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- A book that would show...
- No, no. I mean...
...you're a reasonable man,
Monsieur Zola.
We only want to do
what we think is best for our country.
You will do what is best for yourself...
...by leaving me strictly alone
to write what I please, as I please.
Good day, monsieur.
That's the funniest thing I've...
It's good to be together again, Paul.
Just like old times.
Old times.
Oh, Paul, I want you to see the pearls
mile bought for me when we were in Italy.
- Albert.
- Yes, monsieur?
Make certain that all the windows
are tightly shut.
- mile, mile. Still afraid of drafts.
- My chest, you know.
Oh, your chest is as strong as a barrel.
It always was.
Paul, I've always... You know, l...
I want to show you something.
Look at this priceless bit of woodcarving.
I picked it up at Lodi,
an extraordinary piece of craftsmanship.
And... Oh, now I have a real
rare treat for you.
I have something here that
you may have traveled the world over...
...and never have found its like.
This will simply leave you breathless.
This most exquisite majolica.
I chanced upon it in a little,
out-of-the-way shop in Venice.
The work on this...
- Won't you sit down, Paul?
- No, I must go.
- It's goodbye.
- Goodbye?
Yes. I'm going south,
back to the country.
You can't do that, man.
Why, Paris is the very center...
Paris isn't for me any longer.
Come, Paul.
We're old friends.
Out with it. What is it?
- You really want me to tell you?
- Why, of course.
You're wealthy now, world-famous...
...a member of the Legion of Honor.
You've come a long way from the days
when we starved together in an attic.
And you shouted:
"Burn the books of the hypocrites,
the shams...
...and let their lying pages
warm the bones of a man of truth."
Sometimes I'm tempted to give in
and paint for...
No, mile.
An artist should remain poor.
Otherwise his talent, like his stomach,
grows fat and stuffy.
I am sorry, mile, but I had to say it.
You're my oldest and my dearest friend.
- I couldn't go without telling you this.
- Paul.
Won't you stay?
I need someone to remind me
of the old, struggling, carefree days...
...fighting for a foothold.
You can never go back to it,
and I've never left it.
- Will you write?
- No.
But I'll remember.
- What's the matter, dear? Tired?
- No, no. Just thinking.
Czanne's gone.
- Back to Provence.
- Yes, I know. I met him in the hall.
- You didn't quarrel?
- Quarrel? With Czanne?
But he's taken something of me with him.
- The last of my youth.
- Oh, rubbish.
He said I was getting too famous
and too fat.
Well, what if I have?
I've fought my battles. I want calm, rest.
- From now on, I could look only backward.
- That's just idle talk.
Come, let's play a game of piquet.
Strange, isn't it?
Paul and I.
Well, life is tricky.
And I suppose we don't influence
our fate.
While we're playing piquet,
a starving mother and child...
...jump into the River Seine.
A servant forgets to extinguish a stove...
...and someone suffocates.
Who knows whose fate
may intermingle with ours.
Or when.
A shot is fired.
A letter is written.
- Rene, lay out my civilian suit at once.
- Very good, commandant.
I want to see the military attach,
Colonel von Schwartzkoppen.
Sorry, His Excellency went to Berlin,
but he'll be back tonight.
- I'll leave this letter for him.
- Very good, monsieur.
- What is it?
- Look.
- Colonel von Schwartzkoppen?
- The German military attach. Interesting.
- The commandant should see this.
- Now, wait a minute.
What do you think of this?
This should be examined
by the chief of intelligence.
Excuse me, colonel.
This is inconceivable.
We must show it to the war minister.
Gentlemen, come with me.
I think that will be all, gentlemen.
- Pardon me, general.
- Yes?
This is most urgent.
- It's a bordereau.
- Yes.
A list of our secret documents.
"I am sending you..." What's this?

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