hat use were ancient principles of military art in
presence of the impetuous genius of Napoleon? If, to-day, however, we
reduce to a system the lessons taught by this great captain whose new
tactics have destroyed the ancient ones, what future guarantee do we
possess that another Napoleon will not yet be born? Books on military
art meet, with few exceptions, the fate of ancient works on Chemistry
and Physics. Everything is subject to change, either constant or
periodic.

This, in a few words, is the history of our work.

So long as we have been dealing with a woman who is inert or lapped in
slumber, nothing has been easier than to weave the meshes with which
we have bound her; but the moment she wakes up and begins to struggle,
all is confusion and complication. If a husband would make an effort
to recall the principles of the system which we have just described in
order to involve his wife in the nets which our second part has set
for her, he would resemble Wurmser, Mack and Beaulieu arranging their
halts and their marches while Napoleon nimbly turns their flank, and
makes use of their own tactics to destroy them.

This is just what your wife will do.

How is it possible to get at the truth when each of you conceals it
under the same lie, each setting the same trap for the other? And
whose will be the victory when each of you is caught in a similar
snare?

"My dear, I have to go out; I have to pay a visit to Madame So and So.
I have ordered the carriage. Would you like to come with me? Come, be
good, and go with your wife."

You say to yourself:

"She would be nicely caught if I consented! She asks me only to be
refused."

Then you reply to her:

"Just at the moment I have some business with Monsieur Blank, for he
has to give a report in a business matter which deeply concerns us
both, and I must absolutely see him. Then I must go to the Minister of
Finance. So your arrangement will suit us both."

"Very well, dearest, go and dress yourself, while Celine finishes
dressing me; but don't keep me waiting."

"I am ready now, love," you cry out, at the end of ten minutes, as you
stand shaved and dressed.

But all is changed. A letter has arrived; madame is not well; her
dress fits badly; the dressmaker has come; if it is not the dressmaker
it is your mother. Ninety-nine out of a hundred husbands will leave
the house satisfied, believing that their wives are well guarded,
when, as a matter of fact, the wives