The tensely stretched membrane trembled and registered the silence—no， the sharp， hammerlike blows of the heart against the iron bars， and endless pauses between beats. And I heard， saw， how she， behind me， hesitated for a second， thinking. The door of the closet....It slammed； again silk...silk...
"Well， all right."
I turned around. She was dressed in a saffron-yellow dress of an ancient style. This was a thousand times worse than if she had not been dressed at all. Two sharp points glowing with rosiness through the thin tissue； two burning embers piercing through ashes； two tender， round knees...
She was sitting in a low armchair. In front of her on a small square table I noticed a bottle filled with something poisonously green， and two small glasses with thin stems. In the corner of her mouth she had a very thin paper tube； she was ejecting smoke formed by the burning of that ancient smoking substance whose name I do not now remember，
The membrane was still vibrating. Within， the sledge hammer was pounding the red-hot iron bars of my chest. I heard distinctly every blow of the hammer， and...What if she， too， heard it？
But she continued to produce smoke very calmly； calmly she looked at me； and nonchalantly she flicked ashes on the pink check！
With as much self-control as possible I asked， "If you still feel that way， why did you have me assigned to you？ And why did you make me come here？"
As if she had not heard at all， she poured some of the green liquid from the bottle into one of the small glasses， and sipped it.
"Wonderful liqueur！ Want some？"
Then I understood： alcohol！ Like lightning there came to memory what I had seen yesterday： the stony hand of the Well-Doer， the unbearable blade of the electric ray； there on the Cube， the head thrown back， the stretched-out body！ I shivered.
"Please listen，" I said. "You know， do you not， that anyone who poisons himself with nicotine， and more particularly with alcohol， is severely treated by the United State？"
Dark brows raised high to the temples， the sharp mocking triangle.
""It is more reasonable to annihilate a few than to allow many to poison themselves....And degeneration，"...etc....This is true to the point of indecency."
"Indecency？"
"Yes. To let out into the street such a group of bald-headed， naked little truths. Only imagine， please. Imagine， say， that persistent admirer of mine—S—， well， you know him. Then imagine： if he should discard the deception of clothes and appear in public in his true form....Oh！" She laughed. But I clearly saw her lower， sorrowful triangle： two deep grooves from the nose to the mouth. And for some reason these grooves made me think： that double-curved being， half-hunched， with winglike ears—he embraced her？ Her， such...Oh！
Naturally， I try now merely to express my abnormal feelings of that moment. Now， as I write， I understand perfectly that all this is as it should be； that he， S-4711， like any other honest Number， has a perfect right to the joys of life， and that it would be unjust....But I think the point is quite clear.
I-330 laughed a long， strange laugh. Then she cast a look at me， into me.
"The most curious thing is that I am not in the least afraid of you. You are such a dear， I am sure of it！ You would never think of going to the Bureau and reporting that I drink liqueurs and smoke. You will be sick or busy， or I don"t know what...Furthermore， I am sure you will drink this charming poison with me."
What an impertinent， mocking tone！ I felt definitely that in a moment I would hate her. （Why in a moment？ In fact， I hated her all the time.）
