urville had to struggle very hard not to laugh, and he
shook hands with the Baron, saying:

"I am very sorry for you," and accompanied him half-way home.

When he got back, and was alone with his wife, he told her everything,
nearly choking with laughter; she, however, did not laugh, but listened
very attentively, and when her husband had finished, she said, very
seriously:

"The Baron is a fool, my dear; he was frightened, that is all. I will
write and ask Berthe to come back here as soon as possible."

And when Monsieur de Courville observed that their friend had made such
long and useless attempts, she merely said:

"Nonsense! When a man loves his wife, you know ... that sort of thing
adjusts itself to the situation."

And Monsieur de Courville made no reply, as he felt rather confused
himself.

THE SUBSTITUTE

"Madame Bonderoi?"

"Yes, Madame Bonderoi."

"Impossible."

"I tell you it is."

Madame Bonderoi, the old lady in a lace cap, the devout, the holy, the
honorable Madame Bonderoi, whose little false curls looked as if they
were glued round her head.

"That is the very woman."

"Oh! Come, you must be mad."

"I swear to you that it is Madame Bonderoi."

"Then please give me the details."

"Here they are. During the life of Monsieur Bonderoi, the lawyer, people
said that she utilized his clerks for her own particular service. She is
one of those respectable middle-class women, with secret vices, and
inflexible principles, of whom there are so many. She liked good-looking
young fellows, and I should like to know what is more natural than that?
Do not we all like pretty girls?"

"As soon as old Bonderoi was dead, his widow began to live the peaceful
and irreproachable life of a woman with a fair, fixed income. She went to
church assiduously, and spoke evil of her neighbors, but gave no handle
to anyone for speaking ill of her, and when she grew old she became the
little wizened, sour-faced, mischievous woman whom you know. Well, this
adventure, which you would scarcely believe, happened last Friday.

"My friend, Jean d'Anglemare, is, as you know, a captain in a dragoon
regiment, who is quartered in the barracks in the _Rue de la Rivette_,
and when he got to his quarters the other morning, he found that two men
of his squadron had had a terrible quarrel. The rules about military
honor are very severe, and so a duel took place between them. After the
duel they became reconciled, and w