ier, with a
reserved air.

"She has been at Paris a fort-night."

"Does not Bouchereau look very ill? The southern climate has not done
him much good. He is twice as pale as before he went. Poor Bouchereau!"

"Ha! ha!" laughed the officer, "have you been gulled by the story of the
decline? That is really too good."

"What is too good?" asked the Captain abruptly.

"The trick that rogue Magnian played Bouchereau and you; for if I may
judge from your astonished look, you also have been mystified."

"Berton, you abuse my patience," said Pelletier in a surly tone.

"Wolves do not eat one another," replied Berton laughing; "so let us
talk without anger. The story is this:--all Paris, except yourself, has
been laughing at it for a week past. It appears that on the one hand,
although no one suspected it, the aforesaid Magnian was in love with
Madame Bouchereau, and that on the other, finding himself threatened
with a pulmonary complaint, he thought it advisable to pass the winter
in a warm climate. What did the arch-schemer? He persuaded Bouchereau
that it was he, Bouchereau, whose chest was affected; sent him off to
Nice with his pretty wife, and, at his leisure, without haste or hurry,
joined them there. You have only to look at them, as they sit yonder, to
guess the _denouement_ of the history. The appropriate label for their
box would be the title of one of Paul de Kock's last novels; _la Femme_,
_le Mari_, _el l'Amant_. Magnian is a cunning dog, and has very
ingenious ideas. Fearing, doubtless, that the husband might be too
clear-sighted, he threatened him with an ophthalmia, and made him wear
blue spectacles. Clever, wasn't it? and a capital story?"

"Charming, delightful!" cried the Captain, with a smile that resembled a
gnashing of teeth.

The tragedy was over. Dr Magnian left his box; Pelletier followed his
example. The next minute the two men met in the lobby.

"Doctor, a word with you," said the officer sternly.

"Two, if you like, Captain," was Magnian's jovial reply.

"It appears, that in spite of your prognostics, Bouchereau is in perfect
health."

"_Voudriez-vous qu'il mourut?_ Would you have him die?" said the Doctor,
parodying with a comical emphasis the delivery of Joanny, who had taken
the part of the father of the Horatii.

"I know you are excellent at a joke," retorted Pelletier, whose vexation
was rapidly turning to anger; "but you know that I am not accustomed to
serve as a butt. Be good