me remarks that were disparaging to the deceased, who was
a small man, and decidedly flattering to himself, Leuillet, who was a
tall man.

Mme. Leuillet allowed him to think he was right, quite right, and she
laughed heartily, gently ridiculing her former husband for the sake of
pleasing the present one, who always ended by saying:

"All the same, what a ninny that Souris was!"

They were happy, quite happy, and Leuillet never ceased to show his
devotion to his wife.

One night, however, as they lay awake, Leuillet said as he kissed his
wife:

"See here, dearie."

"Well?"

"Was Souris--I don't exactly know how to say it--was Souris very
loving?"

She gave him a kiss for reply and murmured "Not as loving as you are,
mon chat."

He was flattered in his self-love and continued:

"He must have been--a ninny--was he not?"

She did not reply. She only smiled slyly and hid her face in her
husband's neck.

"He must have been a ninny and not--not--not smart?"

She shook her head slightly to imply, "No--not at all smart."

He continued:

"He must have been an awful nuisance, eh?"

This time she was frank and replied:

"Oh yes!"

He kissed her again for this avowal and said:

"What a brute he was! You were not happy with him?"

"No," she replied. "It was not always pleasant."

Leuillet was delighted, forming in his mind a comparison, much in his
own favor, between his wife's former and present position. He was silent
for a time, and then with a burst of laughter he asked:

"Tell me?"

"What?"

"Will you be frank, very frank with me?"

"Why yes, my dear."

"Well then, tell me truly did you never feel tempted to--to--to deceive
that imbecile Souris?"

Mme. Leuillet said: "Oh!" pretending to be shocked and hid her face
again on her husband's shoulder. But he saw that she was laughing.

"Come now, own up," he persisted. "He looked like a ninny, that
creature! It would be funny, so funny! Good old Souris! Come, come,
dearie, you do not mind telling me, me, of all people."

He insisted on the "me" thinking that if she had wished to deceive
Souris she would have chosen him, and he was trembling in anticipation
of her avowal, sure that if she had not been a virtuous woman she would
have encouraged his own attentions.

But she did not answer, laughing still, as at the recollection of
something exceedingly comical.

Leuillet, in his turn began to laugh, thinking he might have been the
lucky man,