e careful of what we did. However, I was caught, and crazy after
her, and tried to take her into my arms, but she said: 'Paws off!' Then I
knelt down, and opened my heart to her, and poured out all the affection
that was suffocating me, on her knees. She seemed surprised at my change
of manner, and gave me a sidelong glance, as if to say: 'Ah! So that is
the way women make a fool of you, old fellow! Very well, we will see.
In love, Monsieur, we are all artists, and women are the dealers.'

"No doubt I could have had her, and I saw my own stupidity later, but
what I wanted was not a woman's person; it was love, it was the ideal.
I was sentimental, when I ought to have been using my time to a better
purpose.

"As soon as she had had enough of my declarations of affection, she got
up, and we returned to Saint-Cloud, and I did not leave her until we got
to Paris; but she had looked so sad as we were returning, that at last I
asked her what was the matter. 'I am thinking,' she replied, 'that this
has been one of those days of which we have but few in life.' And my
heart beat so that it felt as if it would break my ribs.

"I saw her on the following Sunday, and the next Sunday, and every
Sunday. I took her to Bougival, Saint-Germain, Maisons-Lafitte, Poissy;
to every suburban resort of lovers.

"The little jade, in turn, pretended to love me, until, at last, I
altogether lost my head, and three months later I married her.

"What can you expect, Monsieur, when a man is a clerk, living alone,
without any relations, or anyone to advise him? One says to oneself: 'How
sweet life would be with a wife!'

"And so one gets married, and she calls you names from morning till
night, understands nothing, knows nothing, chatters continually, sings
the song of _Musette_ at the top of her voice (oh! that song of
_Musette_, how tired one gets of it!); quarrels with the charcoal dealer,
tells the porter of all her domestic details, confides all the secrets of
her bedroom to the neighbor's servant, discusses her husband with the
trades-people, and has her head so stuffed with such stupid stories, with
such idiotic superstitions, with such extraordinary ideas and such
monstrous prejudices, that I--for what I have said, applies more
particularly to myself--shed tears of discouragement every time I
talked to her."

He stopped, as he was rather out of breath, and very much moved, and I
looked at him, for I felt pity for this poor, artless de