eed in making me
ungrateful! But if I tell him to do so this young man will let himself
be killed for you. He has saved my credit, he would go through fire
and water for me, he has relieved me of my wife, he has brought me
clients, he has procured for me almost all the business in the Villele
loans--I owe my life to him, he is the father of my children; I can
never forget all this."

In this case the compensations may be looked upon as complete; but
unfortunately there are compensations of all kinds. There are those
which must be considered negative, deluding, and those which are both
in one.

I knew a husband of advanced years who was possessed by the demon of
gambling. Almost every evening his wife's lover came and played with
him. The celibate gave him a liberal share of the pleasures which come
from games of hazard, and knew how to lose to him a certain number of
francs every month; but madame used to give them to him, and the
compensation was a deluding one.

You are a peer of France, and you have no offspring but daughters.
Your wife is brought to bed of a boy! The compensation is negative.

The child who is to save your name from oblivion is like his mother.
The duchess persuades you that the child is yours. The negative
compensation becomes deluding.

Here is one of the most charming compensations known. One morning the
Prince de Ligne meets his wife's lover and rushes up to him, laughing
wildly:

"My friend," he says to him, "I cuckolded you, last night!"

If some husbands attain to conjugal peace by quiet methods, and carry
so gracefully the imaginary ensigns of matrimonial pre-eminence, their
philosophy is doubtless based on the _comfortabilisme_ of accepting
certain compensations, a _comfortabilisme_ which indifferent men
cannot imagine. As years roll by the married couple reach the last
stage in that artificial existence to which their union has condemned
them.

MEDITATION XXIX.

OF CONJUGAL PEACE.

My imagination has followed marriage through all the phases of its
fantastic life in so fraternal a spirit, that I seem to have grown old
with the house I made my home so early in life at the commencement of
this work.

After experiencing in thought the ardor of man's first passion; and
outlining, in however imperfect a way, the principal incidents of
married life; after struggling against so many wives that did not
belong to me, exhausting