pon she set her head-kerchief straight, and settled herself to
tell the tale; for there is no doubt a particular attitude of confidence
and security is necessary to the telling of a narrative. The best tales
are told at a certain hour--just as we are all here at table. No one
ever told a story well standing up, or fasting.

"If I were to reproduce exactly Rosalie's diffuse eloquence, a whole
volume would scarcely contain it. Now, as the event of which she gave me
a confused account stands exactly midway between the notary's gossip and
that of Madame Lepas, as precisely as the middle term of a rule-of-three
sum stands between the first and third, I have only to relate it in as
few words as may be. I shall therefore be brief.

"The room at la Grande Breteche in which Madame de Merret slept was on
the ground floor; a little cupboard in the wall, about four feet deep,
served her to hang her dresses in. Three months before the evening of
which I have to relate the events, Madame de Merret had been seriously
ailing, so much so that her husband had left her to herself, and had his
own bedroom on the first floor. By one of those accidents which it is
impossible to foresee, he came in that evening two hours later than
usual from the club, where he went to read the papers and talk politics
with the residents in the neighborhood. His wife supposed him to have
come in, to be in bed and asleep. But the invasion of France had been
the subject of a very animated discussion; the game of billiards had
waxed vehement; he had lost forty francs, an enormous sum at Vendome,
where everybody is thrifty, and where social habits are restrained
within the bounds of a simplicity worthy of all praise, and the
foundation perhaps of a form of true happiness which no Parisian would
care for.

"For some time past Monsieur de Merret had been satisfied to ask Rosalie
whether his wife was in bed; on the girl's replying always in the
affirmative, he at once went to his own room, with the good faith that
comes of habit and confidence. But this evening, on coming in, he took
it into his head to go to see Madame de Merret, to tell her of his
ill-luck, and perhaps to find consolation. During dinner he had observed
that his wife was very becomingly dressed; he reflected as he came
home from the club that his wife was certainly much better, that
convalescence had improved her beauty, discovering it, as husbands
discover everything, a little too late. Instead