dea of
self-sacrifice. To live in that pleasant old house, with a green garden
behind and bright flowers about the window, to eat and drink of the best,
to gossip with a neighbour for a quarter of an hour, never to wear stays
or a dress except when she went to Fontainebleau shopping, to be kept in
a continual supply of racy novels, and to be married to Doctor Desprez
and have no ground of jealousy, filled the cup of her nature to the brim.
Those who had known the Doctor in bachelor days, when he had aired quite
as many theories, but of a different order, attributed his present
philosophy to the study of Anastasie. It was her brute enjoyment that he
rationalised and perhaps vainly imitated.

Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and made coffee to a nicety.
She had a knack of tidiness, with which she had infected the Doctor;
everything was in its place; everything capable of polish shone
gloriously; and dust was a thing banished from her empire. Aline, their
single servant, had no other business in the world but to scour and
burnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his house like a fatted calf, warmed
and cosseted to his heart's content.

The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, a fish from the
river in a memorable Bearnaise sauce, a fat fowl in a fricassee, and a
dish of asparagus, followed by some fruit. The Doctor drank half a
bottle _plus_ one glass, the wife half a bottle _minus_ the same
quantity, which was a marital privilege, of an excellent Cote-Rotie,
seven years old. Then the coffee was brought, and a flask of Chartreuse
for madame, for the Doctor despised and distrusted such decoctions; and
then Aline left the wedded pair to the pleasures of memory and digestion.

'It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one,' observed the
Doctor--'this coffee is adorable--a very fortunate circumstance upon the
whole--Anastasie, I beseech you, go without that poison for to-day; only
one day, and you will feel the benefit, I pledge my reputation.'

'What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?' inquired Anastasie, not
heeding his protest, which was of daily recurrence.

'That we have no children, my beautiful,' replied the Doctor. 'I think
of it more and more as the years go on, and with more and more gratitude
towards the Power that dispenses such afflictions. Your health, my
darling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen delicacies, how they would
all have suffered, how they would al