For several days EugÉnie and I hardly spoke; she remained in her bedroom almost all day, and I in my study. In that way we did not dispute, to be sure; but that mode of life was very dismal; it was not for the purpose of living on such terms with my wife that I married her; and I felt that I should certainly regret my bachelor days if it was to continue.

I went more than once to Ernest’s. Ah! what a difference! how happy they were! they were still lovers. Love, pleasure, happiness—those are what they gave to each other; and they were still as light of heart, as much like children, as when they lived under the eaves. Ernest, as a matter of courtesy, asked me about my wife; but I fancied that he was not anxious to see her again; for my part, I dared not urge him to come, although I was careful not to mention my quarrel with EugÉnie.

When two people are young, especially when they are fond of each other, they cannot remain on bad terms long. EugÉnie and I hovered about each other, but our accursed pride and self-esteem continued to keep us apart. It was a contest between us to see which should give way first; because, doubtless, she did not think she was in the wrong, and I was perfectly sure that I was in the right. But one day, when EugÉnie was seated beside me, saying nothing, I threw self-esteem to the winds; I embraced my wife affectionately, and we were reconciled. Ah! such reconciliations are very sweet. However, as they are always the result of quarrels, I consider that they are a pleasure in which one should indulge in moderation. The time for us to move drew near, and I felt that I should regret to leave that house in which I had passed such happy hours. But I kept my regrets to myself, for my wife would have ascribed them to other reasons. For EugÉnie, that change was an unalloyed joy. I pretended to share it. I think that her satisfaction was twofold: in the first place, because she was leaving that house; in the second place, because she was moving from that neighborhood, where she knew that we were near the home of Ernest and his wife.

On the eve of the day when we were to move, as everything in our apartment was topsy-turvy, we preferred not to dine there; we could not invite ourselves to dine with Madame Dumeillan, who had not been well for some time; to go to my mother’s might cause her to lose her evening game of whist; so we made up our minds to dine at a restaurant, in a private room. My wife looked forward to it with delight. As my business would detain me quite late in the Tuileries quarter, I arranged to meet EugÉnie on the Terrasse des Feuillants; she was to go to our new apartment, and then to meet me at the place appointed, at five o’clock.

I finished my business as quickly as I could, for I did not wish that EugÉnie should be at the rendezvous before me, and have to wait for me. I made such haste that it was not half-past four when I reached the Garden of the Tuileries. No matter, I thought, I will stroll about.

Less than three minutes after I had arrived, I heard a voice which was not unfamiliar to me, say:

“It seems that we are fated always to meet here; it is very strange, really.”

It was Lucile again. I had not seen her since my wedding day. She was dressed very elegantly, and she was alone.

“Is it you, madame?”

“Yes, monsieur, I am obliged to come to the garden to meet you.”

“It is true that in Paris, when people are not looking for each other——”

“And even if they are looking for each other, that is no reason why they should find each other. Have you just been married again, monsieur?”

“No, madame. That is well enough when one is a bachelor—to take a new wife every week.”

“You have reformed now, I suppose?”

“Yes, madame, entirely.”

“I congratulate you. And yet, although you have reformed, you look very much to me as if you were here to keep an appointment.”

“That is true, madame, but appointments do not always mean love-affairs.”

“I don’t know what they mean; but you are waiting for someone, and I’ll bet that it’s a woman.”

“You are not mistaken; moreover, a woman whom I am going to take to dinner in a private room at a restaurant.”

“You have reformed with a vengeance! But I should have been more surprised to find it the other way. It was well worth while to get married!”

“Madame, I will not prolong your error; it is my wife for whom I am waiting, and whom I agreed to meet here.”

“Your wife! I beg pardon, monsieur, pray receive my apology. I had no suspicion that you had become a Philemon. Come, joking aside, is it really your wife that you are waiting for?”

“Yes, to be sure. What is there so extraordinary in that?”

“Do you mean that you are still in love with your wife?”

“Still! why it seems to me that I was married only yesterday!”

“Bless my soul! how touching!”

Lucile bit her lips with a sneering smile. I had no wish to prolong my conversation with her, although I was certain that my wife would not come so early. I made a motion to bid her adieu; she grasped my arm.

“What, you are going to leave me so soon? Mon Dieu! don’t tremble so; your wife will not come yet.”

“I trust not; for, frankly, I would not like to have her see me talking with you.”

“Would she whip you?”

“No, she wouldn’t do anything; but she is jealous, and it would make her unhappy.”

“She would be very foolish to be jealous of me.”

“That is true; but jealous people often are foolish, you know.”

“Henri, I am going to make a proposition to you.”

“What is it?”

“Take me to dinner instead of your wife. You can tell her this evening that you had an engagement that you couldn’t break.”

“No, I haven’t reached that point yet, thank heaven!”

“Oh! I was only joking, monsieur; I know that you are too virtuous to play such a trick. Have you got ants on your legs?”

“No, but I don’t want to stand here.”

“Very well; let us walk then.”

“I don’t want to walk with you.”

“But what if I don’t choose to leave you?”

“I beg you, Lucile, let me go.”

“Dear me! monsieur assumes his sentimental air. Look you, the garden is free to all; if I choose to walk beside you, you have no right to prevent me. Besides, I am very curious to see your wife. Will she eat me if she finds me with you? Ah! monsieur refuses to answer any more questions; monsieur is angry.”

“Yes, madame, I confess that I don’t understand what motive induces you to act as you are acting. It is pure malice, and it seems to me that I have given you no reason to treat me so.”

“Indeed! it seems so to you, does it? You have a very short memory. It seems to me that I have many reasons for revenging myself on you.”

“Madame, you must have other people to think about who interest you much more than I do; and in the four years since we ceased to see each other, I am surprised that you remember me at all.”

“It is certain that you hardly deserve it. But what would you have? Perhaps that is the reason.”

“Lucile, some other day we will talk as long as you wish; but to-day, I beg you, leave me; don’t stay with me.”

“Ha! ha! you make me laugh!”

I began to walk very fast; Lucile did the same, continuing to talk to me, although I did not reply. I saw that people were staring at us, because I had the aspect of running away from a woman who was pursuing me. I was in dismay. At last I stopped.

“This is a horrible thing that you are doing, Lucile.”

“Well, calm yourself, I will leave you, for you make my heart ache. You start convulsively every time you see a woman! But tell me first, have you my portrait still?”

“Your portrait? Why, I don’t know, I will look.”

“I want you to give it back to me. You can’t care anything about it, and I want it, for it was very like me.”

“I will give it to you.”

“I still live on the same street, but two houses beyond.”

“Very well; I will bring it to you.”

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

“Ah! that will be very kind of you. Adieu, my dear Henri. Come, don’t be angry any more and don’t forget what you have just promised.”

“No, I——”

The words died out on my lips, for I caught sight of my wife within two yards of us, pale and trembling, and gazing directly at us. And at that moment, Lucile had offered me her hand as she bade me good-bye, and I, overjoyed because she was about to leave me, was shaking hands with her in the friendliest way! EugÉnie had seen all that, and Lucile, noticing the sudden change in my features, turned, glanced at my wife, smiled a mocking smile, and walked away, bidding me adieu again in a most unceremonious fashion. Ah! I did not know what I would do to her!

I walked toward my wife. My manner was certainly as embarrassed as if I were guilty.

“So here you are. I was talking with a lady whom I had just met.”

“Yes, I saw that lady, and I heard her too. What is the use, monsieur, of making an appointment with me, of bringing me here to witness such things?”

“Well, upon my word! Now you are going to discover something wrong in this; but I swear——”

“Oh! it costs you nothing to swear! Who is that woman? Is it your former neighbor, Madame Ernest?”

“Oh! no indeed! It’s a woman whom I—whom I knew before I was married.”

“Ah! one of your former mistresses, I suppose.”

“Well! what if that were the fact? As I have not seen her for a long time——”

“You have ceased to see her, and yet she has the assurance to talk with you so freely, holding your hand and looking into the whites of your eyes! And she laughed in my face when she went away. Ah! she has a most impudent manner! But I shall know her again. I had plenty of time to look at her, for you didn’t see me, you were so engrossed with that woman! You promised her something, for she said to you: ‘Don’t forget what you have just promised me.’—Is that so, monsieur?”

“Great heaven! it is very possible, madame. I have no very clear idea what she said to me, for I wanted but one thing, and that was to get rid of her; for I suspected that if you saw me talking with her, it would put a lot of crazy ideas into your head.”

“Crazy ideas! you expect me to see you with a woman like that, and not to object to it! Ah! I am suffocating! I cannot stand any more!”

She put her handkerchief to her eyes. I took her hand and led her away, for I had no desire to make a spectacle of myself again on the Terrasse des Feuillants. We walked along the Champs-ElysÉes for some time, without speaking. I stopped in front of a restaurant and started to go in.

“What is this place?”

“A restaurant, where we are to dine.”

“It is no use, I am not hungry; I want to go home.”

“You know very well that everything in our apartment is packed up, and that we can’t dine there. Really, EugÉnie, you are making yourself miserable for no reason at all. How can you think that if I had relations with that woman, I would be with her where I knew that you were coming?”

“What did you promise her?”

“Mon Dieu! I have no idea; she had been boring me and annoying me for ten minutes; I would have promised her all the treasures of the Indies to get rid of her.”

“But why did she hold your hand?”

“Because it is the habit of all those women; they can’t say a word to you without taking your arm or your hand.”

“Is she a prostitute then?”

“No, she is a—a kept woman.”

“She has a very insolent manner, at all events.”

At last I induced EugÉnie to go in, and we were shown to a private room. I wrote my order, for after all, I myself realized that I had not dined. The waiter left the room, whispering to me in an undertone:

“Monsieur will ring when he wants the dinner served.”

He evidently misunderstood the state of affairs. Husbands and wives are not in the habit of dining in private rooms.

Madame took a seat in the corner, a long way from the table. She rested her head on one of her hands. She had ceased to weep, but she did not look at me. How amusing it would be, if she acted like that all the time that we were dining, or that I was dining! So this was the little spree to which I had looked forward so eagerly! Man proposes and woman disposes.

I wished Lucile at the devil with all my heart. It was her malice, her obstinacy, that had caused all the trouble. The idea of her refusing to leave me! It was simply because it annoyed me.

It seemed to me that if we were to maintain that attitude, I should do well to ring for dinner at once.

Our room looked on the Champs-ElysÉes. The weather was beautiful; although it was only the middle of April, it was as warm as midsummer. I opened the window and looked out at the passers-by for some time. EugÉnie did not budge; I walked to her side.

“EugÉnie, do you propose to stay a mile away from the table like this?”

“I told you that I was not hungry. Eat your dinner, monsieur, I don’t object.”

“What a delightful pleasure party!”

“Yes, I shall remember it.”

“And so shall I, madame. You must have a very bad temper to refuse to listen to reason! The idea of thinking that I was looking for that woman when I was waiting for you!”

“I don’t say that you were looking for her, monsieur, I am not foolish enough for that; but I do think that she was looking for you, a task which you often save her, no doubt. Besides, you have admitted that she used to be your mistress.”

“That I knew her before I was married, that is true, madame. Perhaps I was foolish to admit that; but as I had done no wrong, I did not think that I ought to lie.”

“When a man has known a woman, and continues to see her, he must be on as good terms with her as ever.”

“You are very much mistaken! If it were so, men would have altogether too much on their hands.”

“Everybody has not known all Paris as you have!”

“Madame, I have been no better nor worse than other men; but I see that I should have been less honest with you.”

“You ought to have been more honest with me before marrying me.”

“How nice it would have been to tell a virtuous young lady about all my adventures as a bachelor! Really, you are too absurd.”

I seized the bell cord and jerked it violently, for I felt that my irritation was getting the upper hand of me.

The waiter came; he opened the door a crack and put the end of his nose inside, saying:

“What does monsieur wish?”

“Our dinner.”

“Instantly, monsieur.”

And he went away after casting a furtive glance at EugÉnie.

“Madame, you need not eat, if you prefer not; but you should sit at the table at least, in order not to attract the waiter’s attention.”

EugÉnie made no reply, but she took her seat at the table opposite me.

The soup was brought, and I filled madame’s plate.

“Why, monsieur, I told you that I should not eat anything.”

“But, madame, I do not bid you to eat anything; I simply put some soup in your plate so that you may seem to have dined.”

Madame made no reply, but she did not touch her soup. I ate mine, humming between my teeth. That is my way when I am angry.

The waiter appeared again; he always took the precaution to turn the knob three or four times before coming in. The fellow was an idiot; he must have seen that we were not thinking of making love.

He brought us a beefsteak. At home, EugÉnie always served; I did not like to serve, or to carve. But madame would not so much as look at me. I cut a piece for myself with an angry gesture, then pushed the platter before EugÉnie. But she would not touch it; she knew that it annoyed me to see that she did not eat, and so she was very careful not to take a mouthful.

I found that vexation and impatience were taking away my appetite too; but no matter! I ate a double quantity. To add to my annoyance, a little violinist had stopped under our window; he had played the same tune ever since we had been there, although I had shouted to him that I would give him nothing. I was not in a mood to be generous.

Well, upon my word! Once more the knob was turned and returned. What a blockhead that waiter was! I should have been delighted to kick him. He entered, still with an air of mystery, and placed some sweetbreads on the table.

Really these family quarrels are most tiresome, for there is no way to avoid them, one must submit to them from beginning to end. If you are bored at other people’s houses, you can go away and never go there again; but at home it is different: you always have to go back. I know that there are husbands who go out in the morning and do not return until bedtime; but is it not a hundred times better to be a bachelor than to be obliged to shun one’s house in order to lead a quiet life? Then at all events, one has some little enjoyment; one laughs now and then at home.

I had evidently been indulging in these reflections, and many others which were not at all rose-colored, for a long time. The violin played on, but I had ceased to attend to it; I had also forgotten the sweetbreads which were before us; indeed I did not realize that I was at a restaurant. I was recalled to myself by the noise of the knob being turned. The waiter entered with a roast chicken. He placed his chicken on the table, and looked at the previous dish, which had not been touched. He was uncertain whether he should carry it away, and he looked from one to the other of us. I am sure that he seldom saw such a taciturn couple. As no one said anything to him, he decided to speak.

“Monsieur and madame have not touched the sweetbreads yet. I brought the chicken too soon; I will take it away again.”

“No, no, leave it and take away your sweetbreads; we don’t want them.”

“Oh! I assure you, monsieur, that they are nicely cooked, and so fresh——”

“I tell you to take them away.”

I do not know whether the tone in which I said this was terrifying, but the waiter took the sweetbreads and disappeared like a flash, closing all the doors behind him. The chicken was before us. I wondered if madame would not be obliging enough to carve it. I placed it in front of her and begged her to be good enough to do so. She pushed it back to the middle of the table and said:

“I will not carve.”

I took up the platter again and handed it to her, saying:

“Madame, you know very well that I am not in the habit of carving.”

“You may do as you choose, monsieur.”

“Do you refuse to carve it, madame?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Will you do it—once, twice?”

“No, monsieur.”

“In that case, as it is foolish to make the landlord a present of it——”

I took up the dish and threw the chicken out of the window. My wife involuntarily gave a little shriek. I walked to the window, for I noticed that the violin had stopped. I saw that the little Savoyard had just picked up the chicken, and fearing doubtless that someone would come out to get it, he hastily threw his violin over his shoulder, concealed the bird under his jacket, and ran across the Champs-ElysÉes as if the devil were at his heels.

At that sight I was unable to keep a sober face; I burst into a roar of laughter, which increased in volume when I saw that the little violinist ran faster than ever on seeing me at the window. Madame was unable to resist the desire to see what had become of the chicken. She saw the little fellow’s performance, and bit her lips to avoid laughing; but when I turned toward her, she could hold out no longer; she followed my example.

Nothing restores concord so quickly as laughter; disputes rarely take place between laughter-loving people. We had drawn near to each other, having both left the table to go to the window. I do not know how it happened, but I soon found EugÉnie in my arms; then we kissed, we walked away from the window, and——

Once more the door was opened, this time without rattling the knob. That waiter was fated to do everything awkwardly; he never guessed right! EugÉnie, red as a cherry, hastily moved away from me, but not so quickly that the waiter, who had seen us close together, did not instantly disappear with the macaroni, muttering:

“Beg pardon! you are not ready. Besides, I don’t think the cheese is cooked enough.”

He closed the door. I ran after EugÉnie, who murmured:

“Mon Dieu! what will that waiter think?”

I confess that that question worried me very little, and in a few minutes I think that EugÉnie forgot it too.

I had to ring to get the macaroni. The waiter came at last; but he hummed and talked to himself upon the landing before touching the knob; then he fumbled over it for five minutes. All the time that he was in the room, my wife kept her eyes down and dared not move or speak. She was not used to such occasions.

I ordered the dessert and the champagne. We ended our dinner much more gaily than the beginning of it would have led one to think. I swore to EugÉnie twenty times over that I had ceased to see Lucile long before I had married her. She recovered her amiability; she took nothing but biscuit and champagne, but she declared that it was very pleasant to dine in a private room, and I promised her that we would do it again.

The day following that festivity was our moving day. EugÉnie and her maid went early to install themselves in our new apartment, where she wished to have the furniture arranged at the outset according to her own taste. I remained at our old apartment to look after the packing and loading; indeed, I was not sorry to remain as long as possible in my former bachelor’s quarters.

The people who were hired to move us had promised that everything should be done at four o’clock; at seven I was still there. Finally, the last load drove away, and I was at liberty to do likewise. I walked once more through those bare rooms, which to me were so rich in memories. It was there that I had entertained so many pretty faces. It was there too that I had brought EugÉnie as a bride, and that she had made me a father. What a pity to leave a home where we had been so happy! Should I be as happy elsewhere? But it was time to have done with such childish thoughts. One is certain to be happy anywhere with the object of one’s affections; my wife was probably impatient at my non-arrival, so I started.

I reached our new home on Boulevard Montmartre, and the maid admitted me. The last furniture had been brought, but nothing was in place; whereas I expected to find the apartment all arranged and all in order.

What on earth had they been doing ever since morning! I asked the maid, who seemed distressed.

“Dear me, monsieur,” she replied, “I did not know where to put all these things.”

“What! hasn’t my wife been here with you all day?”

“Yes, monsieur, madame has been here. At first she worked hard arranging things; but after a little, as she was moving a piece of furniture——”

“She hurt herself?”

“Oh! no, monsieur; madame did not hurt herself; but she found something, I don’t know what, that made her unhappy; she cried, and then she went to her room, and she hasn’t touched anything since.”

The deuce! so there was something new! I wondered if I ever again should enjoy two days of peace! But only the day before we had been reconciled; and that very morning she had shown no signs of discontent. What on earth could have caused this new outbreak? Asking myself these questions, I went to EugÉnie’s bedroom. I found her sitting in a chair, but her eyes were dry, and she seemed to be reflecting profoundly. On my arrival, she did not stir.

“What are you doing here, my dear love? It is impossible to find one’s way about here, and the maid says that you will not give any orders; what does it mean?”

“It means, monsieur, that you may arrange everything to suit yourself; for my part I will not lift a finger.”

“Monsieur! Well, well, so something else has gone wrong. Upon my word, this happens too often. Tell me, what is the matter to-day?”

“Oh! I ought not to be surprised; I ought to be prepared for everything with you. But there are things which I shall never be able to take coolly; and when a woman finds that she is deceived so shamefully——”

“Deceived! come, come! explain yourself, madame, I beg you. What fable has somebody been telling you to-day?”

“No one has been telling me any fables, monsieur. This time I have proofs, undeniable proofs. Do not think that I was looking for them; they fell into my hands by the merest chance. When I was trying to put your desk in place, something broke, the drawer opened and I saw—here, monsieur, this is what I found.”

EugÉnie opened a drawer and threw upon a table in front of me the eight portraits of women, which I had kept in my desk.

I confess that at sight of them I was speechless for a few moments; but I recovered myself at last.

“Why should the discovery of these portraits offend you? You know very well that I amuse myself by painting a little. When I was a bachelor, I made these miniatures. They are fancy faces, and I saw no harm in keeping them.”

“Ah! they are fancy portraits, are they?” cried EugÉnie; and she trembled with anger, and her eyes gleamed. “Monster that you are! I expected that reply. You forget that I saw one of the models yesterday! Look, monsieur, is this a fancy portrait? Oh! the likeness is too good for anyone to mistake it; it is a portrait of that woman who was with you yesterday.”

She held out the portrait of Lucile. I had forgotten that it was among those which I had kept; and as it happened, it was one of the best likenesses. I did not know what to say; I was so vexed to appear like a culprit when I had done no wrong, above all, I was so irritated by my wife’s reproaches that I threw myself on a chair and said nothing more.

EugÉnie pursued me, with Lucile’s portrait in her hand.

“You are confounded, monsieur! you cannot think of any more lies to tell; it’s a pity, you tell them so well! So this is the woman with whom you have had nothing to do for a long time, whom you don’t see now, and whom you never loved! But you have her portrait, you treasure it carefully, with those of seven other women whom you probably meet by accident, as you met that creature yesterday! Eight mistresses at once! I congratulate you, monsieur; you make a most virtuous and orderly husband! And this is the man who swore when he married me that he would never love any woman but me! that I alone would suffice to make him happy! Very well, monsieur, have eight mistresses, have thirty, if you choose, but I will not continue to live with a man who acts so. I no longer love you; I feel that I hate you, that I cannot endure the sight of you. I am going home to my mother. Then, monsieur, you will be free to receive your neighbors and all the women whose portraits you paint.”

“Faith, madame, you will do as you choose. For my part, I confess that I am beginning to be tired of your jealous disposition and of your outbreaks, your scenes. This is not the life that I looked forward to when I married. It has ceased to be that pleasant, happy life which was ours at first; and yet, I love you as dearly as ever; I have not ceased for one instant to love you. It is not my fault if you manufacture chimeras, if you detect intrigues in the most innocent things. I have nothing to reproach myself for. If I were guilty, it is probable that I should have taken precautions, and should have found a way to conceal my guilt; but I did nothing wrong in keeping portraits which were painted before I knew you, and which recalled my bachelor studies. It is true that one of them is a portrait of the woman that I met yesterday. In fact, that was what she asked me for, and what I had just promised to send her, when you appeared.”

“Not to send her, but to carry to her yourself. I remember perfectly now. Oh! you can’t make me believe, monsieur, that that portrait was painted long ago. It is that woman just as I saw her yesterday, while she was shaking hands with you so lovingly. And the idea of your daring to claim to be innocent, when I discover every day fresh proofs of your faithlessness! But you shall not carry her her portrait,—neither hers, nor any other. Look! this is what I do with them! Ah! I wish that I could break the bonds that bind me to you in the same way!”

EugÉnie threw the miniatures on the floor; she jumped upon them and ground them to pieces under her feet; I had never seen her in such a frenzy of rage. I said nothing; I kept my seat, and my placidity seemed to intensify her wrath. At last, when she had reduced the ivories to powder, she raised the sleeve of her dress, snatched the bracelet from her arm, in which my portrait was set, and then threw it upon the floor and trampled upon it, crying:

“I will not keep the portrait of a man whom I can no longer love!”

The sight of the destruction of the women’s portraits had caused me no emotion; but when I saw EugÉnie trample my image under her feet, my image which she had sworn to keep as long as she lived, I felt a sharp pang. A keen, poignant grief suddenly took possession of me. It seemed to me that my happiness had been destroyed like that portrait. I involuntarily started to stop EugÉnie; but a feeling of just pride held me back, and I allowed her to consummate the sacrifice.

After shattering my portrait, EugÉnie dropped into a chair as if exhausted by the transport of passion to which she had yielded. I fancied even that I could detect in her eyes some feeling of shame for what she had done. Thereupon I rose and gazed sadly at the shattered fragments of my portrait; then, glancing at my wife, I left the room without saying a word to her. I left the house. I have no idea where I went. I had not dined, but it was my turn not to be hungry. I could still see EugÉnie trampling upon my portrait, and it seemed to me that she could no longer love me, that her love and her fidelity were attached to that image for which she no longer cared.

I realized that I must be a man rather than a lover, for love does not last forever, but manliness sustains us throughout our whole life. While reasoning thus with myself, I sighed profoundly, for I still adored EugÉnie; after all, jealousy is a proof of love, they say: my wife would come to herself and I would forgive her. But the breaking of my portrait, my work, which should have reminded her of the delicious sittings, when she was beside me—Ah! that was very wicked! and I should have difficulty in forgiving her for that.

I walked a long while; at last I found myself in my old street; I believe that our legs have an instinct of their own, and that they lead us toward the places which they have often traversed.

Suppose I should go to see Ernest and his wife, I thought, to divert my mind from my troubles? They were my only friends, and would gladly share my sorrows. However, I would not tell them of my woes, but I would forget them in their company. So I betook myself to Rue du Temple.

The concierge told me that they were at home. I went up. Madame Ernest admitted me and ushered me into her room, saying:

“By what miracle have you come in the evening, monsieur? It is seldom enough that we see you even in the morning. Ernest is at the theatre, but he promised to return early.”

The little woman gave me a seat and then resumed her work. We talked, or rather she talked; she talked of Ernest, of his work, of his success, of their mode of life. I enjoyed listening to her. While she was speaking, I looked at her, and it seemed like one of the evenings which I used to pass in her attic room. Marguerite was still the same, and in my thoughts I loved to call her by that name still.

Suddenly she stopped and said to me:

“I am doing all the talking. I must be wearying you, am I not?”

“Oh, no!”

“But you don’t say anything.”

“I am listening to you.”

“Never mind, you are not usually silent like this. Are you unhappy?”

“Perhaps so.”

“A little falling out with your wife? I will wager that I have guessed it!”

“That is true; we have had a little dispute.”

“And that makes you unhappy. Ah! you are like me; when I have a dispute with Ernest, it makes me very sad! Luckily it seldom happens, and it doesn’t last long. I should die if it did!”

And the little woman told me about some petty discussions between Ernest and herself, the merest child’s play, which could not interrupt the current of their love for an instant. I had been listening to my little neighbor for an hour, without being bored for an instant; however, I was anxious to know what was going on at home, so I rose.

“I won’t try to detain you,” said Madame Ernest; “your wife is waiting for you, no doubt, and you mustn’t let her get impatient. Ernest will be sorry to have missed you.”

I took leave of my former neighbor and left the house. As I stepped into the street, a woman who was leaning against a post near the porte cochÈre, seized my arm convulsively, and said:

“You have been alone with her for an hour and a half; her Ernest wasn’t there. I know, for the concierge told me so.”

It was EugÉnie. EugÉnie, who had followed me, no doubt, and had seen me go into that house, and had remained at the door all the time that I had been with Marguerite.

I was so surprised, so thunderstruck, that I could not answer. After saying these few words, my wife left me and ran swiftly before me. I called her, I tried to overtake her, and succeeded at last. But she would not answer me, she persisted in refusing to take my arm.

And thus we returned home. I tried to have an explanation with my wife, but she locked herself into her bedroom and refused to admit me. A bed was made for me in my study.

So I was obliged to pass the night alone, and separate like that after the scenes of the evening! Ah! that was a very gloomy housewarming in our new apartment.