Les Enfants Terribles (1950) - full transcript
In a snowball fight between schoolboys the handsome Dargelos hits the chest of Paul, who drops unconscious to the ground. Paul has a deep affection for Dargelos, and later denies that there was a stone in the snowball that hit him. Back home Paul's sister Elisabeth takes care of him. The teenage siblings live together in one room, where they have developed several private games. Paul's schoolmate Gérard is secretly enamored of Elisabeth, and often stays with them. When Elisabeth introduces her new friend Agathe to Paul, he recognizes that she resembles Dargelos strongly, and immediately falls in love with her. Elisabeth marries a rich young American Jew, Michael, but he dies in a car accident the day after the wedding. Elisabeth inherits his big apartment with 18 rooms and a gallery, and the four friends move into it. Paul sleeps in the gallery, where he builds a replica of the siblings' old room. Both Paul and Agathe are secretly enamored of the other. When each of them reveals this to Elisabeth, she gets jealous, and starts developing a sinister plot to turn them away from each other.
Gérard, have you seen Dargelos?
Yes... I mean, I don't know.
You're a dirty thief!
Give it back!
Say it!
Confess right now!
I'll make you talk!
- It wasn't me!
- Talk!
- It wasn't me!
- It was too you!
There was snow that evening.
Parts of the school
were under construction
and became a perfect battlefield
for the boys.
Dargelos!
Dargelos, it's me!
- He's bleeding!
- Here comes the head teacher!
- Dargelos did it.
- That's not true, he didn't.
Dargelos!
Yes, sir.
You again... of course!
Get down from there and follow me!
Beauty enjoys immense privileges,
even from those unaware of it.
The teachers were fond of Dargelos.
The puzzling incident
deeply distressed the head teacher.
Paul.
Paul, what's wrong?
Tell us!
You tell us.
Nothing to tell.
We were throwing snowballs.
I hit him with one.
It must've been hard.
He went "Oh!" and fell over.
I thought he had a nosebleed.
Snowballs don't crush ribcages.
He hid a rock in the snowball.
Is that true?
Answer me!
He's coming to. Ask him.
- How do you feel?
- Forgive me.
Don't apologise.
You're ill. You fainted.
- All I remember...
- What caused you to faint?
A snowball hit me in the chest.
Snowballs don't hurt that much.
That's all it was.
Your classmate says
it had a rock in it.
Gérard's crazy.
You're crazy.
It was just a snowball.
I was running.
I must have had an attack.
The head teacher was relieved.
The car's waiting.
One liquorice wheel.
Come on.
You're going home.
It's nothing serious.
A snowball isn't serious, is it?
Come on.
Don't bother, sir.
I'll see him home.
He already looks better.
34 Rue du Rocher.
Paul?
Young people imagine the worst
right away,
yet the worst seems unreal to them,
since they're unable to imagine death.
Paul's dying.
Paul's going to die.
He didn't believe it.
Paul's fake death
seemed the fitting end to a dream,
a snowy journey, locked up
inside the frost, lasting forever.
Without Paul,
the car would have been just a car,
the frosted windows
just frosted windows,
the snow just snow,
the firemen just firemen.
Would you like me to help?
Want him to help?
I'm not dead.
Help me and shut up.
Elisabeth.
Open up! It's us!
Open up! Paul's not well!
That's a trick.
Is this lie the truth?
Hurry!
He's shivering out here.
Good heavens!
- It happened just after school.
- You're always such an idiot!
Keep your voice down!
You want Mum to hear us?
Damn it!
A dirty rat hit him
right in the chest with a snowball.
- A snowball?
- Well, not exactly.
I fainted, like an idiot.
That's all.
That's great.
They have snow fights
while I play nurse to my invalid mother.
My invalid mother!
I play nurse
while you play in the snow.
I bet you're the idiot
who dragged him into this!
Who'll nurse him? You?
Don't just stand there, nitwit!
My dear Lisbeth...
I'm not "your" Lisbeth!
Show some respect!
Gérard, don't listen to the old bag.
She's a pain.
Old bag?
All right, you idiots!
You're on your own.
This idiot faints from a snowball,
and I'm silly enough to worry.
Watch this.
I've been practicing for two weeks.
- Sleeping, Mother?
- Just dozing.
Paul has a sprain.
I put him to bed and called the doctor.
- Is he in pain?
- Only if he walks.
He sends his love.
He's reading the newspaper.
- And the maid?
- Still nothing.
Are you asleep?
Leave me alone.
How charming!
I'm slaving while you're gone.
In their private language,
"gone" meant
they were playing their game.
They would say, "I'm about to go,"
or "I'm gone."
You dog.
You're a dirty dog.
Let me take your boots off.
Your feet are freezing.
Disturbing a player while "gone"
was considered an unpardonable sin.
I'll get a hot-water bottle.
Sit up. If you play dead,
I can't get this off.
Lift your arms.
This is their treasure chest.
The treasure in it was indescribable.
The objects in the drawer
had lost their original significance
and taken on immense symbolic meaning,
while to anyone else,
they were just junk.
Spanners, tubes of aspirin,
aluminium rings and hair curlers.
Now sleep, you idiot.
- Hello, Lise.
- Hello, Doctor.
Paul is unwell.
A snowball hit him in the chest.
- Where is he?
- I put him to bed in our room.
Hello, Doctor.
What's wrong, Paul?
Leave us alone.
Hand me that thermometer.
Wait in the living room.
I'm going to listen to his heart,
and I don't like anyone watching.
Lise!
No need to worry.
There's no danger, but it is serious.
His chest was already weak.
A light blow was enough.
Going back to school
is out of the question.
He needs rest, rest, and more rest.
Good you mentioned a sprain to your mother.
No need to bother her over this.
You're a big girl now.
I know I can count on you.
- Call the maid.
- We don't have one anymore.
That's just great!
Tomorrow I'll send along two nurses
who can help with the house.
They'll buy what's needed,
and you'll be in charge.
Elisabeth never thanked anyone.
She was used to miracles,
so they came as no surprise.
She expected them,
and they never failed to happen.
I'll check on your mother.
Stay with Paul.
OK.
My darling.
What?
- Have you gone mad?
- Me?
Yes, you pest!
Can't you let people sleep?
I'd like to sleep too.
But I take care of you, feed you,
and listen to that noise you make.
- What noise?
- A racket.
Idiot!
I had big news,
but since I'm an idiot, I won't tell you.
Keep your news to yourself.
I don't give a damn.
There was no embarrassment
between brother and sister.
Their room was a thick shell
in which they lived,
washed and dressed,
like two halves of one body.
What did the doctor say?
No school for you.
With a stab of pain
he imagined Dargelos,
who went on living in some other world,
and saw his future without Dargelos.
Lise?
Lise, I don't feel well.
Great!
Now I've got pins and needles.
What do you want?
I want you close to me, by my bedside.
Now who's an idiot?
He cries when he's excused from school.
Just think:
we'll be in our room all the time.
Nurses will come in.
The doctor promised.
I'll only go out
for lemonade and books.
Are you scared?
- Do you like schoolwork?
- No.
What's wrong, then?
Want to play our game?
Blow your nose.
Look.
I'm hypnotising you...
But sleep erased her efforts
with bold, dark strokes
sweeping like a car's headlights
over snow.
Blow your nose and go to sleep.
Mr Dargelos, I have had various
unfavourable reports concerning you.
Your influence on your classmates
is incomprehensible, in my opinion.
It's unhealthy, but be that as it may.
Yet the fact is you struck one boy so hard
that he's unable to attend school.
I'm waiting for an explanation.
So what?
- What?
- So what?
I forbid you to speak to me like that!
I'll speak any way I want!
Do you grasp
the seriousness of your situation?
You're a pain in the arse!
- Some pepper?
- Pepper?
Help!
Schools cannot impose a death penalty
so Dargelos was expelled
and the head teacher
was sent to the hospital.
And then?
He walked out ignoring everyone.
- Do you know his address?
- His sort never gives an address.
Then that's all we have left of him.
Bring me the picture.
What's that?
You sell hats now?
It's for you.
How ghastly.
I like it.
You're not so dumb after all.
She hates violets.
Yes, but these are fake.
I'll put them in water.
Gérard, ignore that freak
and bring me Athalie.
The school had staged Racine's Athalie
for Commemoration Day.
Dargelos had played the female lead.
He looks like a tiger.
"He gives the smallest birds
their nourishment,
"and over all His work
extends His goodness." Let me see.
In his finery, he looked
like a tragic actress from 1889.
Ugly looking thing.
To each his own.
Into the treasure chest.
You might consult me first!
- We are consulting you.
- Then speak!
He threw a snowball at me
and pepper at the head teacher,
and he got expelled.
Well, he's still an ugly thing.
Gérard, don't wear Paul out.
I must check on Mother and the nurses.
They're impossible,
always trying to take the initiative.
I can't leave them alone for a moment.
She's impossible!
Don't say a word.
You'll only talk nonsense.
- I've got something amazing to tell you.
- What is it?
Paul walks in his sleep.
Don't shout it from the rooftops.
- He walks on the roo*
- Are you deaf, or just stupid?
Is that our strange friend?
Come in, we won't eat you.
What's that?
SUICIDE IS A MORTAL SIN
Curiosity killed the cat.
- He has no manners.
- More than you!
You're too kind!
- Listen...
- Leave us alone, I warn you.
Right. That's a warning.
- But...
- No "buts"!
- But, but...
- But, but nothing!
I'll slap him!
Slap her back!
Don't you dare, cowards!
Hitting a woman!
- When I get my own room, it will be clean!
- Mine will be cleaner!
- He wants a chandelier.
- Shut up!
He wants a plaster Sphinx on the mantel
and an enamelled Louis XIV chandelier.
That's right!
And you're too stupid to understand.
I'm not staying here.
I'm going to a hotel, my bag is packed.
Let him take care of himself.
I refuse to live with this boor.
Mother, she slapped me!
- He spat on me!
- That's not true.
- I dare you to repeat that.
- That's not true.
Tell Mother it's not true
or I will slap you.
What's wrong?
Paul... come here.
Look.
I think Mother's dead.
Mother...
That vision left
a lasting impression on them.
Far from causing them pain,
the near-mythical circumstances
of their mother's death uplifted them.
The room cried out for the bizarre,
and her bizarre death
encased her like a sarcophagus
and unexpectedly assured her,
for young people remember tragic events
because of some preposterous detail,
a place of honour in their dream world.
Thirty-three, thirty-three...
Doctor, does it really make
a terrific noise?
All the time.
Is that bad?
Paul, you must look after yourself.
Is it serious?
No, but he's growing
and that complicates things.
He needs peace and quiet.
OK.
You must see that he rests.
Mariette will help.
- Mariette's leaving.
- I'll see that she stays.
Let me talk to her.
What do you think, Doctor?
Mariette, you lost your grandchild.
You're all alone.
Would you abandon these kids?
I'll handle the money.
- Do they frighten you?
- No, Doctor.
Is the air here unhealthy?
No, what they breathe
is lighter than air.
Splendid.
You can restore order.
Impossible, Doctor.
Then you'll oversee their disorder.
Can I count on you?
Yes, Doctor.
One can't help loving them.
Tell me when you need money.
You're very kind.
Not at all.
I'm just fond of them, like you.
If only they could go to the seaside.
No, Doctor, it's Gérard.
I'll put my uncle on.
What is it?
Hello?
Hello? Ah, it's you, Doctor.
Yes, it's not out of the question.
I can't give them much time,
my holiday is short enough as it is.
But Gérard can invite them if he wants,
as long as he looks after them.
No, no.
They're very welcome.
Excuse me, Doctor, but I'm late.
Goodbye.
No, don't thank me.
Elisabeth went from being a shrew
to a nurse.
She treated Paul like a mental defective,
a useless zero,
a poor wreck to be pitied.
- Do you know what Gérard suggested?
- Something stupid.
No. He's taking us
to the seaside.
- The seaside?
- Yes! We'll get to see the sea.
But do you know anything
about travelling?
No, but the main thing
is to look like you do.
We mustn't look foolish.
We need lots of luggage!
There they are!
All aboard, children.
Gérard, those wildcats of yours
seem very tame.
My little brother is a bit shy.
Bitch! Bitch!
Look at the ladder.
One sleeps up top,
the other down below. It's fun.
And here's your washbasin.
Do you think it's our first time
in a sleeper train?
You've never left home before.
If you'd travelled as much as we...
Paul, just ignore him.
I'll leave you then.
Know-it-all!
- Where are the beds?
- One above the other.
That's just like Gérard,
the know-it-all!
Well, he's wrong.
There must be a hammock.
A hammock?
- Someone's knocking.
- Open the door, then.
- No, that's the washbasin!
- Come in.
First seating for dinner.
Shall I make up the beds?
Please do.
Coming to dinner?
Paul, the dining car!
Don't stand there like a dummy!
It took considerable effort
to hide their excitement.
With a natural flair for style,
these children,
who knew nothing of the world
and for whom this train
was the height of luxury,
managed to act completely at ease.
You grabbed the top one, of course.
I left you the lower bunk
because you're ill.
Elisabeth, I want you to come down.
We'll get separate rooms at the hotel,
so I'm starting now.
Elisabeth, I want you to come down.
- Do you feel unwell?
- I don't want you above me.
What a pest!
Is that why you wouldn't come down?
What is that?
What? A clothes peg,
to give me a Greek profile.
- You're crazy.
- Well, at least my chin isn't weak!
- And mine is?
- Yes!
You should wear a rubber band at night
and never show your profile.
Let me sleep.
Is that why you made me come down?
- No.
- Then why?
Lise, does the doctor think I'll die?
- You idiot!
- Am I going to die?
Yes! So die and leave me alone.
I won't be free until you're dead.
Your chin!
Are you telling the truth?
I never tell the truth.
Please turn off the light.
I don't know how.
You do it, I'm not your maid!
You make me sick!
Likewise!
- And watch your tone.
- What tone?
Father's tone.
He drank and beat Mother.
I don't like hearing it. Good night!
All fire and ice,
she despised anything lukewarm.
She was a thoroughbred
and wanted Paul to be one too.
On a night train for the first time,
instead of listening
to the engine's drumming,
she devoured her brother's face,
her manic intensity
impinging briefly on other passengers.
You haven't looked at the sea.
The sea is the sea.
Mind your own business.
I won't sleep in a bathroom!
You can't sleep in my room.
You sleep here.
I'll take the bathroom.
- It's the only hotel room left.
- Her in my room?
You sort it out.
Right now I'm having a bath.
So keep out.
It's my bath!
I ran the water!
- Calm down.
- What a joke!
So, first no bed, then no bath.
Get out or I'll throw you out!
- Leave her alone, Paul!
- My valiant knight!
- I'm getting in!
- I'll beat you to it!
- Try it!
- You're not stealing my bath!
All settled in, Gérard?
Sorry about this. There may be
another free room tomorrow.
Well done.
What's going on?
Your friends don't sound happy.
Yes, they are.
Remember:
I stick my tongue out first.
Then, when I give you a nudge,
you do the same.
Sit down, children.
- Any special diet?
- No.
To think I was told
you were very difficult.
- Thanks.
- Uncle, I never said that!
Fond of children, I see?
I adore them.
She stuck her tongue out at me.
Forgive me for reading my mail.
Even on holiday, I have work.
He stuck his tongue out at me.
Fifteen, 30, 40...
Match!
Really, Madame?
Hitting a child on holiday?
I'm not as young as you.
I don't want a sunburn.
- How much is this?
- 495 francs.
Outrageous!
I'm afraid I have no change.
Not to worry.
It was stealing
for the sheer sake of stealing.
No thought of profit
or forbidden fruit.
Being scared to death was the aim.
The rules forbade
stealing anything useful.
Come along, children.
Don't hang about.
It's raining!
You should have bought
an umbrella instead.
It never rains long by the sea.
- Something to drink?
- No, thanks. We're not thirsty.
In that case, take my cape.
I'll meet you later at the hotel.
Be good now.
I'll keep the boys out of trouble.
Show me what you took.
Never again!
I only did it because you made me.
This doesn't count.
A brush is useful.
- You think I'm a fool.
- No, but I could be wrong.
He has to steal something
more difficult.
- The watering can.
- I refuse!
Then I'll never speak to you again.
I can't. It's enormous!
I want to see if you've got guts.
- But, Elisabeth...
- Don't "Elisabeth" me! Just do it!
Take the cape.
- What for?
- To hide the watering can.
And no one's out in the rain.
- Oh, please!
- Go on! We'll be watching.
- Hello, Mariette.
- Hi, Mariette.
Hello!
You look so well!
All tanned!
- Did you have a good time?
- Very good.
- Did you behave?
- Yes!
We brought you something.
Now you've got somewhere
to put your hot water.
What darlings!
The curtain rose
on the bedroom stage at 11 pm.
There were no matinees
except on Sundays.
Here's the room
where Gérard camps out on the floor,
where a drama is in progress
yet no one notices,
where Paul drinks his milk
and takes his medicine
and Elisabeth reads her magazines,
where strange forces live
that are cast out by life
because they disturb its mechanisms.
Paul. Paul!
- Answer when you're spoken to!
- What?
Your cloth blocks the light.
I can't read.
Well, I can.
I'm not removing it.
Very well.
- Idiot!
- Paul.
She makes me sick with her creams!
She read that American actresses
use it.
She thinks they're good for the scalp.
- Gérard?
- What?
- Are you listening?
- Yes.
Gérard, you're too patient.
Just ignore him.
He didn't just go to bed.
He embalmed himself
He wrapped himself in linens,
Food and treasured objects all around,
and embarked in his nocturnal ventures.
Gérard, want a crayfish?
They set your mouth on fire.
Bitch!
She hates crayfish!
She hates the pepper because I love it.
She'd burn the roof off her mouth
to spite me.
- How are they?
- Very good.
Gérard, give me one.
Gérard, what could be lower
than a 16-year-old begging for a crayfish?
He'd lick the rug!
He'd crawl on all fours!
No, let him come and get one.
It's nauseating!
The big beanpole won't move!
He's dying for one,
but he won't lift a finger!
He's shameful.
Gérard, listen.
"I love her lack of taste,
her garish dress,
"her shapeless shawl
and addled speech."
Baudelaire.
What do you think of that?
That's enough!
"The crime was exceptionally sordid.
The Michaut woman's farm..."
The monster!
The dirty rat!
Help me, Gérard.
Dry me off with this towel.
Throw the newspaper in the fireplace.
Careful!
Don't be so clumsy!
I was just about
to give him a crayfish.
Do you want one?
They're a bit milky.
Here, you dirty dog.
I'm not so mean.
You can have your crayfish.
Here, eat.
Eat it or I'll take it away.
You have to see it to believe it.
Here, Paul.
Here's your crayfish.
Look, Gérard, dear.
He's chewing in his sleep.
It's the oddest thing.
How greedy! How revolting!
From that enlightening scene,
Gérard remembered just one thing:
Elisabeth had called him "dear".
Where's Mariette?
I sent her out
for sandwiches and drinks.
How horrible!
- What's horrible?
- Everything!
Horrible!
- Then leave.
- I intend to.
With what money?
I'll get a job.
I'm fed up of being a maid.
I can't bear it another day!
A job?
What kind of job?
Paul can do as he likes, Gérard.
He's hopeless, anyway.
Isn't she sweet?
I have to think of myself.
I'll find myself a job...
I have to!
As a target in a shooting gallery,
maybe.
Poor boy.
He's still very ill.
A little snowball was enough
to end his academic career.
It's not his fault, but I have an invalid
on my hands.
Dirty bitch!
Elisabeth, he looks very healthy.
Look at his body.
He's strong.
No use looking like a strong man
if you're weak, greedy, and spineless.
Spineless... and clumsy!
Well, sweetheart,
you're a clown, a freak,
an arse, too stupid
to do anything at all!
So that's how you want to play!
Gérard, his laziness is criminal.
He's murdering me, but I support him!
Go on, then,
I know just the job for you.
The oldest profession.
- You went too far.
- Stay.
You see where things stand.
I beg you, take me
to that couturier your uncle knows.
I'll work as a salesgirl.
Work is good for you.
Either one works or one dies.
See?
As a salesgirl, no chance.
Model, maybe...
Mariette, don't give her any advice.
I'm the man here.
I'm the boss. I forbid it!
If my sister's going to be a tart,
let her walk the streets.
I'd only run into you.
Take a look in the mirror.
You and your night cream!
They'll kick you out on your arse!
A model? You've more chance
of being hired as a scarecrow than a model.
Lout!
- Agathe?
- Yes, ma'am?
This young lady
will be modelling ladies' suits.
- Be patient with her.
- Yes, ma'am.
Just call me Elisabeth.
They'll tease you,
but they're good girls.
I never thought I'd make it at first.
Be brave.
Let's see
what's under those clothes, cutie-pie.
- You'll have to teach me everything.
- I'll say!
I'll teach her.
She'll learn quickly.
The two orphans!
Don't look so sad.
If they make fun of you,
make fun of them.
You be the customer,
and I'll model a dress.
Sit down.
Smile.
No, don't.
I was forgetting you're the customer,
customers never smile.
You walk straight up to the customer,
hands on your hips, thumbs forward,
staring her in the eye.
Pause.
Turn around slowly.
Face her again.
Inspect her from head to toe,
but look right through her.
Then you walk away
with a disdainful look.
Cross the room
and start over with another customer.
Your turn.
I'm the customer.
Perfect!
It's like you've modelled
all your life.
You're so sweet.
I was scared to death.
Agathe.
Agate is a stone.
We have an agate
in our treasure chest. Look.
- Where did you get my picture?
- It's not you.
True, the clothes are different.
This is extraordinary.
It looks exactly like me.
It's me!
Who is it?
It's a boy. The one
who hit Paul with a snowball.
He does look just like you.
Paul, she looks like him, doesn't she?
The resemblance lurking
beneath the surface leapt out.
Paul saw the snowball in Dargelos's hand
and felt the blow again.
No, you look like the picture,
but not like him.
Put it back in the drawer.
Gérard, does she look like him?
This has nothing to do with Gérard.
Now put it back.
Elisabeth suddenly realised
that all the boxers, detectives
and American movie stars
that Paul had pinned on the walls
looked like Agathe
and Dargelos/Athalie.
You worked pretty fast.
Because I let Agathe move
into Mother's room?
A seedy hotel isn't for her.
Maybe not, but it's Mother's room.
It was Mother's room.
Mother's with us here,
not in some empty room.
Well, I don't like
having Agathe in the house.
Admit that the resemblance bothers you.
It invades your dreams.
Mind your own business!
- Am I interrupting?
- Yes.
Come in.
I was bad-mouthing you.
Paul...
Elisabeth shouldn't have
made you come live here.
I knew I'd be in the way.
Maybe you bother him, everything does.
But you don't bother me.
I insist you stay.
Stay!
Make yourself at home!
Stay, since haute couture demands it.
You've made her cry.
He's just an ill-mannered bear, Agathe.
A caveman!
- I'd better go.
- Go or stay, I don't care
You're no match for me,
so you play tough with weak little Agathe.
- Lise...
- Stay out of this!
It's complicated enough.
You're quite the psychologist now.
No, but I can read you like a book.
- I won't let Agathe be your victim.
- What if she likes it?
- Elisabeth...
- He admits it!
The monster has found a victim.
Be his victim if you like, but I won't!
Will you let me sleep?
Go on to bed.
I need a word with Paul.
And don't cry in your room.
This is the way we are,
you'll have to get used to it.
Go to bed and sleep.
- Paul.
- What now?
- Paul, darling.
- Let me sleep.
Paul?
Why don't you like her?
Because she looks like that guy?
Do you know why I don't like her?
She's new, and I hate anything new!
I can't live or breathe
or play the game.
- We never play the game anymore.
- That's your fault.
- I had to get out to find work.
- Exactly.
Paul, darling...
I'll lie down and we'll play the game.
I'm too used to playing it by myself.
- Listen.
- No.
Yes, listen.
Imagine a great temple of destruction
ruled by 50 high priests.
Four of them enter the inner sanctum.
Thousands of slaves work there,
but not one can reveal what he knows.
Damn it!
I don't understand your temple
or what's going on!
I'm going to sleep!
All right, sleep.
Introspection demands
a discipline they lacked.
They found only darkness,
phantom emotions.
- So you're spying on us now?
- Doing my duty.
- Your duty?
- Yes, that's right.
You're rotten tarts
and Gérard's your pimp.
- Excuse me?
- Don't interrupt!
I'll move out, leave them to their men.
I always knew models were tarts.
They're both bitches in heat,
and you and Gérard are to blame!
Let him rant, Gérard.
He's awful.
No, I insist on explaining.
That boy, Michael, knows my uncle.
He's a very rich American Jew.
We wanted you to meet him.
I refuse! I'll slap your rotten Jew
if I meet him.
You should be ashamed!
You two have led poor girl astray.
Are you trying to sell her to that Jew?
I didn't know you were anti-Semitic.
Anyway, you're barking up the wrong tree.
Michael wants to marry me,
and I like him.
Marry you?
You're mad!
Have you looked in the mirror?
Look!
No one would marry you.
You're ugly!
The queen of the idiots!
He was just making fun of you!
Your chin looks much better
when you're angry. Keep it up!
- She can marry anyone she likes.
- I don't care!
- Unlike you.
- What does that mean?
Nothing.
Come and meet Michael.
You'll like him.
I seriously doubt that.
There's no use reasoning
with a lunatic.
That's where you're wrong.
I will meet him.
- Just to be contrary.
- Not at all.
I'd like to meet the guy
who can stomach you.
I'd like to console the poor creep.
Come along, Agathe.
Gérard turned his head and looked away.
He'd never dared dream
of marrying the virgin of the temple.
Behind him,
brother and sister drifted away,
the sanctuary now defiled
by a young man in a car
unaware of its taboos.
Here's yet another unoccupied room.
It'll be my bedroom,
furnished in Louis XVI.
Won't that be nice!
I'll let Michael have the drawing room,
the conservatory, the gym,
the swimming pool, and a very odd gallery
that leads nowhere.
You can use Agathe's room at my house
when your uncle's away.
- Mother's room.
- Now it's Agathe's room.
If Michael goes away,
you girls can come back too.
Paul, why don't you live here with us?
No, I need to be alone.
Come on.
You've got 18 more rooms to see.
And my gallery that everyone laughs at.
Tell Mariette
we'll take over Paul's expenses.
Michael, you're a good guy.
What about your honeymoon?
Who do you think we are?
You explain our plans, Michael.
Tomorrow after the wedding,
I leave Elisabeth.
I don't blame you.
While I move in here,
he goes to the Riviera.
Now that's a marriage.
When do you get back?
Four days later.
It's business I couldn't put off,
but I wanted the wedding first.
Now feast your eyes!
That colossal storage room,
that immense, absurd dead-end,
was Michael's weakness,
his smile, his soul's bright light.
It revealed a bizarre streak in him
that made him worthy of the others.
What gave you
the idea for this gallery?
Michael wanted to play architect.
He miscalculated,
and I love his mistakes.
We can set up tents and camp here.
Make yourself at home.
- Any ghosts around?
- I've never seen one.
With us, there's bound to be one.
But the spirit of the room
was watching.
On the road between Cannes and Nice,
Michael was killed.
Look at this silent wreck,
with one lone wheel spinning
ever more slowly, like a lottery wheel.
Thank you so much.
I have no head for numbers.
Anything over ten makes me dizzy.
Well, these figures
are indeed staggering.
May I somehow return the favour?
Actually, I'm going
to Morocco for a month.
Gérard will be all alone.
Perhaps he could stay here with you
or with Paul at his house.
He's very depressed.
Paul's moving in here.
Gérard must come too.
I have 18 rooms and a gallery.
That would be perfect.
Be brave.
- It was a dreadful tragedy.
- Indeed.
Dreadful.
Thank you again.
She's as rich as Croesus now.
It won't change a thing.
Yes, it will.
I'm moving in here.
She let the maids go
except for Mariette and the driver.
Just Mariette, for 18 rooms?
Well, you agreed to move in.
I was very lonely on Rue du Rocher.
I've moved in too,
so nothing has changed.
Now all we need is Gérard!
- Am I interrupting?
- Don't be silly.
- Well, I'm a widow now.
- A widow!
Well, I am dressed in mourning.
It's awful to say,
but mourning suits you.
You think so?
So does callousness.
True, mourning is becoming,
but it's fragile.
It doesn't last long.
She's hopeless!
You like your room?
I'm scared, all alone on that floor.
I want Agathe's because I hate my room.
Charming!
Move in with me.
Make room for one more!
I forgot to tell you.
Gérard's uncle is leaving for Morocco.
He's coming to stay with us.
Full house!
In that abstraction of a room
that could be recreated anywhere,
Michael lived on after the accident.
A great mystery was made clear:
Elisabeth hadn't married him
for his money,
nor for his elegance or charm.
She'd married him for his death.
Six... seven... eight...
...nine... ten...
...eleven... twelve.
Dear Agathe, would you kindly refrain
from counting out loud?
Sorry.
He's so sensitive
that the slightest thing upsets him.
- Shut up!
- This is my house and my room!
Elisabeth!
Gérard, this is my house.
Please don't interfere.
Then stay in your room!
Good night!
Gérard, would you pick up that cover?
Gérard, pick that up and put it back.
I hate untidiness.
Adrift in the nondescript decor
of that empty stage,
Paul became a cautious cat,
noticing everything.
He stopped and sniffed
round the furniture,
unable to connect
this room to the schoolyard
Or the moonlit silence to the snow.
But with a deep sense of déjà vu,
he recognised some former life.
His pride had suffered a blow.
Agathe had conquered him.
But instead of realising he loved her
and surrendering to her gentle love,
he fought against
what he saw as his nemesis,
a diabolical fate.
In the gallery he found some screens
that had never been used.
Like everything else,
they were absurd, useless and awkward.
Paul dragged them out,
set them up,
and made them into ramparts,
a sort of Forbidden City.
An old rug completed his masterpiece.
Wrapped in blankets, he went to sleep.
His former bedroom
from the Rue de Rocher
would gradually take form
in the big hall.
The lamp, the large cloth, the bed,
the chair, the bottles,
the treasure chest,
the moustachioed bust.
After a visit or two,
Elisabeth, Agathe and Gérard moved in,
unable to resist
Paul's exciting new artificial room scape.
It's really the only room that works.
It is pleasant.
- Paul, it's dreadful being rich.
- I'd imagine so.
- Do I look rich?
- You?
No, you'll always look like a beggar.
Good.
I was afraid I looked rich.
- Well, come in.
- May I?
There's a rich lady's question.
Paul, I feel lost.
- Lost?
- Yes, lost and alone.
I'll never get my room right.
You're not alone.
You have Agathe and Gérard with you.
No, they stay in their own rooms now.
They often go out together.
They do?
I lend them the car and driver.
I rarely use them.
What could those two have
to talk about?
We intimidate and bewilder them.
Agathe thinks she annoys you.
They feel free to talk.
- Good God, about what?
- About us.
Those clowns go off together,
so you feel lost?
Yes, Paul. Lost.
I wanted my own room,
but it's killing me.
Sharing a room with you again
would be hell. I won't think of it!
- Thank God.
- I won't think of it,
but my own room is killing me.
You were right to bring everything here.
You're lucky.
You must be happy here
on your desert island,
in your Forbidden City.
It's all right.
We could go here.
Go? Where?
I mean play our game.
Oh, that.
I'm too old for our game.
Too bad.
Farewell, Paul.
- Where are you going?
- Nowhere.
Here's the letter Paul just wrote:
"Agathe, I'm mailing this
because I don't dare bring it to you myself
"Don't be angry.
I love you.
"I've been a fool.
I thought you meant me harm.
"I realise now that I love you
"and that if you don't love me back,
I'll die.
"Answer me, I beg of you.
I'm in agony.
"I'll be waiting in the gallery."
Unfortunately, blinded by his sorrow,
"Paul wrote his own name
instead of Agathe's on the envelope.
She felt unwell at the cinema.
She's gone to her room.
I'll go look in on her.
No, don't.
She asked to be left alone.
What did she say?
She thinks Paul left the room
because he hates her.
- Eat.
- I'm not hungry.
Then go find Paul.
Find out what he's got against us all.
- I'll go see Agathe.
- She wants to be alone.
I want things too!
Now go find Paul.
You know him.
He won't tell me anything.
Even so, you might do me a favour just once
and not be such a bumbling idiot!
He'll be furious if I bother him.
He never is now.
That's what worries me.
Now, now, what's wrong?
Nothing.
Well, it can't be just a runny nose.
It's nothing, I said.
Leave me alone.
I hate myself.
- Gérard must have hurt your feelings.
- Please...
- He said something that hurt you.
- No. Leave me alone.
- I won't go until you feel better.
- Impossible.
- Is it that bad?
- Yes.
Heavens!
Are you in love?
Leave me alone.
Calm down and blow your nose.
- Now tell me all about it.
- No.
Tell me!
I love him.
I adore him...
and he despises me.
Silly girl. What right does he have
to despise you?
Did he tell you he does?
No. So there!
How lucky can he get, the idiot?
If you love him, you must marry him.
Lise, you're very kind,
but he doesn't love me.
- Are you sure?
- He couldn't love me.
You know, Gérard is very shy.
Lise... it's not Gérard.
I meant Paul.
Paul?
Now that's astonishing.
I never would have guessed.
What a surprise!
It's funny, and astonishing!
Tell me all about it.
I have nothing to tell.
I fell in love with Paul
the moment I saw him.
I didn't dare admit it to myself.
I liked it when he teased
and insulted me.
I'd have done anything to be with him,
with all of you.
But now he's avoiding me,
and I can't bear it.
I can't bear it!
It's very simple.
- I'll talk to Paul.
- Lise!
No, he doesn't know!
Please don't!
Don't tell him!
Don't worry.
If he loves you, all is well.
I won't give you away.
I'll get it out of him
without him knowing.
Leave it to me and stay in your room.
- Lise!
- Let me handle it.
From that moment on, she couldn't rest.
Her heart pounded like a hammer.
It wasn't her mind
that dictated her actions.
The spirit of the room
took over her body,
the way some other spirit
might lead a banker
to avoid bankruptcy,
a sailor to save his ship,
or a criminal to establish an alibi.
Paul wants to see you.
He's acting strange.
How's she feeling?
- She wants to be left alone.
- I'm going up.
Don't disturb her.
Wait in my room while I see Paul.
I've come to see how you are.
- Agathe is ill.
- Ill?
Not ill, but unwell.
She's resting now.
I just spoke to her.
- Did she say anything?
- About what?
A special-delivery letter.
What letter?
I can't keep it in any longer.
I wasn't going to tell you, but I must.
I sent her a letter.
You send letters
to people in the house?
I know it's silly,
but I thought a letter arriving unexpectedly
when you were all together
might lend fate a hand.
What did you say in this letter?
That I love her.
You love her?
Yes, Lise.
I'm madly in love with her.
I've been wondering
what was wrong with me.
I didn't want to admit it.
I'm madly in love with Agathe!
Well, well...
Didn't she say anything?
Didn't you notice anything?
I'm the last person she'd tell.
Silly girl.
Wait here for me, darling.
We must have a serious talk.
She didn't mention any letter,
but it couldn't have flown away.
We've got to find it.
But, Lise... did she act strange?
Or angry? Or upset?
No, she was very calm.
She's asleep now.
I'll be right back.
There it was.
The yellow envelope
like a crumpled leaf on the tray.
It bore Paul's big,
clumsy schoolboy scrawl,
but it was addressed,
as you know, to himself
Paul had mistakenly written to Paul.
The mix-up was typical of him.
He'd never change.
- Well?
- I went to Agathe's room.
She's asleep.
The envelope is on her dresser.
A yellow envelope.
Like those there.
Didn't she even mention it?
No, and she must never know I saw it.
You mustn't ask her about it.
She'd say she didn't know
what we were talking about.
Lise...
Come now. Don't cry.
You're a man.
I didn't want to tell you
because you were so depressed...
Tell me what?
Agathe did mention someone,
but it wasn't you.
She loves someone else.
You've got all your signals crossed.
Agathe is no Queen Athalie.
The poor girl isn't aiming very high.
Who is it?
Brace yourself.
It's Gérard.
- Gérard?
- Gérard.
Funny he didn't tell you.
I intimidate him, but you don't.
He probably thought
you'd laugh at them.
Gérard.
Be sensible.
It's perfectly natural.
She's a silly goose,
and he's a nice guy.
They're made for each other.
When Gérard's uncle dies,
he'll be rich.
They'll start a nice little family.
Nothing stands in their way.
It would be monstrous, criminal,
to get in their way.
You can't do that.
You acted on impulse,
but impulse can't fight real love.
It's a grotesque marriage!
True, but all the same,
you have to accept it.
Lise, you're asking the impossible.
Don't be silly.
It's clear she wants
to ignore the letter.
Let her think it was a whim.
You do the same.
Keep away from her.
- I'd better leave.
- That would be silly.
Just pretend nothing happened.
Their engagement
will take her mind off it,
and then they'll be off
on their honeymoon.
Come on now.
Her work was not yet done.
She knew instinctively
that killers strike blow after blow,
without a moment to catch their breath.
Like a nocturnal spider
she moved along,
spinning her web
into the furthest reaches of the night,
working slowly,
effortlessly, unceasingly.
- Well?
- Must you always shout?
- I'm sorry. I'm on edge.
- Paul's ill.
He's too dense to notice,
but it's obvious he has a fever.
The doctor will know
if it's the flu or a relapse.
I ordered him to stay in bed
and see no one.
- I'm going to see him.
- Stay here.
We have to talk.
What do you plan to do about Agathe?
Do? Why?
Why?
Who do you think you're fooling?
You know she loves you
and is confused by your silence.
- Agathe?
- Yes, Agathe!
Are you blind?
With all the time you spend together!
She loves you but thinks you love me,
which is an absurd and revolting idea,
considering my wealth!
Lise...
You'd like to escape
through a secret trap door,
but there is none.
Stop giving me those dreamy-eyed looks.
Marry Agathe
and never reveal my role in this.
You're forcing me to do this.
She must never know that she owes
her happiness to me, so to speak.
I can't believe this!
Now that that's settled, go to bed.
I'll go tell her the good news.
That you love her and have shed
your delusions of grandeur.
Wake up and be happy.
Kiss me and admit
you're the happiest man alive.
If that's what you want.
Good boy.
I'll go tell her.
No, Elisabeth. No.
Listen to me.
Paul doesn't love you.
He's incapable of loving anyone.
His monstrous egotism
would destroy himself, and you with him!
- I'll die.
- No, you won't.
Gérard is a fine, honest boy.
He loves you.
He can offer you a future.
Deep down you love him.
You do!
- Does Paul know?
- He doesn't even suspect.
He's delighted
that you and Gérard are in love.
Just happily announce that you're marrying
Gérard, and he'll never suspect.
He'd never guess in a million years,
and he mustn't ever find out.
Thank you, Lise.
You're very kind.
Don't thank me.
I couldn't stand by
and let him hurt you.
- Thank you.
- Now go to sleep.
She felt calm, inhuman and unburdened.
But at the foot of the stairs,
her heart began pounding again.
She saw Paul approaching
under the spell
of another sleepwalking trance.
"All the perfumes of Arabia
will not sweeten this little hand."
With downcast eyes,
she washed those frightening hands.
I don't understand this relapse.
And he should be
in a more comfortable room.
He won't move.
Try to convince him.
He needs fresh air.
He doesn't look ill.
It's that red lamp that fools you.
Look at him in bright light.
I don't like how he looks.
Don't leave him alone.
I've told you not to touch that lamp.
I wanted to see your face.
What did the doctor say?
That you don't look good.
- Are Agathe and Gérard back?
- They're coming for lunch tomorrow.
I'll get up and have lunch with you.
I can't miss that performance.
- Are you happy?
- Very.
Does he beat you?
Poor Gérard.
I'm the difficult one.
Guess whom I met in Marseilles.
- I'll never guess.
- Dargelos.
- No!
- Oh, yes.
- Has he changed?
- He's a bit paler, like you.
You'd swear he was Agathe's brother.
He's not arrogant anymore.
He's very friendly.
He travels to Indochina often
for some car company.
I went to his hotel room
and he asked if I ever saw Snowball.
The guy hit by the snowball...
meaning you.
- And?
- I said yes,
and he asked,
"Does he still like poison?"
Poison? What for?
Just to have it,
to know it's there, to look at it.
It's wonderful!
- How horrible!
- What's so horrible?
I used to make fake poison
and label the bottles.
They're both insane, Gérard.
You'll end up in prison.
Dargelos showed me poison
from India, China and Mexico.
He said, "At school, Snowball
dreamed of collecting poison,
"but I'm collecting it now."
Here.
A gift from Dargelos.
Let's see it.
The poison brought
their conversation to a halt.
It was fascinating yet revolting,
like a nest of snakes that looks
like one many-headed serpent.
It gave off a heavy odour
of pestilence and geraniums.
Maybe it's a drug.
He wouldn't give you poison.
Don't touch.
I'll tell you what it is.
It's what the natives use
to poison their arrows.
Gérard, it smells vile!
Don't give it to him.
He'll do something reckless.
Paul? Just watch!
- Eat it!
- Stop it!
Eat it!
Reckless, eh?
What a brave man!
Idiot! Eat it yourself!
You'd like that.
No, thanks.
I'll put it in our treasure chest.
Put it in a tin box.
The smell is overpowering.
She put it away slowly and carefully,
her tongue between her lips,
like a woman casting a spell
or sticking a pin in a voodoo doll.
Paul, throw that away.
It's no more dangerous
than the gun in our treasure chest.
Our prize relic.
Give it back to Gérard
and let him throw it away.
Agathe, neither Paul nor I
can stand pettiness.
And don't you forget it.
It was a Sunday.
Snow was falling.
Elisabeth had stayed in bed all day.
She slept and dreamed.
She dreamed Paul had died
and was walking oddly.
She took a path called the Blue Path
because it led
to the blue rug from the gallery.
She wore a new
and unfamiliar dressing gown,
unlike the old bathrobes she preferred.
She climbed a mound of earth.
She passed behind a screen,
but the Forbidden City was gone.
She saw Paul lying on a billiard table.
In her dream,
it was called Gloomy Hill.
She reached Gloomy Hill
and leaned over Paul.
Her left hand touched
the automatic clicker.
Her other hand rested on Paul's.
Paul said,
"Listen to the farewell bell."
He no doubt meant
the tick-tack of the clicker.
I was afraid the door might be locked.
I still have a key.
How is Paul?
Asleep as usual, I suppose.
What's wrong?
He wrote me that
he was going to take poison!
Mariette must have
delivered the letter.
- He must have been joking.
- Some joke!
Paul? Paul!
Paul, answer me!
Paul!
Lise, don't stand there.
Call the doctor.
He's gone to the country.
It's Sunday.
No one's around.
Hurry!
Get him some hot coffee!
Cover him with your coat!
Paul, look at me.
Speak to me.
Water...
Paul, don't scare me like this.
Speak to me.
What did that awful letter mean?
- It's your fault.
- My fault?
Yes, your fault.
Paul explained what had happened,
pouring out the truth
in broken whispers.
Agathe listened in stunned silence.
The poison's stench
spread through the room
as the plot's devious mechanisms
were unfurled.
Elisabeth lied!
I told her I loved you!
She lied!
You must live!
It's too late, Agathe.
Paul, don't drink it!
Do you think I meant to poison him?
I wouldn't put it past you.
You're out of your mind!
Monster!
Filthy monster!
Maybe I'm a monster,
but I'm not a coward.
I didn't want to lose you.
I loathe Agathe.
I couldn't let her take you from me.
She's going to shoot!
Paul!
This is how it must be.
Make life unliveable,
that's the answer.
I have to make the game despise me
so it will spew me forth,
so it will spit in my face!
I must become hideous!
She'll kill me!
She's gone insane!
Help!
No, I haven't gone insane.
You're wrong.
You're the one who's insane.
I must hold out to the end,
and the end's a long way off.
I must live it all,
and it won't be easy.
Paul, look at me.
Can you hear me?
I know you can.
You have to try.
Elisabeth... Elisabeth!
Don't let go.
Count with me.
Count, add, multiply.
I'll lead the way.
Come on! Walk!
Don't let go! Keep moving!
I've gotten lost.
You're under my spell!
I'm hypnotising you!
Paul?
Paul?
Help!
THE END
Yes... I mean, I don't know.
You're a dirty thief!
Give it back!
Say it!
Confess right now!
I'll make you talk!
- It wasn't me!
- Talk!
- It wasn't me!
- It was too you!
There was snow that evening.
Parts of the school
were under construction
and became a perfect battlefield
for the boys.
Dargelos!
Dargelos, it's me!
- He's bleeding!
- Here comes the head teacher!
- Dargelos did it.
- That's not true, he didn't.
Dargelos!
Yes, sir.
You again... of course!
Get down from there and follow me!
Beauty enjoys immense privileges,
even from those unaware of it.
The teachers were fond of Dargelos.
The puzzling incident
deeply distressed the head teacher.
Paul.
Paul, what's wrong?
Tell us!
You tell us.
Nothing to tell.
We were throwing snowballs.
I hit him with one.
It must've been hard.
He went "Oh!" and fell over.
I thought he had a nosebleed.
Snowballs don't crush ribcages.
He hid a rock in the snowball.
Is that true?
Answer me!
He's coming to. Ask him.
- How do you feel?
- Forgive me.
Don't apologise.
You're ill. You fainted.
- All I remember...
- What caused you to faint?
A snowball hit me in the chest.
Snowballs don't hurt that much.
That's all it was.
Your classmate says
it had a rock in it.
Gérard's crazy.
You're crazy.
It was just a snowball.
I was running.
I must have had an attack.
The head teacher was relieved.
The car's waiting.
One liquorice wheel.
Come on.
You're going home.
It's nothing serious.
A snowball isn't serious, is it?
Come on.
Don't bother, sir.
I'll see him home.
He already looks better.
34 Rue du Rocher.
Paul?
Young people imagine the worst
right away,
yet the worst seems unreal to them,
since they're unable to imagine death.
Paul's dying.
Paul's going to die.
He didn't believe it.
Paul's fake death
seemed the fitting end to a dream,
a snowy journey, locked up
inside the frost, lasting forever.
Without Paul,
the car would have been just a car,
the frosted windows
just frosted windows,
the snow just snow,
the firemen just firemen.
Would you like me to help?
Want him to help?
I'm not dead.
Help me and shut up.
Elisabeth.
Open up! It's us!
Open up! Paul's not well!
That's a trick.
Is this lie the truth?
Hurry!
He's shivering out here.
Good heavens!
- It happened just after school.
- You're always such an idiot!
Keep your voice down!
You want Mum to hear us?
Damn it!
A dirty rat hit him
right in the chest with a snowball.
- A snowball?
- Well, not exactly.
I fainted, like an idiot.
That's all.
That's great.
They have snow fights
while I play nurse to my invalid mother.
My invalid mother!
I play nurse
while you play in the snow.
I bet you're the idiot
who dragged him into this!
Who'll nurse him? You?
Don't just stand there, nitwit!
My dear Lisbeth...
I'm not "your" Lisbeth!
Show some respect!
Gérard, don't listen to the old bag.
She's a pain.
Old bag?
All right, you idiots!
You're on your own.
This idiot faints from a snowball,
and I'm silly enough to worry.
Watch this.
I've been practicing for two weeks.
- Sleeping, Mother?
- Just dozing.
Paul has a sprain.
I put him to bed and called the doctor.
- Is he in pain?
- Only if he walks.
He sends his love.
He's reading the newspaper.
- And the maid?
- Still nothing.
Are you asleep?
Leave me alone.
How charming!
I'm slaving while you're gone.
In their private language,
"gone" meant
they were playing their game.
They would say, "I'm about to go,"
or "I'm gone."
You dog.
You're a dirty dog.
Let me take your boots off.
Your feet are freezing.
Disturbing a player while "gone"
was considered an unpardonable sin.
I'll get a hot-water bottle.
Sit up. If you play dead,
I can't get this off.
Lift your arms.
This is their treasure chest.
The treasure in it was indescribable.
The objects in the drawer
had lost their original significance
and taken on immense symbolic meaning,
while to anyone else,
they were just junk.
Spanners, tubes of aspirin,
aluminium rings and hair curlers.
Now sleep, you idiot.
- Hello, Lise.
- Hello, Doctor.
Paul is unwell.
A snowball hit him in the chest.
- Where is he?
- I put him to bed in our room.
Hello, Doctor.
What's wrong, Paul?
Leave us alone.
Hand me that thermometer.
Wait in the living room.
I'm going to listen to his heart,
and I don't like anyone watching.
Lise!
No need to worry.
There's no danger, but it is serious.
His chest was already weak.
A light blow was enough.
Going back to school
is out of the question.
He needs rest, rest, and more rest.
Good you mentioned a sprain to your mother.
No need to bother her over this.
You're a big girl now.
I know I can count on you.
- Call the maid.
- We don't have one anymore.
That's just great!
Tomorrow I'll send along two nurses
who can help with the house.
They'll buy what's needed,
and you'll be in charge.
Elisabeth never thanked anyone.
She was used to miracles,
so they came as no surprise.
She expected them,
and they never failed to happen.
I'll check on your mother.
Stay with Paul.
OK.
My darling.
What?
- Have you gone mad?
- Me?
Yes, you pest!
Can't you let people sleep?
I'd like to sleep too.
But I take care of you, feed you,
and listen to that noise you make.
- What noise?
- A racket.
Idiot!
I had big news,
but since I'm an idiot, I won't tell you.
Keep your news to yourself.
I don't give a damn.
There was no embarrassment
between brother and sister.
Their room was a thick shell
in which they lived,
washed and dressed,
like two halves of one body.
What did the doctor say?
No school for you.
With a stab of pain
he imagined Dargelos,
who went on living in some other world,
and saw his future without Dargelos.
Lise?
Lise, I don't feel well.
Great!
Now I've got pins and needles.
What do you want?
I want you close to me, by my bedside.
Now who's an idiot?
He cries when he's excused from school.
Just think:
we'll be in our room all the time.
Nurses will come in.
The doctor promised.
I'll only go out
for lemonade and books.
Are you scared?
- Do you like schoolwork?
- No.
What's wrong, then?
Want to play our game?
Blow your nose.
Look.
I'm hypnotising you...
But sleep erased her efforts
with bold, dark strokes
sweeping like a car's headlights
over snow.
Blow your nose and go to sleep.
Mr Dargelos, I have had various
unfavourable reports concerning you.
Your influence on your classmates
is incomprehensible, in my opinion.
It's unhealthy, but be that as it may.
Yet the fact is you struck one boy so hard
that he's unable to attend school.
I'm waiting for an explanation.
So what?
- What?
- So what?
I forbid you to speak to me like that!
I'll speak any way I want!
Do you grasp
the seriousness of your situation?
You're a pain in the arse!
- Some pepper?
- Pepper?
Help!
Schools cannot impose a death penalty
so Dargelos was expelled
and the head teacher
was sent to the hospital.
And then?
He walked out ignoring everyone.
- Do you know his address?
- His sort never gives an address.
Then that's all we have left of him.
Bring me the picture.
What's that?
You sell hats now?
It's for you.
How ghastly.
I like it.
You're not so dumb after all.
She hates violets.
Yes, but these are fake.
I'll put them in water.
Gérard, ignore that freak
and bring me Athalie.
The school had staged Racine's Athalie
for Commemoration Day.
Dargelos had played the female lead.
He looks like a tiger.
"He gives the smallest birds
their nourishment,
"and over all His work
extends His goodness." Let me see.
In his finery, he looked
like a tragic actress from 1889.
Ugly looking thing.
To each his own.
Into the treasure chest.
You might consult me first!
- We are consulting you.
- Then speak!
He threw a snowball at me
and pepper at the head teacher,
and he got expelled.
Well, he's still an ugly thing.
Gérard, don't wear Paul out.
I must check on Mother and the nurses.
They're impossible,
always trying to take the initiative.
I can't leave them alone for a moment.
She's impossible!
Don't say a word.
You'll only talk nonsense.
- I've got something amazing to tell you.
- What is it?
Paul walks in his sleep.
Don't shout it from the rooftops.
- He walks on the roo*
- Are you deaf, or just stupid?
Is that our strange friend?
Come in, we won't eat you.
What's that?
SUICIDE IS A MORTAL SIN
Curiosity killed the cat.
- He has no manners.
- More than you!
You're too kind!
- Listen...
- Leave us alone, I warn you.
Right. That's a warning.
- But...
- No "buts"!
- But, but...
- But, but nothing!
I'll slap him!
Slap her back!
Don't you dare, cowards!
Hitting a woman!
- When I get my own room, it will be clean!
- Mine will be cleaner!
- He wants a chandelier.
- Shut up!
He wants a plaster Sphinx on the mantel
and an enamelled Louis XIV chandelier.
That's right!
And you're too stupid to understand.
I'm not staying here.
I'm going to a hotel, my bag is packed.
Let him take care of himself.
I refuse to live with this boor.
Mother, she slapped me!
- He spat on me!
- That's not true.
- I dare you to repeat that.
- That's not true.
Tell Mother it's not true
or I will slap you.
What's wrong?
Paul... come here.
Look.
I think Mother's dead.
Mother...
That vision left
a lasting impression on them.
Far from causing them pain,
the near-mythical circumstances
of their mother's death uplifted them.
The room cried out for the bizarre,
and her bizarre death
encased her like a sarcophagus
and unexpectedly assured her,
for young people remember tragic events
because of some preposterous detail,
a place of honour in their dream world.
Thirty-three, thirty-three...
Doctor, does it really make
a terrific noise?
All the time.
Is that bad?
Paul, you must look after yourself.
Is it serious?
No, but he's growing
and that complicates things.
He needs peace and quiet.
OK.
You must see that he rests.
Mariette will help.
- Mariette's leaving.
- I'll see that she stays.
Let me talk to her.
What do you think, Doctor?
Mariette, you lost your grandchild.
You're all alone.
Would you abandon these kids?
I'll handle the money.
- Do they frighten you?
- No, Doctor.
Is the air here unhealthy?
No, what they breathe
is lighter than air.
Splendid.
You can restore order.
Impossible, Doctor.
Then you'll oversee their disorder.
Can I count on you?
Yes, Doctor.
One can't help loving them.
Tell me when you need money.
You're very kind.
Not at all.
I'm just fond of them, like you.
If only they could go to the seaside.
No, Doctor, it's Gérard.
I'll put my uncle on.
What is it?
Hello?
Hello? Ah, it's you, Doctor.
Yes, it's not out of the question.
I can't give them much time,
my holiday is short enough as it is.
But Gérard can invite them if he wants,
as long as he looks after them.
No, no.
They're very welcome.
Excuse me, Doctor, but I'm late.
Goodbye.
No, don't thank me.
Elisabeth went from being a shrew
to a nurse.
She treated Paul like a mental defective,
a useless zero,
a poor wreck to be pitied.
- Do you know what Gérard suggested?
- Something stupid.
No. He's taking us
to the seaside.
- The seaside?
- Yes! We'll get to see the sea.
But do you know anything
about travelling?
No, but the main thing
is to look like you do.
We mustn't look foolish.
We need lots of luggage!
There they are!
All aboard, children.
Gérard, those wildcats of yours
seem very tame.
My little brother is a bit shy.
Bitch! Bitch!
Look at the ladder.
One sleeps up top,
the other down below. It's fun.
And here's your washbasin.
Do you think it's our first time
in a sleeper train?
You've never left home before.
If you'd travelled as much as we...
Paul, just ignore him.
I'll leave you then.
Know-it-all!
- Where are the beds?
- One above the other.
That's just like Gérard,
the know-it-all!
Well, he's wrong.
There must be a hammock.
A hammock?
- Someone's knocking.
- Open the door, then.
- No, that's the washbasin!
- Come in.
First seating for dinner.
Shall I make up the beds?
Please do.
Coming to dinner?
Paul, the dining car!
Don't stand there like a dummy!
It took considerable effort
to hide their excitement.
With a natural flair for style,
these children,
who knew nothing of the world
and for whom this train
was the height of luxury,
managed to act completely at ease.
You grabbed the top one, of course.
I left you the lower bunk
because you're ill.
Elisabeth, I want you to come down.
We'll get separate rooms at the hotel,
so I'm starting now.
Elisabeth, I want you to come down.
- Do you feel unwell?
- I don't want you above me.
What a pest!
Is that why you wouldn't come down?
What is that?
What? A clothes peg,
to give me a Greek profile.
- You're crazy.
- Well, at least my chin isn't weak!
- And mine is?
- Yes!
You should wear a rubber band at night
and never show your profile.
Let me sleep.
Is that why you made me come down?
- No.
- Then why?
Lise, does the doctor think I'll die?
- You idiot!
- Am I going to die?
Yes! So die and leave me alone.
I won't be free until you're dead.
Your chin!
Are you telling the truth?
I never tell the truth.
Please turn off the light.
I don't know how.
You do it, I'm not your maid!
You make me sick!
Likewise!
- And watch your tone.
- What tone?
Father's tone.
He drank and beat Mother.
I don't like hearing it. Good night!
All fire and ice,
she despised anything lukewarm.
She was a thoroughbred
and wanted Paul to be one too.
On a night train for the first time,
instead of listening
to the engine's drumming,
she devoured her brother's face,
her manic intensity
impinging briefly on other passengers.
You haven't looked at the sea.
The sea is the sea.
Mind your own business.
I won't sleep in a bathroom!
You can't sleep in my room.
You sleep here.
I'll take the bathroom.
- It's the only hotel room left.
- Her in my room?
You sort it out.
Right now I'm having a bath.
So keep out.
It's my bath!
I ran the water!
- Calm down.
- What a joke!
So, first no bed, then no bath.
Get out or I'll throw you out!
- Leave her alone, Paul!
- My valiant knight!
- I'm getting in!
- I'll beat you to it!
- Try it!
- You're not stealing my bath!
All settled in, Gérard?
Sorry about this. There may be
another free room tomorrow.
Well done.
What's going on?
Your friends don't sound happy.
Yes, they are.
Remember:
I stick my tongue out first.
Then, when I give you a nudge,
you do the same.
Sit down, children.
- Any special diet?
- No.
To think I was told
you were very difficult.
- Thanks.
- Uncle, I never said that!
Fond of children, I see?
I adore them.
She stuck her tongue out at me.
Forgive me for reading my mail.
Even on holiday, I have work.
He stuck his tongue out at me.
Fifteen, 30, 40...
Match!
Really, Madame?
Hitting a child on holiday?
I'm not as young as you.
I don't want a sunburn.
- How much is this?
- 495 francs.
Outrageous!
I'm afraid I have no change.
Not to worry.
It was stealing
for the sheer sake of stealing.
No thought of profit
or forbidden fruit.
Being scared to death was the aim.
The rules forbade
stealing anything useful.
Come along, children.
Don't hang about.
It's raining!
You should have bought
an umbrella instead.
It never rains long by the sea.
- Something to drink?
- No, thanks. We're not thirsty.
In that case, take my cape.
I'll meet you later at the hotel.
Be good now.
I'll keep the boys out of trouble.
Show me what you took.
Never again!
I only did it because you made me.
This doesn't count.
A brush is useful.
- You think I'm a fool.
- No, but I could be wrong.
He has to steal something
more difficult.
- The watering can.
- I refuse!
Then I'll never speak to you again.
I can't. It's enormous!
I want to see if you've got guts.
- But, Elisabeth...
- Don't "Elisabeth" me! Just do it!
Take the cape.
- What for?
- To hide the watering can.
And no one's out in the rain.
- Oh, please!
- Go on! We'll be watching.
- Hello, Mariette.
- Hi, Mariette.
Hello!
You look so well!
All tanned!
- Did you have a good time?
- Very good.
- Did you behave?
- Yes!
We brought you something.
Now you've got somewhere
to put your hot water.
What darlings!
The curtain rose
on the bedroom stage at 11 pm.
There were no matinees
except on Sundays.
Here's the room
where Gérard camps out on the floor,
where a drama is in progress
yet no one notices,
where Paul drinks his milk
and takes his medicine
and Elisabeth reads her magazines,
where strange forces live
that are cast out by life
because they disturb its mechanisms.
Paul. Paul!
- Answer when you're spoken to!
- What?
Your cloth blocks the light.
I can't read.
Well, I can.
I'm not removing it.
Very well.
- Idiot!
- Paul.
She makes me sick with her creams!
She read that American actresses
use it.
She thinks they're good for the scalp.
- Gérard?
- What?
- Are you listening?
- Yes.
Gérard, you're too patient.
Just ignore him.
He didn't just go to bed.
He embalmed himself
He wrapped himself in linens,
Food and treasured objects all around,
and embarked in his nocturnal ventures.
Gérard, want a crayfish?
They set your mouth on fire.
Bitch!
She hates crayfish!
She hates the pepper because I love it.
She'd burn the roof off her mouth
to spite me.
- How are they?
- Very good.
Gérard, give me one.
Gérard, what could be lower
than a 16-year-old begging for a crayfish?
He'd lick the rug!
He'd crawl on all fours!
No, let him come and get one.
It's nauseating!
The big beanpole won't move!
He's dying for one,
but he won't lift a finger!
He's shameful.
Gérard, listen.
"I love her lack of taste,
her garish dress,
"her shapeless shawl
and addled speech."
Baudelaire.
What do you think of that?
That's enough!
"The crime was exceptionally sordid.
The Michaut woman's farm..."
The monster!
The dirty rat!
Help me, Gérard.
Dry me off with this towel.
Throw the newspaper in the fireplace.
Careful!
Don't be so clumsy!
I was just about
to give him a crayfish.
Do you want one?
They're a bit milky.
Here, you dirty dog.
I'm not so mean.
You can have your crayfish.
Here, eat.
Eat it or I'll take it away.
You have to see it to believe it.
Here, Paul.
Here's your crayfish.
Look, Gérard, dear.
He's chewing in his sleep.
It's the oddest thing.
How greedy! How revolting!
From that enlightening scene,
Gérard remembered just one thing:
Elisabeth had called him "dear".
Where's Mariette?
I sent her out
for sandwiches and drinks.
How horrible!
- What's horrible?
- Everything!
Horrible!
- Then leave.
- I intend to.
With what money?
I'll get a job.
I'm fed up of being a maid.
I can't bear it another day!
A job?
What kind of job?
Paul can do as he likes, Gérard.
He's hopeless, anyway.
Isn't she sweet?
I have to think of myself.
I'll find myself a job...
I have to!
As a target in a shooting gallery,
maybe.
Poor boy.
He's still very ill.
A little snowball was enough
to end his academic career.
It's not his fault, but I have an invalid
on my hands.
Dirty bitch!
Elisabeth, he looks very healthy.
Look at his body.
He's strong.
No use looking like a strong man
if you're weak, greedy, and spineless.
Spineless... and clumsy!
Well, sweetheart,
you're a clown, a freak,
an arse, too stupid
to do anything at all!
So that's how you want to play!
Gérard, his laziness is criminal.
He's murdering me, but I support him!
Go on, then,
I know just the job for you.
The oldest profession.
- You went too far.
- Stay.
You see where things stand.
I beg you, take me
to that couturier your uncle knows.
I'll work as a salesgirl.
Work is good for you.
Either one works or one dies.
See?
As a salesgirl, no chance.
Model, maybe...
Mariette, don't give her any advice.
I'm the man here.
I'm the boss. I forbid it!
If my sister's going to be a tart,
let her walk the streets.
I'd only run into you.
Take a look in the mirror.
You and your night cream!
They'll kick you out on your arse!
A model? You've more chance
of being hired as a scarecrow than a model.
Lout!
- Agathe?
- Yes, ma'am?
This young lady
will be modelling ladies' suits.
- Be patient with her.
- Yes, ma'am.
Just call me Elisabeth.
They'll tease you,
but they're good girls.
I never thought I'd make it at first.
Be brave.
Let's see
what's under those clothes, cutie-pie.
- You'll have to teach me everything.
- I'll say!
I'll teach her.
She'll learn quickly.
The two orphans!
Don't look so sad.
If they make fun of you,
make fun of them.
You be the customer,
and I'll model a dress.
Sit down.
Smile.
No, don't.
I was forgetting you're the customer,
customers never smile.
You walk straight up to the customer,
hands on your hips, thumbs forward,
staring her in the eye.
Pause.
Turn around slowly.
Face her again.
Inspect her from head to toe,
but look right through her.
Then you walk away
with a disdainful look.
Cross the room
and start over with another customer.
Your turn.
I'm the customer.
Perfect!
It's like you've modelled
all your life.
You're so sweet.
I was scared to death.
Agathe.
Agate is a stone.
We have an agate
in our treasure chest. Look.
- Where did you get my picture?
- It's not you.
True, the clothes are different.
This is extraordinary.
It looks exactly like me.
It's me!
Who is it?
It's a boy. The one
who hit Paul with a snowball.
He does look just like you.
Paul, she looks like him, doesn't she?
The resemblance lurking
beneath the surface leapt out.
Paul saw the snowball in Dargelos's hand
and felt the blow again.
No, you look like the picture,
but not like him.
Put it back in the drawer.
Gérard, does she look like him?
This has nothing to do with Gérard.
Now put it back.
Elisabeth suddenly realised
that all the boxers, detectives
and American movie stars
that Paul had pinned on the walls
looked like Agathe
and Dargelos/Athalie.
You worked pretty fast.
Because I let Agathe move
into Mother's room?
A seedy hotel isn't for her.
Maybe not, but it's Mother's room.
It was Mother's room.
Mother's with us here,
not in some empty room.
Well, I don't like
having Agathe in the house.
Admit that the resemblance bothers you.
It invades your dreams.
Mind your own business!
- Am I interrupting?
- Yes.
Come in.
I was bad-mouthing you.
Paul...
Elisabeth shouldn't have
made you come live here.
I knew I'd be in the way.
Maybe you bother him, everything does.
But you don't bother me.
I insist you stay.
Stay!
Make yourself at home!
Stay, since haute couture demands it.
You've made her cry.
He's just an ill-mannered bear, Agathe.
A caveman!
- I'd better go.
- Go or stay, I don't care
You're no match for me,
so you play tough with weak little Agathe.
- Lise...
- Stay out of this!
It's complicated enough.
You're quite the psychologist now.
No, but I can read you like a book.
- I won't let Agathe be your victim.
- What if she likes it?
- Elisabeth...
- He admits it!
The monster has found a victim.
Be his victim if you like, but I won't!
Will you let me sleep?
Go on to bed.
I need a word with Paul.
And don't cry in your room.
This is the way we are,
you'll have to get used to it.
Go to bed and sleep.
- Paul.
- What now?
- Paul, darling.
- Let me sleep.
Paul?
Why don't you like her?
Because she looks like that guy?
Do you know why I don't like her?
She's new, and I hate anything new!
I can't live or breathe
or play the game.
- We never play the game anymore.
- That's your fault.
- I had to get out to find work.
- Exactly.
Paul, darling...
I'll lie down and we'll play the game.
I'm too used to playing it by myself.
- Listen.
- No.
Yes, listen.
Imagine a great temple of destruction
ruled by 50 high priests.
Four of them enter the inner sanctum.
Thousands of slaves work there,
but not one can reveal what he knows.
Damn it!
I don't understand your temple
or what's going on!
I'm going to sleep!
All right, sleep.
Introspection demands
a discipline they lacked.
They found only darkness,
phantom emotions.
- So you're spying on us now?
- Doing my duty.
- Your duty?
- Yes, that's right.
You're rotten tarts
and Gérard's your pimp.
- Excuse me?
- Don't interrupt!
I'll move out, leave them to their men.
I always knew models were tarts.
They're both bitches in heat,
and you and Gérard are to blame!
Let him rant, Gérard.
He's awful.
No, I insist on explaining.
That boy, Michael, knows my uncle.
He's a very rich American Jew.
We wanted you to meet him.
I refuse! I'll slap your rotten Jew
if I meet him.
You should be ashamed!
You two have led poor girl astray.
Are you trying to sell her to that Jew?
I didn't know you were anti-Semitic.
Anyway, you're barking up the wrong tree.
Michael wants to marry me,
and I like him.
Marry you?
You're mad!
Have you looked in the mirror?
Look!
No one would marry you.
You're ugly!
The queen of the idiots!
He was just making fun of you!
Your chin looks much better
when you're angry. Keep it up!
- She can marry anyone she likes.
- I don't care!
- Unlike you.
- What does that mean?
Nothing.
Come and meet Michael.
You'll like him.
I seriously doubt that.
There's no use reasoning
with a lunatic.
That's where you're wrong.
I will meet him.
- Just to be contrary.
- Not at all.
I'd like to meet the guy
who can stomach you.
I'd like to console the poor creep.
Come along, Agathe.
Gérard turned his head and looked away.
He'd never dared dream
of marrying the virgin of the temple.
Behind him,
brother and sister drifted away,
the sanctuary now defiled
by a young man in a car
unaware of its taboos.
Here's yet another unoccupied room.
It'll be my bedroom,
furnished in Louis XVI.
Won't that be nice!
I'll let Michael have the drawing room,
the conservatory, the gym,
the swimming pool, and a very odd gallery
that leads nowhere.
You can use Agathe's room at my house
when your uncle's away.
- Mother's room.
- Now it's Agathe's room.
If Michael goes away,
you girls can come back too.
Paul, why don't you live here with us?
No, I need to be alone.
Come on.
You've got 18 more rooms to see.
And my gallery that everyone laughs at.
Tell Mariette
we'll take over Paul's expenses.
Michael, you're a good guy.
What about your honeymoon?
Who do you think we are?
You explain our plans, Michael.
Tomorrow after the wedding,
I leave Elisabeth.
I don't blame you.
While I move in here,
he goes to the Riviera.
Now that's a marriage.
When do you get back?
Four days later.
It's business I couldn't put off,
but I wanted the wedding first.
Now feast your eyes!
That colossal storage room,
that immense, absurd dead-end,
was Michael's weakness,
his smile, his soul's bright light.
It revealed a bizarre streak in him
that made him worthy of the others.
What gave you
the idea for this gallery?
Michael wanted to play architect.
He miscalculated,
and I love his mistakes.
We can set up tents and camp here.
Make yourself at home.
- Any ghosts around?
- I've never seen one.
With us, there's bound to be one.
But the spirit of the room
was watching.
On the road between Cannes and Nice,
Michael was killed.
Look at this silent wreck,
with one lone wheel spinning
ever more slowly, like a lottery wheel.
Thank you so much.
I have no head for numbers.
Anything over ten makes me dizzy.
Well, these figures
are indeed staggering.
May I somehow return the favour?
Actually, I'm going
to Morocco for a month.
Gérard will be all alone.
Perhaps he could stay here with you
or with Paul at his house.
He's very depressed.
Paul's moving in here.
Gérard must come too.
I have 18 rooms and a gallery.
That would be perfect.
Be brave.
- It was a dreadful tragedy.
- Indeed.
Dreadful.
Thank you again.
She's as rich as Croesus now.
It won't change a thing.
Yes, it will.
I'm moving in here.
She let the maids go
except for Mariette and the driver.
Just Mariette, for 18 rooms?
Well, you agreed to move in.
I was very lonely on Rue du Rocher.
I've moved in too,
so nothing has changed.
Now all we need is Gérard!
- Am I interrupting?
- Don't be silly.
- Well, I'm a widow now.
- A widow!
Well, I am dressed in mourning.
It's awful to say,
but mourning suits you.
You think so?
So does callousness.
True, mourning is becoming,
but it's fragile.
It doesn't last long.
She's hopeless!
You like your room?
I'm scared, all alone on that floor.
I want Agathe's because I hate my room.
Charming!
Move in with me.
Make room for one more!
I forgot to tell you.
Gérard's uncle is leaving for Morocco.
He's coming to stay with us.
Full house!
In that abstraction of a room
that could be recreated anywhere,
Michael lived on after the accident.
A great mystery was made clear:
Elisabeth hadn't married him
for his money,
nor for his elegance or charm.
She'd married him for his death.
Six... seven... eight...
...nine... ten...
...eleven... twelve.
Dear Agathe, would you kindly refrain
from counting out loud?
Sorry.
He's so sensitive
that the slightest thing upsets him.
- Shut up!
- This is my house and my room!
Elisabeth!
Gérard, this is my house.
Please don't interfere.
Then stay in your room!
Good night!
Gérard, would you pick up that cover?
Gérard, pick that up and put it back.
I hate untidiness.
Adrift in the nondescript decor
of that empty stage,
Paul became a cautious cat,
noticing everything.
He stopped and sniffed
round the furniture,
unable to connect
this room to the schoolyard
Or the moonlit silence to the snow.
But with a deep sense of déjà vu,
he recognised some former life.
His pride had suffered a blow.
Agathe had conquered him.
But instead of realising he loved her
and surrendering to her gentle love,
he fought against
what he saw as his nemesis,
a diabolical fate.
In the gallery he found some screens
that had never been used.
Like everything else,
they were absurd, useless and awkward.
Paul dragged them out,
set them up,
and made them into ramparts,
a sort of Forbidden City.
An old rug completed his masterpiece.
Wrapped in blankets, he went to sleep.
His former bedroom
from the Rue de Rocher
would gradually take form
in the big hall.
The lamp, the large cloth, the bed,
the chair, the bottles,
the treasure chest,
the moustachioed bust.
After a visit or two,
Elisabeth, Agathe and Gérard moved in,
unable to resist
Paul's exciting new artificial room scape.
It's really the only room that works.
It is pleasant.
- Paul, it's dreadful being rich.
- I'd imagine so.
- Do I look rich?
- You?
No, you'll always look like a beggar.
Good.
I was afraid I looked rich.
- Well, come in.
- May I?
There's a rich lady's question.
Paul, I feel lost.
- Lost?
- Yes, lost and alone.
I'll never get my room right.
You're not alone.
You have Agathe and Gérard with you.
No, they stay in their own rooms now.
They often go out together.
They do?
I lend them the car and driver.
I rarely use them.
What could those two have
to talk about?
We intimidate and bewilder them.
Agathe thinks she annoys you.
They feel free to talk.
- Good God, about what?
- About us.
Those clowns go off together,
so you feel lost?
Yes, Paul. Lost.
I wanted my own room,
but it's killing me.
Sharing a room with you again
would be hell. I won't think of it!
- Thank God.
- I won't think of it,
but my own room is killing me.
You were right to bring everything here.
You're lucky.
You must be happy here
on your desert island,
in your Forbidden City.
It's all right.
We could go here.
Go? Where?
I mean play our game.
Oh, that.
I'm too old for our game.
Too bad.
Farewell, Paul.
- Where are you going?
- Nowhere.
Here's the letter Paul just wrote:
"Agathe, I'm mailing this
because I don't dare bring it to you myself
"Don't be angry.
I love you.
"I've been a fool.
I thought you meant me harm.
"I realise now that I love you
"and that if you don't love me back,
I'll die.
"Answer me, I beg of you.
I'm in agony.
"I'll be waiting in the gallery."
Unfortunately, blinded by his sorrow,
"Paul wrote his own name
instead of Agathe's on the envelope.
She felt unwell at the cinema.
She's gone to her room.
I'll go look in on her.
No, don't.
She asked to be left alone.
What did she say?
She thinks Paul left the room
because he hates her.
- Eat.
- I'm not hungry.
Then go find Paul.
Find out what he's got against us all.
- I'll go see Agathe.
- She wants to be alone.
I want things too!
Now go find Paul.
You know him.
He won't tell me anything.
Even so, you might do me a favour just once
and not be such a bumbling idiot!
He'll be furious if I bother him.
He never is now.
That's what worries me.
Now, now, what's wrong?
Nothing.
Well, it can't be just a runny nose.
It's nothing, I said.
Leave me alone.
I hate myself.
- Gérard must have hurt your feelings.
- Please...
- He said something that hurt you.
- No. Leave me alone.
- I won't go until you feel better.
- Impossible.
- Is it that bad?
- Yes.
Heavens!
Are you in love?
Leave me alone.
Calm down and blow your nose.
- Now tell me all about it.
- No.
Tell me!
I love him.
I adore him...
and he despises me.
Silly girl. What right does he have
to despise you?
Did he tell you he does?
No. So there!
How lucky can he get, the idiot?
If you love him, you must marry him.
Lise, you're very kind,
but he doesn't love me.
- Are you sure?
- He couldn't love me.
You know, Gérard is very shy.
Lise... it's not Gérard.
I meant Paul.
Paul?
Now that's astonishing.
I never would have guessed.
What a surprise!
It's funny, and astonishing!
Tell me all about it.
I have nothing to tell.
I fell in love with Paul
the moment I saw him.
I didn't dare admit it to myself.
I liked it when he teased
and insulted me.
I'd have done anything to be with him,
with all of you.
But now he's avoiding me,
and I can't bear it.
I can't bear it!
It's very simple.
- I'll talk to Paul.
- Lise!
No, he doesn't know!
Please don't!
Don't tell him!
Don't worry.
If he loves you, all is well.
I won't give you away.
I'll get it out of him
without him knowing.
Leave it to me and stay in your room.
- Lise!
- Let me handle it.
From that moment on, she couldn't rest.
Her heart pounded like a hammer.
It wasn't her mind
that dictated her actions.
The spirit of the room
took over her body,
the way some other spirit
might lead a banker
to avoid bankruptcy,
a sailor to save his ship,
or a criminal to establish an alibi.
Paul wants to see you.
He's acting strange.
How's she feeling?
- She wants to be left alone.
- I'm going up.
Don't disturb her.
Wait in my room while I see Paul.
I've come to see how you are.
- Agathe is ill.
- Ill?
Not ill, but unwell.
She's resting now.
I just spoke to her.
- Did she say anything?
- About what?
A special-delivery letter.
What letter?
I can't keep it in any longer.
I wasn't going to tell you, but I must.
I sent her a letter.
You send letters
to people in the house?
I know it's silly,
but I thought a letter arriving unexpectedly
when you were all together
might lend fate a hand.
What did you say in this letter?
That I love her.
You love her?
Yes, Lise.
I'm madly in love with her.
I've been wondering
what was wrong with me.
I didn't want to admit it.
I'm madly in love with Agathe!
Well, well...
Didn't she say anything?
Didn't you notice anything?
I'm the last person she'd tell.
Silly girl.
Wait here for me, darling.
We must have a serious talk.
She didn't mention any letter,
but it couldn't have flown away.
We've got to find it.
But, Lise... did she act strange?
Or angry? Or upset?
No, she was very calm.
She's asleep now.
I'll be right back.
There it was.
The yellow envelope
like a crumpled leaf on the tray.
It bore Paul's big,
clumsy schoolboy scrawl,
but it was addressed,
as you know, to himself
Paul had mistakenly written to Paul.
The mix-up was typical of him.
He'd never change.
- Well?
- I went to Agathe's room.
She's asleep.
The envelope is on her dresser.
A yellow envelope.
Like those there.
Didn't she even mention it?
No, and she must never know I saw it.
You mustn't ask her about it.
She'd say she didn't know
what we were talking about.
Lise...
Come now. Don't cry.
You're a man.
I didn't want to tell you
because you were so depressed...
Tell me what?
Agathe did mention someone,
but it wasn't you.
She loves someone else.
You've got all your signals crossed.
Agathe is no Queen Athalie.
The poor girl isn't aiming very high.
Who is it?
Brace yourself.
It's Gérard.
- Gérard?
- Gérard.
Funny he didn't tell you.
I intimidate him, but you don't.
He probably thought
you'd laugh at them.
Gérard.
Be sensible.
It's perfectly natural.
She's a silly goose,
and he's a nice guy.
They're made for each other.
When Gérard's uncle dies,
he'll be rich.
They'll start a nice little family.
Nothing stands in their way.
It would be monstrous, criminal,
to get in their way.
You can't do that.
You acted on impulse,
but impulse can't fight real love.
It's a grotesque marriage!
True, but all the same,
you have to accept it.
Lise, you're asking the impossible.
Don't be silly.
It's clear she wants
to ignore the letter.
Let her think it was a whim.
You do the same.
Keep away from her.
- I'd better leave.
- That would be silly.
Just pretend nothing happened.
Their engagement
will take her mind off it,
and then they'll be off
on their honeymoon.
Come on now.
Her work was not yet done.
She knew instinctively
that killers strike blow after blow,
without a moment to catch their breath.
Like a nocturnal spider
she moved along,
spinning her web
into the furthest reaches of the night,
working slowly,
effortlessly, unceasingly.
- Well?
- Must you always shout?
- I'm sorry. I'm on edge.
- Paul's ill.
He's too dense to notice,
but it's obvious he has a fever.
The doctor will know
if it's the flu or a relapse.
I ordered him to stay in bed
and see no one.
- I'm going to see him.
- Stay here.
We have to talk.
What do you plan to do about Agathe?
Do? Why?
Why?
Who do you think you're fooling?
You know she loves you
and is confused by your silence.
- Agathe?
- Yes, Agathe!
Are you blind?
With all the time you spend together!
She loves you but thinks you love me,
which is an absurd and revolting idea,
considering my wealth!
Lise...
You'd like to escape
through a secret trap door,
but there is none.
Stop giving me those dreamy-eyed looks.
Marry Agathe
and never reveal my role in this.
You're forcing me to do this.
She must never know that she owes
her happiness to me, so to speak.
I can't believe this!
Now that that's settled, go to bed.
I'll go tell her the good news.
That you love her and have shed
your delusions of grandeur.
Wake up and be happy.
Kiss me and admit
you're the happiest man alive.
If that's what you want.
Good boy.
I'll go tell her.
No, Elisabeth. No.
Listen to me.
Paul doesn't love you.
He's incapable of loving anyone.
His monstrous egotism
would destroy himself, and you with him!
- I'll die.
- No, you won't.
Gérard is a fine, honest boy.
He loves you.
He can offer you a future.
Deep down you love him.
You do!
- Does Paul know?
- He doesn't even suspect.
He's delighted
that you and Gérard are in love.
Just happily announce that you're marrying
Gérard, and he'll never suspect.
He'd never guess in a million years,
and he mustn't ever find out.
Thank you, Lise.
You're very kind.
Don't thank me.
I couldn't stand by
and let him hurt you.
- Thank you.
- Now go to sleep.
She felt calm, inhuman and unburdened.
But at the foot of the stairs,
her heart began pounding again.
She saw Paul approaching
under the spell
of another sleepwalking trance.
"All the perfumes of Arabia
will not sweeten this little hand."
With downcast eyes,
she washed those frightening hands.
I don't understand this relapse.
And he should be
in a more comfortable room.
He won't move.
Try to convince him.
He needs fresh air.
He doesn't look ill.
It's that red lamp that fools you.
Look at him in bright light.
I don't like how he looks.
Don't leave him alone.
I've told you not to touch that lamp.
I wanted to see your face.
What did the doctor say?
That you don't look good.
- Are Agathe and Gérard back?
- They're coming for lunch tomorrow.
I'll get up and have lunch with you.
I can't miss that performance.
- Are you happy?
- Very.
Does he beat you?
Poor Gérard.
I'm the difficult one.
Guess whom I met in Marseilles.
- I'll never guess.
- Dargelos.
- No!
- Oh, yes.
- Has he changed?
- He's a bit paler, like you.
You'd swear he was Agathe's brother.
He's not arrogant anymore.
He's very friendly.
He travels to Indochina often
for some car company.
I went to his hotel room
and he asked if I ever saw Snowball.
The guy hit by the snowball...
meaning you.
- And?
- I said yes,
and he asked,
"Does he still like poison?"
Poison? What for?
Just to have it,
to know it's there, to look at it.
It's wonderful!
- How horrible!
- What's so horrible?
I used to make fake poison
and label the bottles.
They're both insane, Gérard.
You'll end up in prison.
Dargelos showed me poison
from India, China and Mexico.
He said, "At school, Snowball
dreamed of collecting poison,
"but I'm collecting it now."
Here.
A gift from Dargelos.
Let's see it.
The poison brought
their conversation to a halt.
It was fascinating yet revolting,
like a nest of snakes that looks
like one many-headed serpent.
It gave off a heavy odour
of pestilence and geraniums.
Maybe it's a drug.
He wouldn't give you poison.
Don't touch.
I'll tell you what it is.
It's what the natives use
to poison their arrows.
Gérard, it smells vile!
Don't give it to him.
He'll do something reckless.
Paul? Just watch!
- Eat it!
- Stop it!
Eat it!
Reckless, eh?
What a brave man!
Idiot! Eat it yourself!
You'd like that.
No, thanks.
I'll put it in our treasure chest.
Put it in a tin box.
The smell is overpowering.
She put it away slowly and carefully,
her tongue between her lips,
like a woman casting a spell
or sticking a pin in a voodoo doll.
Paul, throw that away.
It's no more dangerous
than the gun in our treasure chest.
Our prize relic.
Give it back to Gérard
and let him throw it away.
Agathe, neither Paul nor I
can stand pettiness.
And don't you forget it.
It was a Sunday.
Snow was falling.
Elisabeth had stayed in bed all day.
She slept and dreamed.
She dreamed Paul had died
and was walking oddly.
She took a path called the Blue Path
because it led
to the blue rug from the gallery.
She wore a new
and unfamiliar dressing gown,
unlike the old bathrobes she preferred.
She climbed a mound of earth.
She passed behind a screen,
but the Forbidden City was gone.
She saw Paul lying on a billiard table.
In her dream,
it was called Gloomy Hill.
She reached Gloomy Hill
and leaned over Paul.
Her left hand touched
the automatic clicker.
Her other hand rested on Paul's.
Paul said,
"Listen to the farewell bell."
He no doubt meant
the tick-tack of the clicker.
I was afraid the door might be locked.
I still have a key.
How is Paul?
Asleep as usual, I suppose.
What's wrong?
He wrote me that
he was going to take poison!
Mariette must have
delivered the letter.
- He must have been joking.
- Some joke!
Paul? Paul!
Paul, answer me!
Paul!
Lise, don't stand there.
Call the doctor.
He's gone to the country.
It's Sunday.
No one's around.
Hurry!
Get him some hot coffee!
Cover him with your coat!
Paul, look at me.
Speak to me.
Water...
Paul, don't scare me like this.
Speak to me.
What did that awful letter mean?
- It's your fault.
- My fault?
Yes, your fault.
Paul explained what had happened,
pouring out the truth
in broken whispers.
Agathe listened in stunned silence.
The poison's stench
spread through the room
as the plot's devious mechanisms
were unfurled.
Elisabeth lied!
I told her I loved you!
She lied!
You must live!
It's too late, Agathe.
Paul, don't drink it!
Do you think I meant to poison him?
I wouldn't put it past you.
You're out of your mind!
Monster!
Filthy monster!
Maybe I'm a monster,
but I'm not a coward.
I didn't want to lose you.
I loathe Agathe.
I couldn't let her take you from me.
She's going to shoot!
Paul!
This is how it must be.
Make life unliveable,
that's the answer.
I have to make the game despise me
so it will spew me forth,
so it will spit in my face!
I must become hideous!
She'll kill me!
She's gone insane!
Help!
No, I haven't gone insane.
You're wrong.
You're the one who's insane.
I must hold out to the end,
and the end's a long way off.
I must live it all,
and it won't be easy.
Paul, look at me.
Can you hear me?
I know you can.
You have to try.
Elisabeth... Elisabeth!
Don't let go.
Count with me.
Count, add, multiply.
I'll lead the way.
Come on! Walk!
Don't let go! Keep moving!
I've gotten lost.
You're under my spell!
I'm hypnotising you!
Paul?
Paul?
Help!
THE END