It is time for us to turn our attention to that husband whom his wife adored—a state of affairs which is sometimes seen, but which is of uncommon occurrence none the less. And instead of manifesting his gratitude for that conjugal adoration, and for the loving caresses which his wife lavished upon him, by graceful little attentions and amiable behavior, the husband in question seemed, on the contrary, fatigued, annoyed, bored, by madame's caresses; indeed, he sometimes evaded them on the most frivolous pretexts. For men are made that way; and if their wives deceived them, they would fall in love with them again. Poor, weak mortals! who complain when you possess, and complain even more loudly when you have ceased to possess! You are never content, and it is so with everything! As for myself, ever since I was born, I have constantly heard men complain of their plight in love, in politics, and in business; I have always found people discontented; and, at all periods of time, and under all governments, I have heard merchants and tradesmen say: "Everything is at a standstill; there's nothing doing; business is wretched!" and other complaints of the same sort, which do not prevent business from going on as usual—some making their fortunes, others becoming insolvent, as in all times.

After the hurried exit of the false Italian count and the commission merchant in sugar, the remainder of Monsieur Mirotaine's guests were, as may be imagined, in a state of much confusion and excitement; those who had been present at the dinner, and were aware of its object, looked at one another without speaking; but those who had come for only the evening plied the host and his wife with innumerable questions; while they as persistently questioned DubottÉ, who had laid bare the fraud.

"But are you quite sure, my dear DubottÉ," said Mirotaine, "that this pretended Count MiflorÈs is really one Seringat?"

"Perfectly sure; Seringat, apothecary at Pontoise. I passed nearly two months in that city, where I went to receive a legacy.—You remember, Nonore?"

"Oh! I should say so! I was unhappy enough while you were away; I did nothing but cry!"

"You cry far too much when I am away, my dear love; you must cure yourself of that habit, or it will make your eyes as red as a rabbit's.—As I was saying, during my stay at Pontoise I met Monsieur Seringat in society several times."

"And he is married?"

"Very well married; to a very pretty woman, who, I am sure, does not amuse herself weeping when her husband is away. I had the pleasure of dancing with her at a party given by the notary of the town."

"Ah! you bad man! you danced when I wasn't there!"

"My dear love, if when a man is married he is debarred from tripping the light fantastic except with his wife, it would be enough to disgust men with marriage forever! You absolutely refuse to realize that although a man has a wife he is none the less bound to be always polite and agreeable to other women. I have told you that a hundred times!"

"And what about his wife?"

"Parbleu! his wife has the same rights! And, above all things, she ought not to do as you do—keep herself in her husband's pocket all the time. Why, it's beastly form; it's as vulgar as the devil! You really must cure yourself of that; I don't want you to be vulgar."

"But," continued Monsieur Mirotaine, "I cannot see what motive this Monsieur Seringat can have had to present himself in a respectable house, under a name which doesn't belong to him, and as a man who desires to marry?"

"He told you that he desired to marry?"

"He didn't breathe a word of it," said Aldegonde, "and he didn't make a single effort to talk with Juliette."

"Then why do you say that he wants to marry; for, unless his wife is dead—and that seems to me most improbable, as she was young, and as fresh as a rose——"

"You noticed that, PhilÉmon?"

"Oh! my dear love, don't comment in this way on every word I say, I beg you! I have noticed many other women since."

"Ah! you villain! And what about me?"

"You! why, you are my wife, and that ought to satisfy you; it seems to me that that's something to say!—To cut it short, my dear Mirotaine, I tell you again, this whole business is probably a joke invented by my friend Dodichet, who passes his time looking about for somebody to make a fool of. And so, although he's an old schoolmate of mine, I have never asked him to my house; not that I am afraid of his nonsense; I have a wife, thank God! with whom I can sleep with both eyes shut!"

"And that is just what you do, my dear; you always sleep when you're with me."

"Hush, Nonore! These domestic details are never talked about in company."

"Why not, my dear?"

"Why, because——"

Monsieur Mirotaine was as savage as a bulldog because he had given a dinner party to no purpose. Aldegonde was annoyed at being deceived by her dealer in wardrobes, who had gone away in dire confusion at having made a mess of it. The rest of the company soon followed Madame Putiphar's example; the three balloons withdrew, constantly colliding with one another; Monsieur Brid'oison, in the hat which had been left in place of his; Artaban, climbing on his father's shoulders; Madame Trichon, rubbing the eye which had received the pickled onion; and young CallÉ, looking longingly at Aldegonde, who did not look at him because she was angry. Juliette alone was happy, but she dared not show it.

Lastly, DubottÉ and his wife took leave of the host and hostess.

"This party has been a failure," said PhilÉmon to young CallÉ, who put on his gloves as he went downstairs. "It's only ten o'clock—what in the deuce can we do now?"

"Seven minutes past ten!" said the young spark, looking at his watch; "I agree with the Treasury."

"Never mind; a fellow can't go home to bed at seven minutes after ten; for my part, I hate to go to bed early."

"True—it's bad form."

"But you always want me to go to bed early, my dear."

"Yes—because it's very healthy for women; they need more sleep than we do.—Which way are you going, Monsieur CallÉ?"

"Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne, No. 8, monsieur."

"Indeed! and we live on Rue Bleue, within a few steps. By the way, Monsieur CallÉ, are you related to a CallÉ of Lyon, wholesale dealer in silks?"

"He's my cousin, monsieur."

"Pardieu! he's one of my best friends. When we were bachelors, he used to come to Paris often; we've had many a spree together!"

"What, my dear! did you ever go on sprees?"

"I was speaking to Monsieur CallÉ, Nonore; it doesn't concern you.—So you are Édouard CallÉ's cousin?"

"I have that honor."

"Sapristi! what a bore it is to go home at ten o'clock!"

"If you want to take me anywhere, my dear, I am all ready."

"Why, no, madame, no; I don't care to take you anywhere to-night. It's too late to go to the theatre—so there's nowhere to go but a cafÉ, and men don't take their wives to a cafÉ; it's very bad form. Besides, women don't enjoy it, and they're terribly in the way."

"But you go there a great deal!"

"I go to my club—a most excellent club, where one can always have a game of cards; and I confess that I am strongly inclined to go there and play a game of whist."

"Well! take me to your club."

"Upon my word! as if women were ever admitted! Women at a club! Why, we couldn't hear ourselves talk! I feel just like going there to-night, but it's in an entirely different direction from my house. It just occurs to me that as Monsieur CallÉ lives in our quarter, it would not inconvenience him very much to leave you at our door; in that way, I could go to my club."

"I am entirely at your service, monsieur, and it will give me great pleasure to escort madame."

"What! you are going to leave me, PhilÉmon? you are going to send me home with monsieur, whom I hardly know?"

"Why, bless my soul, Nonore! I don't see that monsieur has a very terrifying aspect. Besides, he is a friend of Mirotaine, and the cousin of a man with whom I am very intimate; so he isn't a stranger to me."

"I don't care for that; you know very well that I am not in the habit of taking any man's arm but yours."

"Exactly; and it's a most absurd idea, of which you must cure yourself."

With that, the fair-haired beau took his wife's arm from within his own and turned it over to the young man, who was modestly waiting.

"My dear Monsieur CallÉ," he said, "I intrust my wife to you, and my mind is entirely at ease; I am convinced that you won't lose her."

"Oh! no, monsieur; I will not leave madame until she is safely inside her door."

"Thanks.—Au revoir, Nonore! go right to bed; I shan't be late."

"PhilÉmon! PhilÉmon! you are going away without kissing me!"

But PhilÉmon was already at some distance; delighted to be rid of his wife, he had fairly taken to his heels. The loving ÉlÉonore heaved a profound sigh, and decided at last to take the arm which young CallÉ offered her. They walked away, the little woman still sighing, her escort cudgelling his brain to think of something to say to console her.

"If madame thinks that we are walking too fast," he faltered at last, "we can walk more slowly."

"Oh! this is all right, monsieur."

And they walked on in silence. In a moment, the little woman, who was rather fond of talking, opened the conversation.

"You are not married, are you, monsieur?"

"No, madame; I am a bachelor."

"When you are married, shall you send your wife home under the escort of some acquaintance?"

"Mon Dieu! madame, I must confess that I don't know what I shall do."

"Shall you be displeased if your wife always wants to go out with you?"

"Oh! I think not, madame."

"Will it annoy you, if she comes to you often for a kiss?"

"Oh! certainly not; far from it! especially if—especially if she—no, it wouldn't annoy me."

Monsieur CallÉ had tried to pay a compliment to the lady on his arm, but it would not come out.

"Well," continued ÉlÉonore, "my husband often pushes me away when I take a fancy to kiss him."

"He does it in joke, of course?"

"No, monsieur; sometimes he even scolds me; he declares that my manners are vulgar; that only workingmen's wives kiss their husbands like that. Is that true?"

"Oh! I can't tell you, madame."

"If it is, I am sorry my husband isn't a workingman; because then I could kiss him when I wanted to, and he wouldn't think I was ridiculous."

CallÉ made no reply, but he thought:

"It seems that this lady is very fond of kissing. If I were her husband, I wouldn't object. She isn't such a beautiful woman as Madame Mirotaine, but her manner is gentler—and then, she seems to be very caressing."

In due time they arrived at DubottÉ's abode. ÉlÉonore thanked her escort, who bowed respectfully and tried again to make some complimentary remark, but with no better success, although his efforts were rewarded by a courtesy.

"That gentleman is very polite," said Madame DubottÉ to herself, as she entered the house; "but he doesn't talk enough."

Monsieur DubottÉ, who returned home very late that night, because he had been elsewhere than to his club, did his utmost to get into bed without waking his wife; a manoeuvre which he often executed, and in which he was very skilful. The next morning, while he was dressing, he said to madame:

"Well, my dear love, were you content with your escort? You got home without accident, I fancy?"

"Oh! yes, he's a very nice young man; he brought me to the door."

"Pardieu! did you suppose he would drop you half-way? You asked him to come to see us, I hope?"

"No, I didn't; why should I ask him?"

"You should have done so; it would have been no more than polite. Do you know, I like that little CallÉ; I should be very glad to have him visit us. He's a young man to whom one can safely intrust his wife."

"Why, my dear, do you expect to send me about with another man often?"

"I don't say that; but there are unforeseen circumstances. For instance: we have tickets to the theatre; I often have them, you know, through my connection with the actors. Well, I can't go; or, at least, I can't go till very late; then what do I do? I ask CallÉ to escort you to the theatre, and I join you there when I have finished my business; do you see?"

"What! you would let me go to the theatre with another man? O PhilÉmon!"

"But if I come and join you there, it's precisely the same thing as if I went with you! That sort of thing is done every day."

"Well, I simply shouldn't enjoy it without you."

"Don't you understand that I would come, too—later?"

"That isn't the same thing."

"Oh! how far behind the times you are, my dear love! Luckily, I know that young man's address; he told us what it was: No. 8, Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne."

"And you mean to go to see him?"

"His cousin was my intimate friend, and he can tell me something about him. Stay! I have an idea: I'll invite him to dinner; the fellow's all right socially, so that we can afford to receive him; he isn't like that scamp Dodichet—there's a man I will never invite! That was a neat trick he played on Mirotaine. But why is this Seringat, this Pontoise druggist, in Paris under an assumed name? What can he have done with his wife? If I had time, I'd go to Pontoise and find out."

"You'd take me with you, wouldn't you?"

"Oh! there you are again! how amusing that would be! To stuff my wife in my pocket for a little trip of twenty-four hours, and double, yes, treble the expense! That would be downright idiocy. But, don't worry; I haven't the time to go to Pontoise."