She stayed close to her home on purpose, because it was the neighbourhood where the blackmailer had usually lain in wait for her, and once she even hurried across the road when the clothes worn by another woman reminded her of the person she was after. The ring itself was not her chief anxiety—recovering it would mean only postponement, not release—but she did long for the meeting as a kind of sign from fate, sealing a life and death decision that had been made by some higher power but depended on her own determination. However, she could not see the woman anywhere. She had disappeared into the endless hurry and bustle of the great city like a rat going down its hole. Disappointed, but not yet hopeless, she went home in the middle of the day and continued her vain search immediately after lunch. She patrolled the streets again, and when she could not find the woman anywhere she felt a revival of the horror that she had almost managed to stifle. It was not the woman herself who troubled her now, nor the ring, but the mysterious aspect of all those meetings. Her reasoning mind could no longer entirely comprehend it. The woman had discovered her name and address as if by magic, she knew all about the hours she kept, she knew about her domestic life, she had always turned up at the worst, most dangerous moments, and now all of a sudden she had disappeared just when she was actually wanted. She must be somewhere in the hurry and bustle of the city, close when she wanted to be close, yet out of reach as soon as Irene wanted to find her. And the amorphous nature of the threat, the elusive proximity of the blackmailer, close to her own life and yet beyond contact, left the already exhausted Irene a helpless prey to her ever more mystifying fears. Nervously now, with a feverish step, she kept walking up and down the same streets. Walking the streets like a prostitute, she thought. But the woman was nowhere to be seen. Now darkness came down like a menace, the early spring evening cast shadows over the clear colour of the sky, and night was falling fast. Lights came on along the streets, the stream of humanity was making its way home at a faster pace, all life seemed to be swallowed up in its dark current. She went up and down a few more times, scrutinising the street once more with all that remained of her hope, and then she turned home. She was freezing cold.

Wearily, she went up to the apartment. She heard the children being put to bed, but she avoided going in to say goodnight to them, wishing them well for that one night while she herself thought of the eternal night ahead of her. Why go in to them now? To sense the unclouded happiness of their exuberant kisses, see the love in their bright faces? Why torment herself still further with a joy that was already lost? She gritted her teeth—no, she didn’t want the sensations of life any more, the kindness and laughter that linked her to so many memories, when all those links must be violently broken tomorrow. She would think only of unpleasant things, ugly and vile, her own undoing, the blackmailer, the scandal, everything that was driving her to the edge of the abyss.

Her husband’s return interrupted her dismal, lonely reflections. He was in a good mood and struck up a lively conversation, trying to come close to her, at least in words, and asking a great many questions. She thought she detected a certain nervousness in the sudden concern he showed for her, but remembering yesterday’s conversation she was not going to involve herself in another like it. Her fears kept her from letting love bind her or affection hold her back. He seemed to feel her reluctance, and be rather troubled by it. For her part, she was afraid that his concern would lead to another approach to her, and she said goodnight early. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he replied. Then she left him.

Tomorrow—how close that was, and how endlessly far away! She passed a sleepless night, monstrously long and dark. Gradually the noises of the street died away, and from the reflections falling into her room she saw that the lights there were going out. Sometimes she thought she could sense the breathing of her family in the other rooms of the apartment, the lives of her children, of her husband, of the whole world, so close and yet so far away, almost lost to her now.