All language subtitles for Resnais, Alain - (19ench - Sep

LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD

...as if the floor were still
sand and gravel, or stone slabs...

over which I advanced
once again...

through the corridors,
salons, galleries...

the structure of this mournful
mansion from another age...

this huge and luxurious mansion...

...silent rooms,
where footsteps are absorbed...

by carpets so heavy, so thick...

that one hears no step...

as if the very ear of him
who advances once again...

...transverse corridors
leading to deserted salons...

encrusted with the ornamentation
of another age...

silent rooms,
where footsteps are absorbed...

by carpets so heavy, so thick...

that one hears no step,
as if the very ear...

...stone slabs, over which
I advanced once again...

through the corridors,
salons, galleries...

the structure of this mournful
mansion from another age...

this huge and luxurious mansion...

where corridors without end
follow upon corridors...

silent, deserted...

encrusted with cold,
heavy ornamentation...

paneling, stucco,
moldings, marble...

black mirrors,
shadowy paintings, pillars...

...sculptured portals,
ranks of doors, galleries...

transverse corridors
leading to deserted salons...

encrusted with the ornamentation
of another age...

silent rooms,
where footsteps are absorbed...

by carpets so heavy, so thick...

that one hears no step...

as if the very ear were far away...

far away from this numb,
barren decor...

far from this elaborate frieze
beneath the cornice...

with its branches and garlands...

like dead leaves...

as if the floor were still
sand and gravel, or stone slabs...

over which I advanced
once again...

as though to meet you...

between richly paneled walls...

stucco, moldings, paintings...

framed prints
amidst which I advanced...

among which I found myself
already...

waiting for you...

very far from the setting
I stand in now...

before you, waiting again...

for one who will not come again...

who will no longer
keep us apart...

tear you from me.

We must wait a few minutes,
a few seconds--

A few more seconds,
as though you were still hesitant...

to separate from him,
from yourself...

as though his fading image
might reappear...

in this same place
where you imagined it...

fearfully or hopefully...

such was your fear
of losing this link--

No, this hope
is now pointless.

Gone now this fear of losing
such a link, a prison, a lie.

This story is already over.

A few seconds more,
it has become frozen--

Forever, a past of marble...

like this garden
carved in stone...

this mansion,
its rooms deserted now...

these still, silent,
perhaps long-dead people...

still guarding
the web of corridors...

along which I advanced
to meet you...

between hedgerows of faces,
masklike...

watchful, indifferent...

towards you
as you still hesitate, perhaps...

gazing at the entrance
to this garden.

There.

Now...

I am yours.

It must have been
in 1928 or 1929--

Really...
it's unbelievable.

I think we already met.

It has nothing to do with it.

And the fact that if he or she
did anything...

that may seem--

The weather was awful
for months.

We couldn't get out,
when suddenly--

Did you see it yourself?

No, a friend told me.

If a friend told you--

Don't be so concerned
about what others are thinking.

You said you would listen
to no one but me.

Listen then, I can no longer
stand this role.

This silence, these walls...

these whisperings
you condemn me to--

Don't raise your voice so.

These whisperings, worse than
silence, you condemn me to.

These days, worse than death,
we live through side by side...

like two coffins
buried together...

in a petrified garden.

A comforting, ordered garden,
neatly trimmed...

with formal paths
which we pace together...

side by side, day after day...

maintaining our distance
without ever--

Quite incredible!

I think it must have been
in '28...

'28 or '29--

It froze for a week
in the summer of 1929--

A very beautiful woman.

Too fanciful.

Enough of these walls,
whisperings...

pacing these corridors,
maintaining our distance...

yet these fingers
were meant to entwine...

these mouths...

Fingers meant to entwine,
eyes meant to see you...

but forced to turn
to these walls of another age...

paneling, cut-glass mirrors...

old-fashioned paintings...

stucco, trompe l'oeil capitals...

false doors, false columns...

false perspectives.

It wasn't really
so extraordinary.

He initiated it,
having worked out...

all the possibilities.

Downy wings, like a swan's.

-Been here long?
-No, but I've been here before.

-Do you like the place?
-Not particularly.

It just so happens that
we always end up here.

My father, you see--

A shoe with a broken heel--

No means of escape?

No means of escape.

Don't you know the story?

It was all the gossip last year.

Frank said her father
had asked him...

to keep an eye on her.

A funny sort of eye,
as she discovered...

when he tried to enter her room
on the pretext that...

he wanted to explain
the painting.

The fact of having
a German passport proves nothing.

His presence here, old man,
has no connection.

I suggest we play
another game.

I know a game I always win.

If you can't lose,
it's no game.

I can lose, but I always win.

Let's try it.

Two people play.
The cards are laid out like this.

Seven.

Five.

Three.

One.

Each player can pick up
as many cards as he likes...

but only from one row
each time.

The player who picks up
the last card is the loser.

Will you start?

You are still the same...

as though I left you
only yesterday.

What has become of you
all this time?

Nothing, since I am
still the same.

Not married?

-Why not?
-I value my freedom.

-Why not here?
-It's a funny place.

-To be free, you mean?
-Yes, especially that.

You're still the same.

You're still the same.

But you hardly seem
to remember.

Yet you know
these baroque ornaments...

this stucco hand,
holding grapes...

behind it, foliage...

as though from a garden
awaiting us.

Have you never noticed this?

I've never had
such a good guide before.

You know the saying:
from stem to stern.

There are many other things
to see, if you wish.

I'd love to.

-Are there so many secrets here?
-Legions.

How mysterious you seem.

Why do you look at me
like that?

You hardly seem
to remember me.

I first saw you
in the gardens of Frederiksbad.

You stood apart
from the others...

by a stone balustrade...

on which your hand rested,
your arm half-extended.

You were looking
towards the broadwalk.

You didn't see me approach.

Then you became aware
of my footsteps on the gravel...

and you turned your head.

I don't think it was me.
You're mistaken.

Remember.

We were near some stone figures
on a plinth...

a man and a woman,
in classical style...

whose suspended gestures
seemed to hold some significance.

You asked me who they were.

I answered that I didn't know.

You began to guess,
and I said...

it could as well be
you and I.

Then you began to laugh.

I love-- I loved then--

to hear you laugh.

The other people
had drawn nearer.

Someone identified the statue.

Mythological characters,
gods or heroes of ancient Greece.

Or perhaps it was an allegory
or something like that.

You were no longer listening.
You seemed to be far away.

Once more your eyes
were grave, vacant.

You turned aside to gaze down
the broadwalk again.

Once again we were separated.

It's impossible!

Let's go for a walk.

Frank hasn't arrived yet.

You know the saying:
from stem to stern.

What if you play first?

Once again I advanced...

alone, along these
same corridors...

through the same deserted
rooms...

past the same colonnades...

the same
windowless galleries...

across the same thresholds...

taking this route
in the labyrinth as if by chance...

and once again...

everything was deserted
in this immense hotel...

empty salons, corridors...

salons, doors...

doors, salons...

empty chairs,
deep armchairs...

stairs, steps...

steps, one after another...

glass objects, empty glasses...

a dropped glass,
a glass partition...

letters, a lost letter...

keys hanging from their rings...

numbered door keys:

309, 307, 305, 303...

chandeliers, chandeliers,

pearls, mirrors...

corridors with not a soul
in sight.

And the garden,
like all else, was deserted.

It was last year.
Have I changed so much, then?

Or are you pretending
not to recognize me?

A year already, perhaps more.

You, at least,
are still the same.

You have still
the same dreamy eyes...

the same smile...

the same sudden laugh...

the same brusque
arm movement...

the same way of resting
your hand on your shoulder...

and you still use
the same perfume.

Remember...

the gardens
of Frederiksbad.

You were alone, apart...

almost leaning
against a stone balustrade...

on which your hand rested,
your arm half-extended.

You were looking
towards the broadwalk.

I approached you.

But I stopped short
and looked at you.

You turned towards me now.

Yet you didn't seem
to see me.

I looked at you,
yet you made no sign.

�You seem so alive,� I said.

You merely smiled in reply.

To make conversation,
I spoke about the statue.

I said the man wanted to stop
the young woman.

He had noticed something,
a danger...

and he raised his arm
to stop her.

You replied that it was
the woman who had seen something.

Something marvelous,
which she was pointing out.

Both our theories
could be right.

Having left their home,
they have journeyed for days.

They have come
to the top of a cliff.

He stops her going
too near the edge...

while she points to the sea
stretching to the horizon.

Then you asked me their names.

I said their names didn't matter.

You disagreed
and proceeded to name them...

at random, I think.

Then I said they could as well
be you and I...

or anyone.

Don't name them.
They could mean so many things.

You're forgetting the dog.
Why do they have a dog?

It's not theirs. It's a stray.

It's so close
to its mistress, though.

She's not its mistress.

It's close
because the plinth is small.

They're the same people
in that statue, without the dog.

They're facing each other.

She extends her hand
to his lips...

but from close up you'll see
she's not looking at him.

I don't want to go there.
It's too far.

Come with me, please.

Please.

I tell you it's impossible.

I've never been
to Frederiksbad.

Well, perhaps it was
somewhere else:

Karlstadt, Marienbad,
or Baden-Salsa...

or even here, in this salon.

You have followed me here
so that I can show you this.

You can see the man...

and the young woman's
gesture...

but you would have to be
on the other side...

to see that he is stopping her.

He has noticed something,
a danger...

and he has raised
his arm to stop her.

Allow me.
I can explain the statue.

It represents Charles III
and his wife...

but it isn't contemporary,
of course.

It is the oath before the Diet,
at the treason trial.

The classical costume
is simply a convention.

You were waiting for me.

Why should I wait for you?

I have myself waited
a long time for you.

In your dreams?

And you are trying to escape
once more.

What do you mean?

I don't understand
a thing you say.

If they were dreams...

why should you be afraid?

Very well, tell me the rest
of our story.

We met again in the afternoon
of that day.

By accident, of course!

I don't know.

And where did we meet
this time?

Where? That doesn't matter.

You were with a group
of acquaintances.

People I hardly knew;
perhaps you hardly knew them.

They discussed some topic
I knew nothing about.

You knew more about it than I,
probably.

I watched you.

Your animated conversation
struck me as false.

It was as though none of them
knew who you were...

as if only I knew.

And you didn't know, either.

You constantly avoided my eyes.

Obviously you were doing it
deliberately.

I waited. I had plenty of time.

I have always thought
I had time.

Your glance passed over me
as though I didn't exist.

To force you to notice me,
at last I said something.

A slightly outrageous contribution
to the discussion...

that would turn all eyes
toward me.

I forget what it was.

It was you who answered me,
in the sudden silence...

greeting my implausible remark
with irony.

All the others remained silent.

Again I felt that no one
understood your words.

Perhaps I was the only one
who even heard them.

To break the silence, someone
spoke of the entertainment...

arranged for that evening,
or the next day, or the next.

I forget what we said
afterwards.

You were not fond
of walking in the park.

Your town shoes
were not suitable for the gravel.

Once-- maybe it was later--

you even broke a high heel.

You had taken my arm
while you removed the shoe.

The heel was hanging on
by a mere shred of leather.

You stood poised,
looking at it...

the tip of your toe placed
before your other foot...

like a dancer at the barre.

You wouldn't let me fetch you
another pair of shoes.

So I said I might carry you back
in my arms.

You merely laughed,
without replying, as if--

You must have walked back,
carrying your shoes.

I met you again.

You never seemed to be
waiting for me...

but we kept meeting
each other...

at each turn, each bush...

beneath each statue...

beside each lake.

It was as if no one had been
in that garden...

but you and I.

We talked casually...

about the names of statues,
the shape of bushes...

the ornamental lakes.

Or else we didn't
speak at all.

At night, especially...

you preferred not to talk.

One night I came to your room.

Always there were walls,
everywhere around me.

Smooth, sleek, varnished,
unbroken walls.

And the silence.

I never heard anyone
raise his voice in this place.

No one.

Conversation flowed in a void
apparently meaningless...

or, at any rate, not meant
to mean anything.

A phrase hung in midair,
as though frozen...

though doubtless
taken up again later.

No matter.

The same conversations
were always repeated...

by the same colorless voices.

The servants were mute.

Games were played in silence,
of course.

It was a place for rest.

Business was not discussed.

No plans were hatched.

No one mentioned anything
that might arouse controversy.

There were notices everywhere:
�Quiet.�

-Yes, I think I remember too.
-It's hard to believe.

-Did you see it?
-No, a friend told me.

We can check the weather reports
in any newspaper collection.

Let's look in the library.

Do you know
what I've just heard?

At this time last year...

it was so cold
that the lakes froze.

That's surely wrong.

What do you want from me?
You know it's impossible.

One night I came to your room.

You were alone.

Leave me alone, please.

It was almost summer.

Yes, you're right...

ice would have been
quite impossible.

It's time for the concert.

May I escort you?

Are you going to the concert?

I'll meet you later for dinner.

This story is already over.

A few seconds more
and it will finally be frozen...

forever, a past in marble...

like the garden
carved in stone...

this mansion,
its rooms deserted now.

Leave me alone, please.

You never seemed
to be waiting for me...

but we kept meeting each other
at each turn...

each bush, beneath each statue...

beside each lake.

As if no one had been
in that garden...

but you and I.

We talked casually,
about the names of statues...

the shape of bushes,
the ornamental lakes...

the color of the sky.

Or else we didn't speak
at all.

But you held back,
as if on the threshold...

as if at the entrance
to a place too dark, too strange.

Come nearer.

Nearer still.

Leave me alone, please.

Always walls, corridors,
always doors...

and on the other side,
yet more walls.

Before reaching you,
rejoining you...

you had no idea
what had to be gone through.

And now you are here,
where I have brought you.

You are still hesitant,
but you are here, in the garden...

within sight, touch, hearing--

-Who are you?
-You know.

What is your name?

You know it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

You're like a shadow...

waiting for me to come closer.

Leave me alone.

It is already too late.

You asked me
not to see you again.

We did see each other,
of course...

the next day,
or the day after...

or the day after that.

It may have been by chance.

I told you that you must leave
with me.

You said it was impossible,
of course.

But you know it's possible.

It's all you can do now.

Yes, perhaps.

No, I don't know anymore.

Why me?
Why does it have to be me?

You were waiting for me.

No, I wasn't.
I wasn't waiting for anyone.

You were waiting for nothing.

You were as though dead.

That's not true.

You are alive still.

You are here. I see you.

Do you remember?

It's not true... probably.

You've already forgotten
everything.

It's not true.

You're about to leave.
The door of your room is still open.

Why? What do you hope
to make of me?

What sort of life
will you have me lead?

It's not a question
of another life.

It's a question of yours.

Remember.

It was evening,
probably the last one.

It was almost dark.

A vague shadow approached
slowly through the gloom.

Long before I could distinguish
your face...

I knew it was you.

You stopped
when you recognized me.

We stood like that, apart...

without speaking.

You stood right in front of me...

waiting, perhaps...

as if you couldn't move
in any direction.

You stood there, stiff...

motionless...

arms at your sides...

looking at me.

Your eyes wide open-- too wide--

lips parted as if to speak...

or groan... or scream.

You are afraid.

Your mouth opens still more...

your eyes widen...

your hand is extended
expectantly, uncertainly...

or perhaps appealingly,
or defensively.

Your fingers tremble slightly.

You are afraid.

Who is he?

Your husband... perhaps.

He was looking for you...

or maybe just passing by.

He was coming to you.

But you remained motionless...

withdrawn... far away.

He felt he didn't quite
recognize you.

He stepped nearer.

Something in you evaded him.

He took another step nearer.

You looked through him.

He decided to go away.

And now...

you are still staring into space...

and you still see him.

His gray eyes...

his gray silhouette...

and his smile.

And you are afraid.

You fear he may come again...

or that he's already here...

when I come once again
to your room.

His room and yours
are separated by a sitting room.

Anyway, he'll be in the gaming room
at this hour.

I told you I would come.
You made no reply.

I found all the doors ajar:

the door to the suite,
to the sitting room...

to your room.

I had only to push them open...

and close them behind me,
one after the other.

You know what happened then.

I don't know what happened.
I don't know you...

or that room, that bed,
that mirror over the fireplace--

What mirror? What fireplace?

I don't know anymore.
It's all wrong.

If it's wrong,
why are you here?

What was the mirror like?

There's no mirror
over the fireplace.

There's a painting.

A landscape, I think.
A snow scene.

The mirror is
on the chest of drawers.

There's a mirror
on the dressing table too.

And there's other furniture,
too, of course.

What sort of bed?

A double bed, probably.

What was the view
from the window?

I don't know. The window--

What room? I've never been
in any room with you.

You don't want to remember,
because you're afraid.

Don't you recognize
this photograph, either?

I don't know.
I don't remember--

-You know who took it.
-You're lying.

You know it was last year.
I begged you to let me take it.

You said you would feel
embarrassed.

Yes, I was right.

I well remember that room...

where you waited for me.

Yes, there was a mirror
over the chest of drawers.

I saw you in that mirror...

when I silently opened the door.

You were sitting on the bed,
wearing a white robe or gown.

You were all in white,
white slippers too...

wearing this ring.

I'm sure
you're making it all up.

I never had a white robe.

You're thinking
of someone else.

If you say so.

I remember that you were lying
among white feathers--

No! Stop it, please.

You're completely mad.

�No, please!�

I can still hear your voice.

You were afraid then.

You were afraid,
but I loved your fear that evening.

I watched you...

letting you struggle a little.

I loved you.

There was something
in your eyes.

You were so alive.

And then... at first...

remember.

No...

probably it wasn't by force.

But only you know that.

-What is it?
-Nothing.

-Are you tired?
-Yes, a little, I think.

The sun... so suddenly--

Would you like to go in?

If you want to.

I took the photograph
that day.

And you asked me
to give you a year...

to put me to the test, perhaps...

or to weary me...

or so that you could forget me.

But time means nothing.

I've come to find you.

No, it's impossible.

�No, it's impossible.�

You say that,
but you know it is possible...

that you're ready,
that we're going to leave.

How are you so sure?

Where will we go?

Anywhere. I don't know.

It's best if we never
see each other again.

Last year--
No, it's impossible.

You'll leave alone...

and then we'll be forever--

It's not true!

We don't need to be apart...

alone, eternally waiting.

It's not true.

But you're afraid.

It's too late now.

He had left your room.

Some violent scene had just
taken place between you.

Your window looked out
onto the garden...

but you didn't have the reassurance
of seeing him leave.

You turned to the bed,
undecided...

uncertain where to go.

You turned to the bed,
you sat down on it...

you fell back on it.

You turned to the bed...

after having stood undecided
for a few moments...

staring vacantly ahead.

You turned to the bed.

Listen to me! Remember!

Listen, please!

Yes, there was--

True, there was a huge mirror
just by the door...

which you seemed to be afraid
to go near.

But you will pretend
not to believe me.

Where have you gone?

Why do you always want
to escape? It's too late.

It was already too late--

The door was closed now.

No, the door was closed!

Listen, what more proof
do you need?

I kept a photograph of you...

taken one afternoon in the park
a few days before you left.

But when I showed it to you,
you said it proved nothing.

You said anybody might have
taken the photograph...

that it could be any garden.

I should have shown you
set among white feathers...

a sea of white feathers
about your body.

But all bodies,
all feathered robes, look alike...

like all hotels, statues, gardens...

but not that unique garden...

where I found you every day.

It is one afternoon--

the next day, probably--

I have come to say
we are leaving.

No, you weren't laughing.

We will leave for good
the next morning--

That's not it.

Yes, we were in your room.

We must have agreed to leave--

you reluctantly, perhaps.

I was in your room.

From the door,
one sees the bed first...

but the dressing table
was out of sight.

You were probably
by the window...

looking out on the garden.

I can't remember exactly.

He had passed me on the stairs...

after he left you.

Unless that was another day.

The place was deserted
that night...

stairs...

corridors...

stairs.

No, I don't remember anymore.

I don't remember anymore
myself.

I don't remember.

I knocked. Didn't you hear?

Yes. I said, �Come in.�

You couldn't have said it
very loudly.

What is the photograph?

As you can see,
it's an old photograph of me.

-When was it taken?
-I don't know. Last year.

-Who took it?
-I don't know. Frank, maybe.

Frank wasn't here last year.

Well, perhaps it wasn't
taken here.

Perhaps it was taken
at Frederiksbad.

Or perhaps it was
someone else.

Yes, perhaps.

What did you do
this afternoon?

Nothing. I read.

I looked for you.
Were you in the park?

No, in the green salon,
near the music room.

I didn't see you there.

Did you have something
to tell me?

-You look upset.
-I'm rather tired.

You should rest.
After all, that's why we're here.

Are you going out?

I think I'll go
to the shooting gallery.

-At this hour?
-Why not?

Anderson arrives tomorrow.

We'll have lunch with him...

if you have no other plans.

Of course not.
What other plans?

Until this evening, then.

After the door closed,
you tried to hear him leave...

but there was no sound,
no other doors closed.

His quickest way to the gallery
lay under your window.

But you can't see the path
without opening the window.

You listened for his steps
on the gravel...

but you couldn't hear
through the window...

and there's probably no gravel,
anyway.

One arm is half-bent
towards the hair...

the other hand rests on the chin,
finger to mouth...

as though to stifle a cry.

And now you are here
once more.

No, that ending is not right.
I need you alive.

Alive, as you were then...

every evening, for weeks,
for months.

I have never stayed
so long anywhere.

Yes, I know.

I don't care.

For days and days--

Why don't you want to?

Why won't you remember?

You're insane.

I'm tired. Leave me alone.

-It's a silly game!
-You have to know the trick.

-Simply take an odd number.
-There must be rules.

The beginner always loses.

I'm sure Frank played that game
last year.

You must work on a basis
of sevens.

Which row?

Begin now, please.

With pleasure.
Which would you like me to take?

This one.

Well, I've lost.

The beginner always wins.

Simply take an even number.

The smallest odd number.

It is a logarithmic series.

One must change row
each time.

That's wrong.
It wasn't by force.

Remember.

For days and days, every night--

All the rooms are identical...

but for me,
that room looked like no other.

There were no more doors,
no corridors, hotel or garden.

Not even a garden.

In the middle of the night...

nothing stirred in the hotel.

We found ourselves
in the grounds, as before.

You stopped
when you recognized me.

We stood like that, apart,
without speaking.

You stood right in front of me...

as if you couldn't move
in any direction.

You stood there, stiff,
motionless...

arms at your sides...

enveloped in some kind
of long, dark cape.

Black, perhaps.

Listen, please.

We can't turn back now.

All I ask is
that you wait a little.

Here, next year, the same time...

I'll go anywhere with you.

Why delay now?

Please, we must.

A year isn't much.

No, for me it's nothing.

But, listen--

It seems you need more time.
Until when?

I'm telling you.

-I've waited so long.
-Not so loud, please.

Why should we be
so circumspect?

Do you think it's so easy?

I don't know.

And, besides...

I'm not very brave.

You can't put it off again.

I'm only asking for a few hours,
that's all.

A few months, a few hours...

a few minutes...

a few seconds more...

as if you still had doubts...

about separating from him...

from yourself...

as if you were his shadow.

Someone's coming.
Be quiet, please!

Go away,
if you really love me.

A slight indisposition,
no doubt?

Yes, it's nothing.

You're feeling better?

Yes, I'm going to my room.

Shall I come with you?

I'd rather be alone.
I'll go now.

Once more I advanced
along these same corridors...

for days... months...

years... to meet you.

There would be no pause,
no rest between these walls.

I will leave tonight,
taking you with me.

It must be a year
since this story began.

A year of waiting for you,
you for me.

You couldn't have endured
this trompe l'oeil style...

among these mirrors
and columns...

these doors ever ajar,
stairways too immense...

this ever open room.

Where are you, my lost love?

I am here with you,
in this room.

No, that's no longer true.

Help me, I beseech you.

Give me your hand.

Yes, you felt better.

Yes, you'll go to sleep now.

Yes, you will be quite well
before Ackerson arrives...

or Patterson, or whoever
you're lunching with tomorrow.

Don't let me leave.

You know it's too late.

Tomorrow I'll be alone.

I'll open the door
to your empty room.

I'm cold.

No, you don't need anything.

You don't know
what came over you downstairs.

You have no clear recollection
of it.

You hope your cry
didn't cause a sensation.

Once he had gone-- this man
who may be your husband...

whom you perhaps love...

who doesn't know
you're leaving him--

you packed and prepared
a quick change of clothes.

We agreed to leave
during the night.

But it seemed you wanted
to give him one more chance.

I don't know. I agreed.

He should have come.
He could have taken you back.

The hotel seemed abandoned.

Everyone was attending
the long-awaited performance...

from which your indisposition
excused you.

It was, I think--

I've forgotten the title now.

The play wouldn't end
until very late.

After having left you
lying in your room...

he went to the theater
to join his friends.

He should have left the play...

if he really wanted
to keep you.

You were dressed, ready to leave,
and you began to wait, alone...

in a sort of hall
on the way to your suite.

For some reason, you asked me
to wait till midnight.

I don't know
whether you hoped he'd come.

I even thought for a moment
you'd told him everything...

and arranged for him
to meet you.

Or perhaps you merely thought
I wouldn't come.

I came at the agreed time.

The grounds of that mansion
were rather in the French style...

without trees, flowers,
or any plants at all.

Gravel, stone, marble...

rectilinear, formal...

devoid of mystery.

At first glance...

it seemed impossible
to get lost in them...

along the straight paths...

between the immutable statues,
granite slabs...

where you were, even now...

losing yourself forever...

in the still night...

alone with me.

THE END