I will beat her; I will give her a thrashing; I will
give it to her! Poison of my life, she sent me off like a running
footman.'

"By this time we had reached the boulevard, and he had worked himself up
to such a pitch of fury that the words stuck in his throat.

"'I will kick the stuffing out of her!'

"'And why?'

"'My dear fellow, you will never know the thousand-and-one fancies that
slut takes into her head. When I want to stay at home, she, forsooth,
must go out; when I want to go out, she wants me to stop at home; and
she spouts out arguments and accusations and reasoning and talks and
talks till she drives you crazy. Right means any whim that they happen
to take into their heads, and wrong means our notion. Overwhelm them
with something that cuts their arguments to pieces--they hold their
tongues and look at you as if you were a dead dog. My happiness
indeed! I lead the life of a yard-dog; I am a perfect slave. The little
happiness that I have with her costs me dear. Confound it all. I will
leave her everything and take myself off to a garret. Yes, a garret and
liberty. I have not dared to have my own way once in these five years.'

"But instead of going to his guests, Cursy strode up and down the
boulevard between the Rue de Richelieu and the Rue du Mont Blanc,
indulging in the most fearful imprecations, his unbounded language was
most comical to hear. His paroxysm of fury in the street contrasted
oddly with his peaceable demeanor in the house. Exercise assisted him to
work off his nervous agitation and inward tempest. About two o'clock, on
a sudden frantic impulse, he exclaimed:

"'These damned females never know what they want. I will wager my head
now that if I go home and tell her that I have sent to ask my friends
to dine with me at the _Rocher de Cancale_, she will not be satisfied
though she made the arrangement herself.--But she will have gone off
somewhere or other. I wonder whether there is something at the bottom of
all this, an assignation with some goat? No. In the bottom of her heart
she loves me!'"

The Marquise could not help smiling.

"Ah, madame," said Nathan, looking keenly at her, "only women and
prophets know how to turn faith to account.--Du Bruel would have me go
home with him," he continued, "and we went slowly back. It was three
o'clock. Before he appeared, he heard a stir in the kitchen, saw
preparations going forward, and glanced at me as he asked the cook the
reason of this