onnet is a rich laceman of the Rue
St Martin; a man highly respected in trade; no bill of his was ever
protested, nor any engagement failed in. For the thirty years he has
kept shop he has been steadily at work from eight in the morning till
eight at night. His department is to take care of the day-book and
ledger; Madame Moutonnet manages the correspondence and makes the
bargains. The business of the shop and the accounts are confided to an
old clerk and Mademoiselle Eugenie Moutonnet, with whom we shall
presently become better acquainted.

"M. Moutonnet, as you may perhaps already have perceived, is not
commander-in-chief at hone. His wife directs, rules, and governs all
things. When she is in good-humour--a somewhat extraordinary
occurrence--she allows her husband to go and take his little cup of
coffee, provided he goes for that purpose to the coffee-house at the
corner of the Rue Mauconseil--for it is famous for its liberal allowance
of sugar, and M. Moutonnet always brings home three lumps of it to his
wife. On Sundays they dine a little earlier, to have time for a
promenade to the Tuileries or the Jardin Turk. Excursions into the
country are very rare, and only on extraordinary occasions, such as the
fete-day of M. and Madame Moutonnet. That regular life does not hinder
the stout lace-merchant from being the happiest of men--so true is it
that what is one man's poison is another man's meat. M. Moutonnet was
born with simple tastes--she required to be led and managed like a
child. Don't shrug your shoulders at this avowal, ye spirited gentlemen,
so proud of your rights, so puffed up with your merits. You! who think
yourselves always masters of your actions, you yield to your passions
every day! they lead you, and sometimes lead you very ill. Well, M.
Moutonnet has no fear of that--he has no passions--he knows nothing but
his trade, and obedience to his spouse. He finds that a man can be very
happy, though he does not know how to carve a turkey, and lets himself
be governed by his wife. Madame Moutonnet is long past forty, but it is
a settled affair that she is never to be more than thirty-six. She never
was handsome, but she is large and tall, and her husband is persuaded
she is superb. She is not a coquette, but she thinks herself superior to
every body else in talents and beauty. She never cared a rush about her
husband, but if he was untrue to her she would tear his eyes out. Madame
Moutonnet, you perceive, is