll bury her bones like
planting stones beneath the

flowers

-And darkest midnight, we will
water her all we can with our

little water can.

It's her, she's back.

-Well, straighten the bed!

Are you sure
you'll go through with it?

-How many?

-10.

Put the pills in her cup.

Pour the tea.

Oh, you!

10.

-Nine might not be enough,
more would make her vomit.

Make the
tea really strong.

-Can you hear what I'm saying?

-Yes.

Lots of sugar!

♪frightening
suspenseful orchestral music♪

Oh!

Flowers everywhere.

Oh, these horrible gladiolus,
such a debilitating color.

And mimosas.

Sweet lunatics.

You'll probably hunt the market
for the break of dawn to get

them wholesale.

All this care and attention
for an unworthy mistress.

Roses for me while Monsieur
is treated like a criminal,

because Solange, I am going
to give you the proof that my

confidence in you
and in your sister,

and 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.

Prisons are
not what they used to be.

Madame must be thinking
of the French Revolution.

-The straw in the
mattress is no longer damp,

I know.

Oh, but I think of him.

My imagination invents the
worst possible tortures for him,

and then prisons are full of
the most depraved elements,

and Monsieur, who's so delicate,
would have to live with them.

I could die of shame.

Here am I, walking
about this silvan arbor,

this floral display,
despair in my heart.

One of these days, I shall
collect dead under the roses all

these funerial blossoms.

You'll be
constructing me a mortuary.

Madame's hand is frozen.

-Oh, I've been
freezing all night.

But how can I complain?

I've been trailing
around icy corridors,

meeting frozen men
with stony faces.

But I did catch
a glimpse of Monsieur,

oh, from a great
distance from across the court,

and I waved to him --
just the tips of my fingers.

I have just left the
wife of a magistrate.

Claire!

-She's
preparing Madame's tea.

-She's taking her time.

-Oh, I--

-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.

Oh, you are so
lucky, you and Claire,

to have each other.

The modesty of your
situation spares you so many

disappointments.

-They will soon
known Monsieur is innocent.

-That 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 were a thief, I
would become his accomplice.

Oh, it would be 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 the 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?

-Madam is so courageous.

-Up to this day, you have
known a woman needing care and

tenderness, minding
her diet and her lace.

Now, all my little
obsessions are gone.

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

first of all with the police and
with a 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--

Faltering?

And what do you
know of acquittals?

You go to trials, do you?

-No, I read the reports.

-Of the official recordings?

-Just the newspapers.

There was a man
whose case, well--

-Monsieur's
case is incomparable.

He is accused of theft,
of all idiotic things.

Now you know our theft.

It's insane -- as insane as the
childish letter that denounced

it.

Madame should rest.

I am not tired!

Stop treating me
like an invalid.

You pamper me, you spoil me, you
treat me as though I would die.

Oh, 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 in opposite of a

wedding.

-Perhaps Madame would
like to see the day's accounts.

-You certainly pick your time.

You must be deranged.

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.

-Oh, as you like.
It's hardly worth it, anyhow.

I'm an old woman.

Yes, isn't it true, Solange?

I am an old woman.

-Here come those
gloomy thoughts again.

-More 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?

-I know that, 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.

Oh, 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 with my old gowns alone,
you could both have dressed like

royalty.

My gowns, oh, what use
are gowns to me now?

I am giving up
this elegant life,

this social role.

I'm giving it all up.

-Tea is ready.

-Farewell to
dancing, to the opera,

and to all-night parties.

You'll inherit all that.

-Madame, not tonight.

-Well, one day.

-Madame
should keep her gowns.

-What?

-Madame should
order even more beautiful ones.

-Oh, you expect
me to run to fashion shows.

-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's ready.

You're fatiguing
Madame with your chatter.

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

You shall have my gowns.

All is over for me.

Oh!

My lovely
fascination,

what a beauty.

Oh, poor beauty.

Lanvin himself designed
it for me especially.

Here, you can have it.

Claire, it is a present for you.

-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 can

have it altered.

There's enough velvet in the
train to make you sleeves.

It could be quite warm.

And Solange, what
shall I give you?

I will give you my furs.

The ceremonial cloak.

What?

-She means Madame
always wears it on special

occasions.

-Not often the least.

Oh, never mind.

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

I have to buy them.

Madame is so beaut--

No,
please don't thank me.

It's a pleasure to
make people happy.

Now, I must get undressed.

When I think that I wish
ever human being well,

who could be so cruel
as to want to punish me?

And punish me for what?

I have felt so
protected from life

and life's evils,
protected by your devotion,

protected by Monsieur.

But all this conspiracy of
love could not erect a barrier

against despair,
because I am in despair.

Letters, letters 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 want is Solange...

Strange.

♪suspenseful music♪

How could this key have moved?

What I wanted
was your own opinion...

Who could have
sent these letters?

Ah, you don't know?

Naturally.

Like me, dumbfounded.

I wanted that
handwriting examined,

analyzed.

I want to find out who
could so brilliantly...

The receiver...

who left
the receiver off the hook?

-I did.

Someone phoned?

-When Monsieur--

-Monsieur?
Monsieur who?

Speak.

-When Monsieur phoned.

What are
you talking about?

From prison?

Monsieur has
telephone 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?

A taxi, Solange, quick,
quick, get me a taxi!

My purse!

Oh, come, don't waste time.

I think you must both be
deranged or I am loosing 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 condemmed 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.

-The judge at midnight?

Do magistrates work so late?

-Oh, yes, sometimes
they work very late hours.

-Late hours?

And how do you know that?

-Oh, I know these things.

I read 'Justice and Detection.'

-Oh, you do?

How curious.

What a strange
little creature you are,

Claire.

Oh, she might hurry!

You won't forget to have the
lining of my furs repaired?

-I will take them 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.

-Oh, that is true.

I don't know where my head is.

I will see them tomorrow.

Claire...

Claire, come here.

Come a little closer.

Claire, you've got makeup on.

You're all rouged up.

-Madame.

-Oh, you can tell me.

Besides, why not?

You have a right.

Lift, my child, lift.

Is it in honor of someone?

Hmm, we have a crush
on someone special,

confess.

-The powder is a little dark.

-That is no
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, let
yourself be attractive.

We all 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 of night.

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.

Perhaps just a cup.

-Oh, I'm over-excited as it is.

-It might calm!

Don't wait up
for us, whatever you do.

We 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 a
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 will bring
some fresh hot water.

Yet how peculiar.

She is taking her time.

You can find a taxi
on any street corner.

And you...

you heavy fool.

Are you beautiful
tonight to deserve him?

No wrinkles, hm?

You've never
separated for so long before.

It seems like 1.000 years.

Now look at me --

how wistful, perhaps gay,

soothing.

Oh, you idiot,
talking to yourself.

Happiness always
makes me lightheaded.

And Solange simply disappears.

And these flowers.

These girls worship me,

but they haven't
dusted the dressing table.

Hm.

Now, 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?

-Oh, 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 deserve
the right to a little lunacy.

And then with the
affair of those letters.

Who could have 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.

If you might
venture, venture, my dear.

I have great confidence in
your opinions on my hair.

-If I might risk a suggestion,
Madame might wear it a little

fluffier on the sides.

-You think so?

-It would make the
face look softer.

-You mean...

like this.

Ah, you're right.

Claire, you are an oracle.

You know, I always thought you
have very good taste and were

meant for something
better than a maid.

-Oh, I'm not complaining.

-No, of course not, but you do
have a rather more sensitive

nature than the others.

Oh, it can't be much fun
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--

Oh,
yes, yes, I'm sure.

Listen, listen, it's
the car, it's here.

-It's so cold outside!

Madame
must have her tea.

Oh, you'll
be 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 doesn't--

Madame is still here.

I'd ran everywhere for a taxi
and no one would come at this

time of night.

Did you get one?

A taxi!

-It's here.
Downstairs, Madame.

-So let's go!

Is it understood?

You both go straight
to bed, and tomorrow,

we'll sleep and sleep forever!

But Madame!

-Oh, take these flowers away.

Have them for your room.

Close the front door
after me but do not latch it.

-Madame!

-Madame is escaping.

Oh, all these flowers.

♪brooding orchestral music♪

-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.

Madame is kind.

On Sundays, we can go to church
with her and kneel on praying

stools next to her pew.

She smothers us in
withered 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'd have done.

-You sneered at me.

How could you let her go?

-Don't crush me.

I 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 that Monsieur was free!

-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 backstreets
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.

Things are against us.

-Ooh, you think
objects bother about you and me?

-That's all 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 reports I read--

-We must go!

Come on, Claire,
quick, run to your things.

We can take a train about
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 allow that.

We're not thieves.

-No.

-That money
would 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 accuse 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 'til 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 kissed the hem of

your garment.

Where are you off to?

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 to
just sit and wait in agony?

She's meeting him.

If they work out where
the letters came from,

they'll be back on us tomorrow,
drunk as a conquering army and

as vicious.

They'll know, hey!

Oh, I hate her.

I hate her.

And you just sit there.

You saw how she
glittered profound joy.

Her happiness
feeds on our shame.

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

Think, it's the
red of our shame!

And you just sit there.

Why don't you howl?

Are you dead?

-What do 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, eh, just tell me.

We've got time now.

We've got all night!

Let's get on with it.

♪suspenseful piano♪

-No, let us
do it in slow motion,

shall we?

-Well, keep the
apron, it's your turn.

-No, not mine.

-It's my turn to be Madame.

-Take the apron--

-Claire!

-I am used to it, here.

You really think I
have too much rouge on?

-Rouge?

There is some.

But Madame is not just
rouged, Madame is made up.

-She--

-She is finished!

This
forced on me again.

I want 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 or--

-Innocent.
-She walked out too quickly.

It's a trap.

Madame suspects something.

-Such as what?

-She is suspicious!

Being what?

So?

We've gone too far, we
are above suspicion.

-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 for her

gloves, her
compact, her handkerchief,

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?

-Claire, you're raving.

-I'm not.

Please wait, we must
wait, it is serious.

If she comes back--

-Will she regret it?

-Solange, you're
growing monstrous.

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.

-Oh, 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.

♪suspenseful music♪

Oh, as you like,

it hardly matters now,

but hurry.

Let's skip all the
opening formalities,

all the preliminaries,
get straight into 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.

Oh, I am quivering, I am
shuddering with delight,

Claire.

♪brooding orchestral music♪

-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 blow,

unfurl and drown me

because I have
never made a secret of it!

I

hate

servants!

-Oh, dear, yes, and vile
species, I hate them.

Servants

do not
belong to the human race.

Servants ooze

a vicous discharge,

flowing along our
corridors into our rooms,

entering into us and into
our mouths to corrupt us.

Well, I vomit you!

-Oh, I know one has to have them

like one has
to have gravediggers

and policeman -- the
beautiful world of petrifaction.

Stop!

I'm high.

My turn.

Madame had her love
song, her dove song,

her milkman, her lovers.

- Solange?
- Shush, quiet.

Her morning milkman, her
pale messenger of dawn,

her charming dawn corellian,

her pale and
ravishing master.

It's all over!

♪suspenseful orchestral music♪

Ready for the ball?

-What are you doing?

-Stopping your flow.

Down on all fours.

All fours!

You were so beautiful --
your precious arms writhing,

your tears, your
petals, heavy pearls,

gowns, your lovely face.

All fours!

And you, amusing dear,

crawl, crawl hideously.

You were going to sail in the
wake of a ship across the seas

to comfort your exiled charmer.

Take a good look at yourself.

-That role is reserved for
the fairest of the fair.

The guards would
snicker and poison,

your lover would
turn pale with shame,

and strong Madame, strong
enough to carry his bag...

♪Oh, Madame!♪

I don't need him!

I don't need your thief to
achieve the ends I have set

myself.

I am myself thief
and slave shadow.

I will learn the load
of the shores of life!

At last!

I will marry.

Erect!

Our end
is to end in beauty!

Solange,
you're killing me!

Mind your movements!

Off the deep end.

I must get out of this.

I'm up to my neck.

-You have a gorgeous neck.

The throat of a queen,
the throat of a dove.

-It's late.

-It's never too late.

Madame is--

-Tipsy with champagne,
Monsieur's return from

Devil's Island.

-She will be here!

Let go of me--

-She is waltzing!

She's twirling!

She is swilling the finest wine!

She is blissful.

-Solange, believe
me, we're in danger,

let's get out of this.

-Go into
the vestry.

-Oh!

-Into the
vestry with you,

you haven't
finished the linoleum!

-Ah!

-Don't cower, it's useless.

Death is present, stalking you.

-I'm here.

I who embroidered my belly
with pins to burst all those

fantasies, I swilled down the
gutter just to save you up,

to keep you alive!

-Solange, Solange,
you're not in your mind!

Mind yourself!

Oh!

Don't howl!

No one in the
world can hear you.

We have crossed
to the other side.

-No one is listening
but no one can hear.

♪suspenseful
brooding music♪

-We'll take
care of you in there.

Claire,
are you really ill?

-For God's sake,

you see, you see,

lean on me.

Oh, there, there.

Better in there, in our
kingdom of withered flowers.

Oh, I have the perfect
way to end all suffering.

♪suspenseful
orchestral music♪

-Madame.

At last,

Madame is dead!

strangled by
the dishwashing gloves.

What?

Please,
Madame, remain seated.

Though 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!

Oh, here am I,

reduced to
wearing mourning for my maid.

After the funeral, all
the domestic help of the

neighborhood paraded to console
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.

Madame needn't
feel sorry for me.

I am Madame's equal.

I walk with my head high, yes,
and Monsieur doesn't know the

half.

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 made our own
every night in secret.

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

The red dress of crime.

Monsieur laughs at me.

Monsieur smiles at me.

Monsieur thinks I am insane.

He obviously thinks maids should
have the good taste not to

strike attitude
reserved for ladies.

Monsieur really
will make allowances.

but he is trying
to compete with me

in grandeur and I have
conquered the most savvy.

I see Madame appreciates
how lonely I must be here.

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.

Mm.

As for me, I have my sister.

Yes, I do, I dare.

There is nothing I dare not do.

And who is there can silence me?

Who is there so bold as
to call me "daughter?"

♪suspenseful music♪

I have served God.

I used the motions
servants use 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 the Merciful,

the one who
strangled her sister.

Be quiet.

Me?

Really?

Madame's too delicate.

Did 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
consciousness 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 shall 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 staircase

escorted by the police.

I'll turn your
balconies to watch her advance

between the hooded
penitence, 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,

like a kiss.

Let me be.

The hangman will have his fun.

She will lead to the procession
of all the maids in the city,

all the servants who followed
Claire to her final rest,

wearing crowns,
coronets, flowers,

banners.

Band them all
while the bell tolls.

The funeral unfolds.

Its pageantry's
beautiful, isn't it?

First come the butlers in grand
liveries without the silk lapels

wearing crows.

Then come the footmen and
flunkies in white stockings and

knee britches wearing coronets.

Then come the valets and
chambermaids in our colors.

Then come the porters, and then
the delegations from Heaven.

And I am leading them!

I am!

The hangman rocks smooth.

I am pale.

I am to die!

And 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.

Only the police understand me.

They too belong to
the world of outcasts,

the world you wouldn't
touch even through your gloves.

♪brooding orchestral music♪

Now, we are Mademoiselle
Solange the Merciful --

La Merciful.

That, the merciful
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, me raving.

-You are
simply talking too much, child,

but patently too much.

The windows, close the windows.

Good, Claire.

-Oh, it is late.

Everyone's asleep.

This is a game of fools.

-Claire, pour me a cup.

-But--

-I said a cup.

-Oh, we're dead tired.

Let us stop.

do not expect to get
out of it so simply.

We are alone in this world.

Nothing exists,

only this altar,

where one of the
two maids will sacrifice.

I've said my tea...

Ah, you have served it
in the most precious,

the richest cup.

-The orchestra is
playing glittering music.

♪suspenseful music♪

The groom
lifts the red velvet curtains

He bows.

Madame goes down the stairs.

Her furs caress the
green potted plants.

She steps into the car.

Monsieur whispers 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 is coming home to
Madame, 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 of them remains except
floating around Madame's corpse,

a delicate perfume of those
saintly maidens which they were

in secret.

We are beautiful,

drunk with joy,

and free.

♪dramatic orchestra music♪