AdhÉmar returned home alone. What he had learned, while it proved to him that he had wrongfully suspected Madame Dermont's loyalty, caused him more pleasure than pain, none the less; he was grieved, he was in despair, because he had broken his repeated promises and had had no confidence in Nathalie's love; but he was happy, very happy, to know that she had not deceived him, and to be able to say to himself: "She did love me!" So that, even in his grief, there was a something that made his heart beat joyously, and that allayed in some degree the bitterness of his regrets.

On reaching home, AdhÉmar attempted to work. But it is very difficult to write novels or plays when the heart is full, when a single thought forces itself constantly on the mind. As he reflected on what his three friends and himself had done during the past year, he thought:

"Proverbs are always right: little streams make great rivers; for the little streams act with equal effect for our good or our ruin. PhilÉmon DubottÉ had a wife who adored him, who would have liked to be always on his arm; instead of congratulating himself because he had found a phoenix, he was always on the lookout for opportunities to go about without his wife; he ridiculed her affection; he left her evening after evening alone with a young man, who was infinitely more agreeable to her than her husband was. All these ill-advised acts were the little streams which were certain to bring about the result which husbands ought, by every means, to try to avoid.

"Lucien Grischard was without means; but he had the most useful, the most reliable of all the elements of fortune: courage, perseverance, love of work. By dint of patience and privation, he succeeded in starting a small business, in making himself known, and in winning esteem by his probity; little by little, he has extended his connections and increased his business, and, insignificant as it was at first, he has made it lucrative. All these little streams have carried him on to his goal—to happiness. He has well earned it!

"Dodichet had everything that might make a man happy: sufficient means, health, and high spirits. But an unfortunate mania, an incessant inclination to make sport of others, to play practical jokes on his friends and acquaintances, led him into a path where he began by spending all that he possessed, and ended by living at the expense of other people. He was so incapable of behaving decently in any sort of position that he actually found a way to lose his place as prompter at a provincial theatre; and now he is reduced to poverty, as the result of all these follies piled one upon another, which some day will carry him off to the great river. For these blagueurs who are so agreeable in society often end in that way.

"As for myself—ah, me! if I am unhappy now, I have only myself to blame for it. After many unimportant liaisons, I met such a woman as I had dreamed of, and I had the good fortune to be loved by her; at last I knew that true, genuine love, which is so sweet to the heart; that love which leaves so far behind all those mad passions of a moment in which our youth is drowned. I was happy, ah! yes, very happy! But my infernal jealousy gave me no rest. Having been deceived a hundred times by women who did not know the meaning of love, I could not persuade myself that a woman was really faithful to me. My suspicions were unjust; that was proved to me several times, and yet it did not prevent me from conceiving new ones. These insults, so often repeated, have lost me Nathalie's heart. She has forgiven me many times, but I cannot hope that she will forgive me again, after that letter, in which, in my frenzy, I did not hesitate to tell her that her treachery was shameful, when her only purpose was to ensure Juliette's and Lucien's happiness! And I went off, without seeing her, without even asking her to explain her conduct! Oh! ghastly effects of jealousy! I had promised so solemnly to mend my ways; and, instead of that, I kept repeating my offence! Oh! I did not deserve to be loved sincerely!"

And AdhÉmar, whose arm was resting on his desk, laid his burning head on his hand; and would perhaps have remained a long while in that position, had he not felt the touch of a little hand upon his shoulder, while a well-known voice said to him:

"And yet, she loves you still, monsieur!"

The words echoed in the depths of the poor fellow's heart. He raised his head: Nathalie was beside him, smiling at him and looking into his face as lovingly as ever.

He uttered a cry, and stammered:

"Is it possible? Can it be that you forgive me again?"

"Yes, my friend, I must. Look—at that scar—the burn on your wrist—— You see that I must forgive you always!"

"Great God! I am afraid that my happiness is a dream."

"No, monsieur. Lucien came just now and told me how sad and unhappy you were. I thought that you were punished enough, so I came. Did I do wrong?"

"Oh! how good you are! Really I do not deserve to be loved like this!"

"Are you going to begin again?"

"Oh! this time, Nathalie, I swear——"

"Don't swear! Believe me, oaths amount to nothing. It ought not to be necessary to promise, in order to do what is right."

And now, readers, do you wish to know what has become of the small number of persons who have played a part in this simple study of contemporary manners?

First, DubottÉ has continued to be perfectly content; his wife is no longer constantly clinging to his arm, but lets him go out alone as much as he pleases. Sometimes, indeed, she refuses to go with him; she has taken a great fancy to the game of bÉzique, and young CallÉ is always ready to come and play with her.

Lucien Grischard, on becoming Juliette's husband, did not cease to love his wife and hard work; consequently, his business is flourishing, and his married life is one long honeymoon.

Dodichet, having conceived the droll idea of smoking in his prompter's hole, set the stage on fire and was found roasted, as a result of his last practical joke.

Monsieur Mirotaine, being unable at last to find anybody who cared to come to his evening parties in winter, where hot cocoa was served to the company, concluded to provide no other refreshment than that caused by opening the windows; but when he is invited to breakfast or dine at a restaurant, he never fails to empty the salt cellars and pepper boxes into little paper bags which he carries in his pocket.

Monsieur Brid'oison still goes into ecstasies over his son's skill and agility in gymnastics. Little Artaban never enters a salon without making a handspring, and his papa is confident that that fashion will soon be adopted by the fair sex.

Madame Putiphar, the dealer in second-hand clothes, still arranges marriages, in the interest, not of the young ladies concerned, but of the second-hand cashmere shawls which she slips among the wedding gifts.

Mademoiselle Boulotte is still trying to make mineral rouge with—no matter what!

We all have our inclinations, our little streams, which bear us on, some toward good, some toward evil. We must try to avoid the latter, and follow those whose water is pure and whose banks are bright with flowers: they are the ones that lead to good.

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