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TWO ENGLlSH GlRLS

Last night l relived our story. Someday l'll write it.

Muriel thinks it might help others.

Mother. . .

Well, Claude?

l was waiting for you.

Can't you introduce yourself?

Mother's spoken of you.

And of you, too.

Do you like Paris?

Yes, l find that Paris is. . .

l like the Parisians.

And the English?

They're less lively, less open,

but logical and imaginative in their way.

You're not shocked by the French?

Not shocked, but surprised.

They lie more than we do,

but once you know the odds, it's fine.

So you've met?

A pity that Claude isn't well enough to show you Paris.

But come see us often.

You two should speak English.

Claude needs the practice.

She raised her veil. claude thought of chaste and pleasing nudity.

He noted in his diary

that she was his age and seemed sensitive, yet sensible.

Their mothers had been childhood friends.

Anne visited Claude often.

They exchanged books and ideas with the ease of old friends.

Anne wanted to be a sculptress.

She "discovered" Rodin, then unknown in England.

Anne spoke of a sister, Muriel, two years younger.

She found a photo of Muriel, aged ten.

Round face, prim mouth, clear brow,

and a shy, untamed look.

"come see her," Anne said, "I'd like to hear you two talk."

You don't need that any more.

Give it to me!

So Claude went to visit the Browns in Wales.

His mother raised no objections.

What's going on?

lt's our neighbour, Mr Flint.

His boat was stolen today.

He refuses to sign a complaint.

He says the thief's need is greater.

Admirable!

A rare attitude around here.

l'll show you the house.

l share this room with Muriel,

and that's our mother's room.

Here's your room.

Very nice.

- l'll help you. - Very pretty.

Unpack, you'll meet Mother later.

You'll see Muriel tonight.

Claude felt Mrs Brown's reserve.

Anne had taIked about him, but Mrs Brown would judge for herself.

Muriel did not join them.

She'd strained her eyes.

They ate almost in silence.

Claude stared at the empty chair.

Muriel's chair.

The next day they took easels and went to the cliff to paint.

What a pity Muriel can't be here!

Dinner's ready.

l'm coming.

Muriel's dining with us,

but don't look at her yet.

Anne's spoken of you.

And about you, too.

Good trip?

Fine. l wasn't even seasick.

"l wasn't even seasick!" You sounded like a little boy.

As a child, Muriel would come from the dentist

and we'd ask if it hurt. She'd say,

"No, and l didn't even cry!"

Dear Mother, I finally met Muriel.

She's smaller than Anne, with red hair.

Her eyes are bandaged.

She lifts one edge to see her plate.

Her voice is low and husky.

It matches her shy, untamed look.

Her hands are soft to look at.

Have Anne and Muriel deserted you?

Anne's working and Muriel was tired,

so l went for a walk.

claude found a book in his room, an anonymous gift.

Eureka by Edgar Allan Poe.

May l see you?

l'll be right there.

l want to talk as we did in Paris.

l don't know how to tell you this. . .

Just say it.

lt seems l brought you here for nothing.

Mother's angry with Muriel, it spoils everything.

l hadn't noticed.

Muriel damaged her eyes working at night for her professor,

on a book, l think.

Mother says she should've asked her,

that she mustn't hide things.

Muriel admits she's at fault,

but says you have to take risks in life,

and shouldn't always have to consult your mother.

The entire household is upset.

And also. . .

She didn't go on.

Claude wanted to take her hand.

He imagined her distant voice saying,

"And aIso, kiss me."

He tried to erase this frivolous thought.

You haven't told me.

How do you like Muriel?

l don't know her yet. When l see her eyes. . .

When you do, everything will change.

"Who muddies my water Who makes so bold?

"Growled the wolf, stern and cold

"You'll be punished for this feat!

"'Sire' the lamb did bleat

"'l pray, Your Majesty, calm your rage

"Consider that l assuage my thirst. . ."'

The three became inseparable.

Claude liked their lack of vanity.

They never spoke ill of anyone.

Muriel now wore dark glasses.

Her expression was still hidden.

She took up tennis again.

She was quick and supple.

Walking home, Anne went ahead, hips swinging.

Mrs Brown had made the girls read

Les Misérables in EngIish.

Anne could quote Verlaine. Muriel, only the Bible.

Claude attacked Muriel on this point. He persisted,

then grew uneasy.

Did l shock you?

On the contrary, l'm grateful.

You talk a lot but we need shaking up.

You help me to think.

l'm slow.

We must go in.

Dear Mother, I've begun to get to know Muriel.

She's not yet as Anne described her,

but she's still recovering.

My adopted sisters call me "The Continent" which sounds wrong.

I prefer their "Bonjour la France!"

They played silly games.

Claude always lost.

He told them

that suicide wasn't a crime in France.

"All France would be in jail, since everyone has tried it."

"Even you?"

"Yes, of course."

He would tell all, after changing places.

l'd rather not be between you,

l'd like to be able to look at both of you.

l was 1 5 when l decided to die.

l locked my bedroom door

and put an alcohol burner under my bed.

l lit it and then lay down, calmly.

l took a razor,

and carefully slit my wrists.

The blood spurted out!

l fainted, and woke up in my mother's bed.

My wrists were bandaged and Mother sat near me.

The doctor was there, very stern.

The bed didn't burn well,

and the cook saw smoke coming from under the door.

Your mother?

Never said a word.

Good for her.

How tall was your building?

Six floors, l think.

Nice funeral pyre.

You were dying for a dream,

but you could've killed

children on the floors above.

l didn't think.

Now how do you like Muriel?

She's perfect in her way.

ls that all?

So my lightning-bolt didn't strike

l'll have to leave you two alone more often.

Here she is. . .

They came back on foot, pushing their bicycles.

They stopped by a river full of torrents.

They decided the tumbling water was Iike Anne,

the eddies like claude, the peaceful pools like Muriel.

He felt at home with them.

He wrote about them in his diary

but watching them was better.

l could go on about them for pages

l'd rather just watch them.

Little by little, Muriel starts to be, as Anne predicted,

in "first place."

They laughed while Claude watched.

Mrs Brown was like a ball being pushed to and fro.

Suddenly he was a pawn in a strange game.

Squeezed between the girls,

he didn't dare breathe.

He'd never even touched their hands.

Now their supple backs

thrust against him.

It was like an indiscretion.

Mrs Brown laughed, he saw she had once been pretty.

". . .and they called this game

"the citron pressé."

"They're superior to the French girls l know.

"They've become my sisters.

"What are they like?

"First, my sister Anne.

"l lend her books l like,

"she doesn't like them, we argue.

"Then she laughs and says she's just an ordinary girl.

"Anne considers Muriel far above her.

"Muriel's no prettier, she's different.

"When we climb the cliffs,

"she's like an Anglo-mountaineer. . ."

Anglo-mountaineer?

". . .swinging her hips vigourously.

"lt could seem provocative,

"but she is so pure.

"Muriel is purity."

He's in love with her.

ln love with whom?

With Mademoiselle Muriel.

ln love with Muriel?

Ridiculous! He loves them both.

Go on !

Coming?

Not today.

- l'd rather not. - l insist you come!

l insist l stay!

Have a nice walk.

Your English won't improve.

You must talk to other English people.

l can only talk to one at a time.

Once there are two,

they get together and ignore me.

l find the English argumentative,

disdainful, insensitive,

and unimaginative.

And you're blunt and over-confident.

You don't know life.

And you do?

For instance love, physical love.

The only love is true love.

Which is physical love.

You talk too much.

A continental gentleman would notice

that his islander audience was tired.

l'm not hungry.

She led him along, as Anne had done.

The same situation, a month Iater.

The sisters were so alike, yet so unlike.

He marvelled that they treated him as a brother.

Muriel stayed in her room for the next two days.

Claude didn't believe she was really ill.

Had he offended her somehow?

He couldn't read, or think of anything else.

He thought of Muriel.

l heard you. You're not sick?

l'm not sick, l just couldn't sleep.

l was thinking of you.

You mustn't think of me.

Why are you angry with me? What have l done?

l'm not angry, l'm afraid.

Afraid?

Whenever l say l'm afraid,

you always ask, "Of what?"

Maybe "afraid" has another meaning in French.

Even when l thought you were angry,

l couldn't criticise you. . .

You must criticise me!

Friends must criticise, not flatter.

Spoil me and you'll spoil everything !

Goodnight, Claude.

Why do you touch me?

Because you come from the earth. l like that.

We must go to sleep now.

We have some questions about. . .

You say it, Anne.

But l don't know what. . .

Yes, you do, remember?

Of course.

How mysterious!

We're curious about scarlet women.

Good Lord !

Well, l'll do my best to answer you.

lt's a recognised profession in France?

lt's under police supervision.

The girls are examined monthly.

How horrible!

There are special houses.

You mean brothels?

You know that word?

We had six near our military camp.

Did you go?

l visited the one considered to be the best.

Officers, civil servants and townsmen used it.

The stairs were screened to preserve privacy.

Good idea.

lnside, it was impeccable,

the girls modestly dressed.

l said l had come to talk.

An attractive woman said,

"Fine, l'll call Madame."

The woman in charge.

A plump, respectable-looking brunette.

She had an anisette with me.

l praised her well-run house.

She thanked me.

l got her going on her work.

She felt part of the community,

as much as the mayor or the colonel,

both of whom were customers.

"We contribute to public health

"and family well-being.

"l don't allow disease or scandal !"

A conscientious woman.

She thought she played a useful role?

Absolutely.

lncredible!

But who are we to condemn her?

One day maybe you can take us.

We want to see for ourselves.

Take you? Yes, maybe. . .

Why not, in fact?

Our education glosses over certain essentials.

For example,

l didn't understand "virgin" until l read GerminaI.

Do you agree?

To choose between two things, you must know both.

l can't choose vice or virtue

knowing only virtue.

Anne thanked him.

"You shake us out of our complacency."

They bicycled back home.

claude liked the back of Muriel's neck,

he could stare at it unseen.

Mother wants you.

After dinner?

You'd better go now.

l have two things to say.

The first is this:

l admire your mother.

She's my friend, she has great character.

Having lost her husband even younger than l did,

she never remarried despite many chances.

The second thing is that

l've heard about a conversation here, late at night.

Luckily, it's thought Anne was there.

Anne tells me she was not there.

l trust my girls and l know you're a gentleman.

They have advanced ideas that l don't share.

The ideas have grown since you came.

They've explained them.

Though l've tried, l can't approve.

These ideas lead to a freedom of behaviour,

which has aroused comment.

From a purely practical standpoint,

a girl must do nothing to arouse comment.

Her reputation will suffer.

l asked Anne how she stood with you.

Had there been any hint

of an inclination

or intentions? She said, "No,"

and l believe her.

l asked her about you and Muriel. She gave the same answer.

She finally said,

"l think Muriel and Claude

"have some feeling for each other,

"but they don't know it yet."

ln my day we knew those things.

Therefore, l must ask you. . .

. . .no. Come with me.

l must ask you to stay with our friend, Mr Flint.

That's his house there.

l also want to say this:

if Anne's prediction comes true,

if one day a stronger feeling grows

between you and Muriel,

and you both deign to recognise it,

l'll not be against it, personally.

Though, l have my doubts about international marriages.

In claude's confusion, one thought stood out.

Muriel might yet fall in love with him.

Eros took possession of Claude's heart.

He was too busy dreaming of her

to mope over not seeing her.

He now had one goal: Muriel.

In his room at Mr FIint's,

Claude couldn't sleep.

He thought, "Anne has pledged me to Muriel."

There must be a reason. This love isn't hopeless, after all.

I Ioved MurieI but I wavered,

thinking she couldn't love me.

What Mrs Brown had done was open a door for Claude.

He must rush in, risking all for Muriel.

Muriel, your stern face,

so relaxed when you smile, is engraved in my heart.

Each day is a milestone.

I see you in our home with our child.

This image absorbs me.

I must earn a living.

That takes precedence over the books I want to write.

Mr Flint's company needs a man

to handle French correspondence.

I'll apply. I'll adopt your country.

I love you, I want you for my wife.

A letter for you.

Muriel's answer?

l'm afraid to open it.

You know what it says?

Claude, you don't know me. I'm a simple girl.

My family is enough for me.

Don't be hurt. Tell yourself,

"She doesn't love me, nor I her."

"We're brother and sister."

I'll never be your wife.

Poor Claude.

lt's my fault.

l started all this.

You're not to blame. Anyway, l must leave.

l don't believe everything Muriel says.

l don't want to give you false hope,

but maybe she doesn't know her own mind.

l admire her letter

l aimed too high

l must lower my sights,

and destroy this love.

You're wrong.

lf l were you, l wouldn't destroy my love.

Muriel can change. Yes.

Come see us tomorrow.

No, l won't come.

You'll come.

Claude, l adore you !

Claude, l want to be honest with you.

When you asked me to marry you,

l found it incredible.

l replied, "No, never."

ls that "never" engraved in your heart?

l must keep you informed, right?

l still say, "No,"

but l withdraw the "never."

l'm like a river that rises and falls.

That's why l can't answer you now.

Then there's hope?

A beginning of hope.

Good.

May l tell my mother?

Yes, if you feel the need.

No, Claude, don't say any more.

Don't add anything.

Mother, I Iove MurieI.

I waited to tell you until there was hope.

I think you'll be pleased. Muriel resembles you.

Mrs Brown distrusts such marriages, but leaves Muriel free.

We await your arrival.

It all happened so suddenly.

l'm not afraid of losing you, l'm worried about you.

How will you live?

And on what?

Like you, Muriel wants me to write.

But l prefer a steady job, perhaps with Mr Flint.

You're not well yet.

l'm sure Muriel has many good qualities.

But for three years she has had to care for her eyes. You told me so!

You were pushed into it.

You wouldn't have thought of it.

When your father died, l raised you.

My monument. l raised you stone by stone.

Claude's mother was firm. She'd never felt physical love.

To Claude, this explained her hostility.

Hoping to reconcile the irreconcilable,

Mr Flint was asked to arbitrate.

We're here to discuss a marriage.

l have heard the pros and cons.

The girl's mother asks that the matter be decided quickly,

one way or another.

The young man's mother thinks their state of health

makes the marriage impossible.

After reflecting on it,

l propose the following:

out of respect for their mothers,

Muriel and Claude will separate for a year.

During that year, they'll take care of themselves conscientiously.

They'll neither see nor write each other.

What we ask of them is a sacrifice.

But if, after a year, they wish to marry,

or resume their friendship,

neither Claude's mother,

nor Muriel's, will stand in their way.

Claude's mother knew a lot could happen in a year.

The youngsters found it inhuman, they longed to be together.

lt won't be difficult, if we're brave.

Claude, look at me.

l have an idea.

Let's both keep diaries to send each other.

What if one of us had died?

God be with us!

I just took Communion for Claude.

I don't know what it means, but it was for him.

If I wanted to get pregnant, I wouldn't know how.

If Claude still loves me in a year,

I'll say to him,

"I'm yours, do with me as you will."

If he were a pirate and abducted me,

I'd go willingly.

Claude thought, "My last summer with Mother before I marry Muriel."

He was overly attentive playing the role of "good son."

Like David Copperfield, he'd never known his father.

His mother told him of their courtship.

His mother died.

The day after the funeral, he asked my mother for my hand.

Then he came to me.

l said, "Wasn't it arranged?"

He said, "That's true."

He courted me, not with flowers but with beautiful books.

We married very quickly.

He was 31 and l was 23.

We lived near the Luxembourg Gardens.

Then l was expecting you.

On Sundays, tired by my pregnancy,

l wanted to sit in the park.

Pierre would say,

"Let's visit the Louvre so our son will love art."

We'd hire a carriage and go.

A collector had asked Claude

to select some paintings for him.

A modern art exhibit was opening in London.

He resolved to go without his mother.

She was worried about him seeing Muriel.

You won't try to see her?

No, Mother, a promise is a promise.

Muriel ! Come back!

Claude, l was told you were in England.

Were you in our town?

On our street?

l'm afraid to meet you,

yet my eyes seek you.

My friend Claude, do l love you?

Not at all !

lf we met, l would say,

"You're no husband for me."

You've never courted me.

You forced me to fall in love with you.

That's all. Goodbye, Claude.

l don't love you.

On his return, claude's mother said he should manage their property.

He took charge of the three buildings inherited from his father.

A nice view. . .

Yes. lt's a bit dirty, but it could be fixed up.

lt'd be a charming place.

Perfect for a bachelor.

In one of the buildings a garret flat was free.

He decided to move in.

An article about woman painters brought Claude a thank-you note.

He visited the sender. Her studio was unusual.

You know we almost met before,

at Massoulier's on Friday.

Yes, l was there.

l came at midnight. You'd just left!

Like Cinderella.

Doesn't that bowl you over?

Pretty, aren't they?

Want to see all of me?

lt's very. . .

No compliments are necessary.

Come, l've work to do.

We could meet somewhere quieter sometime.

Fine, gladly.

Why not tonight?

Tonight? Yes!

Why put off today's follies until tomorrow?

See you tonight.

As you were before, girls.

Don't forget to raise your head.

That way, your hat. . .

Perfect! You're lovely.

This is Monique de Monferrand.

My mother.

See you on Friday?

No! Georges will be back. l'll write.

Let's hear your criticism.

No criticism. On the contrary,

l'm surprised the place can look so good.

Lovely. . .

Quite lovely.

You're writing to Muriel?

Yes and no. . .

That is. . .

Here, read it.

You win. lt only took six months.

Go on, read it.

"Dear Muriel, l must live my life alone.

"l won't get to England for a while.

"l'll travel in Europe, see painters,

"write about them, do translations. . .

"l must live without wife or child.

"This should relieve you.

"l have woman friends

"but l shall not marry.

"l can live without my sisters but they won't be forgotten or replaced.

"We'll write each other sometimes,

"but for your sake, we must say farewell.

"Your brother, Claude."

But don't ask me to be your sister!

"Woman friends!"

Dear claude,

We change places, as in musical chairs.

You no longer want me to love you.

If you came, you'd see how much I'd love you.

So would Anne and Mother.

They would try to influence you.

If you came, my love would reawaken yours.

You mustn't come.

Had you opened your arms, as one day you will to another,

I would have run to you, trembling.

It is not to be.

Never think that you have hurt me.

It is enough that once you loved me.

I collapsed on my bed, crying and calling you.

She didn't send it, nor the others she wrote later.

Did he suffer when he destroyed our love?

Do men often lead women to want them,

then say, "No, thank you"?

"l am your sister."

I still have prayer.

Claude, I pray for your purity.

Your ideas about women will change.

If you love another, it will be all right.

Love doesn't complicate life,

but the uncertainty of love.

I am without hope.

I only know I must hold on. It's vital.

I must hold on!

Life is made up of pieces that don't fit.

l want all of Claude, or nothing.

lf it's no, let it be like death.

lt's Muriel's answer.

Read it, l want your opinion.

"Dear Claude, l'm glad you wrote me,

"thus ending a misunderstanding and a false situation.

"lt's best to renounce the marriage immediately.

"Anne and l will always be your friends.

"The garden is superb.

"We're going to London to see the new plays.

"Regards from my mother. Your sister, Muriel."

An excellent letter.

l knew she was a sensible girl.

Are you reassured? Happy?

You're not happy?

Yes. . .

You took this on deposit?

The two of them.

But this one's going back to the gallery.

Time passed...

claude had not become an author, but he wrote articles about art.

His mother condoned his affairs.

Many women were less threatening than one.

He forgot his "sisters."

In Wales, Muriel slowly recovered.

At times she went to bed saying,

"Today I didn't think about Claude."

Did you know Anne Brown was in Paris?

Her mother wrote me.

You didn't tell me.

lt was part of our agreement.

But it's Anne, not Muriel.

lt's the same thing.

l'll write her a note.

lnstead of writing, go talk to her.

What about you?

l'll go exchange these books.

l'll see you tomorrow.

You're not angry?

No, l'm not.

Till tomorrow.

Been back in Paris long?

Since January.

That's when l arrived !

How about me? Have l changed?

You seem serious, but you look fine.

Don't you want news of someone?

Yes. . . How is she?

She's been sick, her eyes.

But she's suffered more from other things.

l understand.

And now?

She's better. She works with children.

She teaches Sunday school.

Actually, l can't tell you much about her.

She no longer confides in me and l'm sorry.

Two words are never spoken in our house.

The words "Claude" and "Paris."

Anne was becoming a sculptress.

She had a studio in Paris.

She now felt sure Muriel and Claude would never get together.

Yet they'd come so close.

No longer in Muriel's shadow,

Anne was the girl that he'd first met.

She was there for herself and he liked that.

They often went to look at Rodin's Balzac.

The artist was commissioned to buiId the statue,

but it was later indignantly rejected.

Claude often went to Anne's studio.

He encouraged her, gave her confidence in her work.

Claude found Anne especially pretty today.

He sensed her heart beating like his.

Muriel was no longer a barrier.

He had a mad idea: caress her breast.

Why not try?

Would she be shocked, or slap him?

No, Claude, wait. . .

Listen to me.

She moved away from him to explain.

Someone had always overshadowed her, dazzIed her, siIenced her.

It was Muriel.

Anne had introduced Claude to Muriel

for pleasure, to see them match wits.

Picturing them married, she'd stepped aside.

Virtuous? No, reaIistic.

Were you jealous of her?

Sometimes, but not for long.

When you played tennis together,

you were a real couple.

And we failed.

No man had touched Anne, she'd be his.

He'd be the first, but not here, not in Paris.

They'd go away.

Claude borrowed an island cabin on a Swiss lake.

They'd go there for a week. They'd try, draw closer.

They were more resolute than in love.

They arrived at the cabin and made a plan that could be summed up in a one sentence.

"We'll live now and worry about labels later."

Tomorrow we must buy matches.

A hot meal would be nice.

Wait, just for a moment.

The first night, Anne pulled away.

She put up a blanket as a curtain.

Claude was to undress on his own side.

The island is pretty, isn't it?

l'm sure the old lady would sell it.

l wonder how much she'd want.

Are you in bed?

May l come?

You're not answering.

Are you asleep?

lt's very nice.

Tell me, Anne. . .

Haven't you ever wanted a man?

There was one last summer, much too handsome.

His face was too symmetrical.

l dreamed about him,

l dreamed he kissed me there.

l knew it, l was sure!

You have great curiosity about men,

almost a divine curiosity.

lt will lead you to have many lovers.

Think so?

l don't know,

l only care about my work.

l'll make statues, not babies.

The second night: more kisses.

ls the word "copain" vulgar in French?

No, just colloquial.

lt means "friend," but warmer and more intimate.

l'm your "copain" then?

Sometimes, but we're more than that.

"Copains" don't kiss on the lips with hearts racing.

l'm tired of being a virgin, but l'm afraid.

Afraid?

lf you're afraid, we'll wait.

You're not angry?

l'm glad we have time.

Nothing to say?

l'm listening to you,

watching you.

l'm glad you're here.

The third night, Anne seemed very busy.

What are you doing?

l've decided.

No curtain tonight.

No blouse.

No skirt.

Anne, what is that?

Her underclothes were impossible.

Fashioned with a knife, red flannel, military-looking.

She removed them simply and came to him nude.

Now, Claude.

l'm ready now.

Are you sure?

l'm sure.

Not afraid any more?

lt had to be. . .

l'm happy.

Because you wanted to.

But it's not yet us.

lt was as if you were alone.

The week ended. Claude wanted to stay on.

Anne refused saying, "Now I see life differently."

"I can learn the rest alone but I've only you, for love."

She was going home to England, claude to Paris, alone.

Anne gave him one last nod of farewell.

They were free and it was good.

Monsieur Claude, your mail.

Thank you.

Are you staying here now?

For a while.

Dear Claude, I came home yesterday.

This is some wallpaper from our room.

Mother and Muriel are in bed.

I cried.

You're more real than my sculpture.

I felt you kissing me yesterday...

Wednesday afternoon at 4:00.

Were you thinking of me then?

When I look in the mirror I wish I'd given you more.

Muriel knows I see you, that's all.

l know you have other women but l'm not jealous.

Three months Iater, Anne was back in Paris.

On the stairs he already wanted her profoundly.

She'd changed. The half-tomboy aspect was gone.

She was a woman.

Have you had breakfast?

No, l thought l'd have it with you.

But l've nothing here.

Their eyes met. Hers were now daring.

Their love-making was new for them both.

Anne now knew how to use her body.

How strange!

What?

To love someone so much.

He realised it was three years ago that he had first desired her.

You're my breakfast.

Claude, l'm too happy.

l should have other lovers.

l'll let you do the same.

Love me as much as you can.

Happiness can't be told, but it wears down, unnoticed.

In public, Claude rediscovered Anne.

She dressed better, smarter.

They'd just made love, yet she looked so virginal.

Anne accepted Claude's ideas on free love.

He couId have other affairs, but she refused,

rejecting all offers.

Diurka, a brawny Slav, spotted Anne. He published art books.

Handsome, in a way. He had youthful eyes.

He Iiked her, he wanted her.

Claude thought,

"If she Iikes him, she's free."

l don't understand you completely, but l'm guessing.

Claude saw what Anne meant when she'd said,

"I'm always a success just after."

Claude let the day go by, the night.

Next morning...

Claude, l must talk to you.

Come with me.

l'm listening.

You already know.

Diurka.

He was here when l knocked.

Do you love him?

l don't know yet.

Does he love you?

He came to see me. He looked at my work,

made perceptive comments.

He didn't leave.

Since this morning, we. . .

Does it bother you?

Are you hurt?

l thought you. . .

True, but it's still a shock.

Anyway, l approve, you're right.

Diurka says he's been alone for a year.

l didn't want to, l don't love him yet.

Then he wanted to. . .

Diurka's a fine person.

You think so, too?

He wants to take me to Persia with him.

l think l'll say no.

Persia is magnificent.

Anne, only your desires matter.

You just met Diurka, go with him.

l think you two need time alone,

l shouldn't see you.

Yes, you should !

So Anne had two regular lovers.

They both knew, Anne didn't hide it.

The Iovers suffered, Anne thrived.

Before Persia, their farewell lasted all night.

Dear Claude, you'd love Persia!

You were my life.

I only missed you in one way, I won't say which.

Your Ietter said,

"Don't be afraid to love." I obeyed.

My uncle used to tell my aunt not to fear being seasick. She often was.

I'm home with Muriel.

I'll be in Paris in three months. Anne.

Claude recognised Muriel's writing.

He was afraid she'd returned his letters.

Instead it was part of her diary,

probably the most intimate confession that he would ever read.

Dear Claude, we'll never meet again,

and surely that's best.

But you mustn't believe I'm pure.

I've something terrible to tell you.

Read my confession, you'll see that we're even.

l've learnt from a leaflet

that, since childhood, l've had "nasty habits."

l've weakened my body and brain. l've abused myself.

Now l know that l'm no longer a pure woman.

lt's my duty to confess this to you.

No shame will stop me, l am what l am.

lf you thought of me as unsullied, you were wrong.

I was eight.

A girl, Clarisse, was first in class. I was second.

She looked like a mischievous angel. I was told to be like her.

Her family spent a week with us.

Clarisse slept with me

in place of Anne, who was away.

In bed, she stripped and said I should, too.

Then she embraced me.

I was devoted to her.

Two little girls caressed all night,

one knowing, one docile.

She taught me to touch certain parts of my body, one especially.

She convinced me not to talk about our secret.

After she left, l sometimes did it alone.

l didn't understand that part of me.

l only knew it was private and mustn't be seen.

lt wasn't to be mentioned.

The habit would leave me alone, then come back.

l'd give into it, angry, unable to stop.

One sultry Sunday when I was 17,

I was lying in a field gazing at the sky.

l gave in again, driven by an unknown force.

Sometimes l thought of it

as a way to get to sleep and to warm my cold feet.

But l hated being a slave to it.

I fought it, twisting my hands,

face buried, pleading with God.

If I couldn't go to sleep,

or think of something else,

I gave in, then forbade myself from praying.

Here's a copy of a letter from America.

lt has helped me.

"My dear young friend,

"Your appeal has aroused my sympathy.

"I perfectly understand your plight and feel no repugnance.

"On the contrary, I admire your frankness.

"lf you give way, tell yourself

"that it wasn't you.

"You despise this act

"Then jump out of bed

"and take a cold bath.

"Don't waste time in self-reproach.

"Lead an active life, help others.

"You learnt this habit despite yourself. lt will cease.

"Best wishes."

Muriel's confession aroused more curiosity than emotion.

Claude thought it was marketable.

He wanted to publish it anonymously, as a limited edition.

Muriel refused, not saying how he'd hurt her.

"l've abused myself.

"Now l know that.

"l'm no longer a pure woman.

"lt's my duty to confess this to you.

"No shame will stop me.

"l am what l am.

"lf you thought of me as unsullied,

"now you know you were wrong."

lt's all that's left?

Your properties cost more than they bring in.

Repairs on the rue de Bagnolet place

wipe out the income from the others.

What do you advise?

Sell that one, and keep the two others.

l may have a buyer.

l must ask my mother.

Go ahead, but quickly.

Buyers don't grow on trees.

l'll wait.

l'm sorry to tire you, Mother.

lt's dark in here, light the gas.

The lawyer says to sell Rue de Bagnolet.

What do you think?

Whatever you do will be right.

Claude was alone. He had lost the most demanding of all his women.

He was free to live his own life.

How would he use his freedom?

Anne came back more mature, prettier.

She jumped into his arms. Their love-making was restrained.

Don't look at me.

What's this new modesty?

l've seen you naked so often.

l'll turn around.

But remember Eurydice!

lf our eyes meet, you'll die.

What did you say?

Eurydice, the wife of Orpheus.

Anne was meant to love only one man.

But if that man wasn't claude,

she'd go against her instinct.

l haven't been honest.

There's something l haven't told you.

l didn't come to Paris alone.

Diurka?

No, Diurka was Persia.

That's finished.

l brought Muriel with me.

She's in Paris. Do you want to see her?

l don't know. . .

l want to see her if she wants it.

She wants it.

She's afraid she means nothing to you.

She wants to see you before leaving.

Does she know about us?

No, nothing at all.

But she must be told.

You're right, but not yet.

No, not yet,

but it must be done.

She'll be at my studio tonight.

Four years? Only yesterday!

Muriel held her hand out stiffly as she had the first time they met.

She could only remove her glasses once the curtains cut off the light.

l've heard nothing from you in ages.

Nothing that counts.

You didn't write, either.

l couldn't.

After you left, l lost the normal use of my eyes.

Anne was away.

My left eye gave out first and l nearly lost them both.

l spent three months in total darkness.

At that time l thanked God for not giving you a blind wife.

And now?

l'm getting better.

l came here.

l was afraid, but l wanted to.

Muriel's virtue frightened Claude.

He thought of her as unapproachable.

He couldn't touch her as he had Anne.

He felt insincere, yet he was deeply moved.

The surprise came from Muriel.

l loved you so much.

l lived for you, Muriel.

l knew joy and pain.

You're leaving?

You won't stay with me?

l can't. . .

l wanted to see you again, but. . .

l didn't expect to be so affected.

l don't know what l think or want.

- l'll see you again. - Are you sure?

l must leave now.

l must leave, Muriel !

l found you at last!

Here's a letter from Muriel.

l know she's still in love with you.

She says she loves me.

She wants to go away with me.

You must accept, l know you love her, too.

Yes, l love her.

As much as l did before.

You must talk to her first.

You must tell her everything.

Yes.

Once again, Muriel had revealed

the strength of her suppressed love.

Anne took her home like an invalid.

Muriel wrote Claude a farewell letter.

Anne told me everything, she wasn't afraid to hurt me.

l was horrified, now l'm calm.

l know Anne loves you and always will.

She loved you first,

but silently renounced you for my sake.

My selfishness made me blind.

She brought you to me, almost had us engaged.

lf a woman like Anne or me gives herself, she's married.

Do you want two wives who are sisters?

Anne and l love the same man. lt's tragic but not unusual.

l'll probably always think about you.

But part of me has withdrawn from you.

l leave for England in an hour.

Forgive me for our kiss.

For the first time, claude suffered

as he had made so many others suffer.

He was sunk in despair.

Locked in darkness for days, he questioned his very identity.

Waiting for sleep, he'd repeat, "I am nothing, I understand nothing."

Slowly he healed himself by writing a book.

Jerome and Julien was about a woman who loved two men.

It was his story, transposed his love for the two sisters.

By chance, Diurka published the book.

claude was cool to him, at first. Then he got to know and like him.

How do you feel about it?

Mostly relieved.

Writing it, l was unhappy.

l was miserable, because it stirred up memories.

Now l feel better, as if the characters had suffered for me.

l understand.

l liked your book very much.

lt stirred up memories for me, too.

Now l can tell you, l didn't like you.

You got on my nerves, too.

Anne had only praise for you.

That didn't help any!

Have you seen her?

l wanted to. . .

l heard she was engaged to a mountain-climber.

She must be married now.

No, she broke her engagement.

Why?

l only know it's off, l don't know why.

Still think about her?

Love stories should be complete,

with a beginning, middle and end.

So our affair with Anne is probably over.

Still, l wonder why she didn't marry him.

l know a good way to find out.

Go and ask her.

Filled with hope, Diurka went to Wales.

After Persia, he'd let Anne go.

He'd been unable to show his love.

Now he'd convince her they could start again.

He'd persuade her to come away with him.

He'd ask Mrs Brown for Anne's hand.

You remember me?

l came to see Anne.

Then you accept?

l have your word?

May l get Muriel?

l spoke to her. She accepts now.

Thank you !

That was why she broke her engagement.

She knew she had tuberculosis.

She was superb, she never told her fiancé.

She let him think she'd changed her mind,

that she was capricious.

l arrived on a Sunday. Muriel was teaching in the garden.

She explained everything.

l saw Anne right away,

l persuaded her to see a doctor.

She died that afternoon, before he arrived.

But why wouldn't she see a doctor?

She thought it wasn't serious?

l don't think so. She knew she was dying.

Maybe it was pride, or heroism.

Before she died, she said a beautiful but terrible thing.

"My mouth is full of earth."

How did Muriel take it?

Muriel is like those old women who can't cry over death any more.

l've had news of Muriel. . .

From whom?

l've had news.

She may go to Brussels to teach English.

She lands at Calais in two days.

Calais?

Muriel, this is my room.

Shall we meet downstairs in half an hour?

Fine.

This way, Madame.

Claude finally held Muriel, after seven years!

He made his intentions cIear, she could have run away.

She didn't run away, she was ready.

She was 30 years old, she looked 20.

She was new and fresh, like snow in his hands.

He persisted, expecting her to resist.

She did not resist. She fought for the same goal.

He forced her mouth open.

She wanted it, despite her fear.

An unknown magnet thrust them together.

The ribbon burst, less easily than Anne's.

There was no tenderness.

Claude's aim was to make a woman of Muriel.

It was done.

Red stained her gold.

What are you doing?

l'm leaving.

Why?

Come here.

Dearest Claude. . .

l came to see you to bury this thing.

l'm glad you were the first,

because it's you, because you wanted it.

l shan't cry.

Listen to me as you once did

when l told you love was stirring in me.

Now l tell you that it must die.

So that l may live.

We needn't separate.

l took a long time, but now you're my wife.

lt's the first time l've felt so sure,

the very first time.

We made love, you may be pregnant.

We'll go to Brittany, and wait for the baby. By the sea.

l was meant to be a mother and l will be.

But there's no room for me in your life.

Our love is a dead end, but it's not shameful.

lt mustn't be a dead end !

l'm asking you to be my wife.

You never were and never will be a husband.

l'll add this:

my act was morally very serious, but it was my decision.

We're from different tribes,

we learnt different customs.

l'm a puritan in love.

You love me because you're a bit crazy.

Please listen to me.

lt's all true, but l'm another person now.

Thanks to you.

You're not my Claude any more, and it's too late to change.

Your value is in your work, not in your children.

You were my centre, and now l must lose you.

We love a person for what he is. We don't try to change him.

lf we succeeded, he'd no longer be himself.

You taught me love last night.

Your kisses made me dizzy. l still hold you.

l can live without eyes or legs, l can live without you.

l no longer fear life without you.

Your ideas sway me when l'm with you.

Afterward, they shatter against my religion.

l'm not sad for you, you don't need me.

God protect you.

Claude saw Muriel off.

They had half an hour before her train.

Muriel seemed happy and confident.

She left and he was alone.

Between them was a dead girl they never named.

Only a birth could banish the ghost, by creating a different trio.

"Dear Claude, we knew it might happen.

"And it did. I'm expecting your child.

"Praise God, you're alive in me.

"The paper is your flesh, the ink, my blood.

"I press to make it enter."

Then she wrote again...

This letter bears bad news.

I'm not pregnant after all, I found out yesterday.

It was simply my deep desire to be.

We shan't meet again, however much I want to.

We couldn't surpass our night in Calais.

We recognise happiness only afterwards.

Fifteen years have passed.

Muriel is married to a schoolteacher.

They have a daughter.

Mrs Brown is dead, the house soId.

Letters to the Browns are returned.

Fifteen years...

France is full of corpses and shrapnel.

Millions have died, few remember why.

Fifteen years...

Claude visits the Rodin Museum.

The statue of Balzac is now acclaimed.

Claude hears English voices, schoolgirls, visiting France.

He remembers Muriel's photo at ten, and looks for some resemblance.

Could her daughter be there?

This one?

That one?

Or the redhead?

Claude looks at them.

He couId ask,

"Is one of you Muriel Brown's daughter?"

No. What's the use?

Are you free?

l have a fare.

What's wrong with me today? l look old !