Josette was sitting next to Henri behind two champagne glasses; she was wearing a very low-cut dress, and they were both laughing. 'Exactly the way we are now,' he thought, annoyed. 'And from this it's only a short step to imagining that I spend my nights swilling champagne, that I've sold out to America. They won't waste much time taking that step.' And yet, he had no real liking for all that inane glitter. He frequented the fashionable places to make Josette happy, but for him it didn't count; those moments remained marginal to his real life. He continued staring at the picture. 'But the fact of the matter is that it's I, and that I'm here.'

'Are you angry?' Josette asked. 'You promised not to get angry.'

'No, I'm not the least bit angry,' he replied. And then he thought decisively, 'Let them all go to hell!' He owed no one anything, and yet he was blaming himself for everything. Was that what real freedom meant?