She was eager and yet ashamed to listen.
Another woman was sitting motionless, with her head leaning forward, but her mouth compressed as if she were defending herself tragically.
And beneath the worldly mask of her face, I saw a fanatical martyr's smile impress itself like handwriting.
And the men! I distinctly heard one man, the man who was so calm and simple, catch his breath.

Another man, with a characterless business man's face, was making a great effort to talk of this and that to a young girl sitting next to him, while he watched her with a look of which he was ashamed and which made him blink.

And everybody condemned the satyr in terms of the greatest abuse.
And so, for a moment, they had not lied.

They had almost confessed, perhaps unconsciously, and even without knowing what they had confessed.

They had almost been their real selves.