“So you slept in their room?”
“I didn’t even lie down. We talked until very, very late. Then I sat down in an armchair and slept for maybe three hours at most. Early this morning we went to the Gare du Nord. And I left them barely an hour ago.”
“You spent the night in their room? In the hotel?”
“Naturally. I think they spent two days in all in Paris.”
“Which hotel?”
“A hotel. You know the street that goes up next to the Église de la Trinité?
“Rue Clichy?”
“No, the other one.”
“Rue Blanche?”
“Yes, that’s it. We took a taxi. The driver went up that street, then turned right and took another cross street. Two or three hundred meters farther along, he stopped. If you’d like we can go there one day together when we take a walk. You’ll see, I’ll be able to locate the hotel very quickly.”
This time, Robert Marjanne had the clear impression that Claire’s tale was nothing but one long lie.
“So, my Robert, were you bored without me? Did you sleep well? You see it was nothing as terrible as you supposed. Come on, admit that you thought, I don’t know, that I had a lover, that I’d gone to the theater, then home with him, and that we spent an extraordinary night together. I’m sure that’s what you thought. You were wrong. You never know what can happen in life. There are so many odd things, unforeseen events.”
Robert Marjanne did not respond. Suddenly it dawned on him that, after all, what Claire had told him might be true. Claire came to him and took his hands.
“Are you angry?” she asked.
“I don’t know. You told me a long story, but did you make it all up?”
“You’re mad, darling. How could I invent such a story? Really, put yourself in my place. What if I had lied and, for example, we ran into Mme. Kalinina and her daughter tomorrow! If I had invented such a tale, I couldn’t go on living. Every time I went out with you, I would say to myself, ‘Maybe we’ll run into them and Robert will find out that I lied to him!’ Life would be unbearable. You always have such bizarre ideas. This isn’t the first time.”
Monsieur Marjanne looked at his wife sadly and, in a steady voice, asked:
“Is the story you just told me true?”
“I swear it is, darling. If I’m lying, may I die this instant.”
“All right, I believe you.”
He clasped his wife to him. He did not believe her. He was profoundly convinced she had lied. But suddenly it occurred to him that he was nearing old age and, rather than losing everything, it would be better to suffer in silence in order to have the joy of living with the woman he loved and who had enough respect and fondness for him to go to the trouble of lying.