A woman from the provinces, who had led a respectable life with her husband and children, was consumed by curiosity about the luxurious and corrupt life in Paris. She managed to arrange a trip to the city and set out on a voyage of discovery. However, she was unable to find the orgies and debaucheries she had imagined.
One day, she met a famous writer, Jean Varin, in a shop and impulsively bought an expensive Japanese figure he had been admiring.
She then spent the day with him, going to the Bois de Boulogne, having dinner, and attending the theatre. At the end of the night, she insisted on going to his rooms, where they spent the night together.
The next morning, she left his room early, feeling disappointed and disillusioned by her experience. She encountered street sweepers cleaning the streets and felt as if her dreams had been swept away as well. Returning home, she threw herself on her bed and cried, realizing that the vice she had sought was not at all what she had imagined.
I wanted to know—what—what vice—really was, and—well—well, it is not at all funny.