oriously; and dust was a thing banished from her empire. Aline, their
single servant, had no other business in the world but to scour and
burnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his house like a fatted calf, warmed
and cosseted to his heart's content.

The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, a fish from the
river in a memorable Bearnaise sauce, a fat fowl in a fricassee, and a
dish of asparagus, followed by some fruit. The Doctor drank half a bottle
_plus_ one glass, the wife half a bottle _minus_ the same quantity, which
was a marital privilege, of an excellent Cote-Rotie, seven years old.
Then the coffee was brought, and a flask of Chartreuse for madame, for
the Doctor despised and distrusted such decoctions; and then Aline left
the wedded pair to the pleasures of memory and digestion.

"It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one," observed the
Doctor--"this coffee is adorable--a very fortunate circumstance upon the
whole--Anastasie, I beseech you, go without that poison for to-day; only
one day, and you will feel the benefit, I pledge my reputation."

"What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?" inquired Anastasie, not
heeding his protest, which was of daily recurrence.

"That we have no children, my beautiful," replied the Doctor. "I think of
it more and more as the years go on, and with more and more gratitude
towards the power that dispenses such afflictions. Your health, my
darling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen delicacies, how they would
all have suffered, how they would all have been sacrificed! And for what?
Children are the last word of human imperfection. Health flees before
their face. They cry, my dear; they put vexatious questions; they demand
to be fed, to be washed, to be educated, to have their noses blown; and
then, when the time comes, they break our hearts, as I break this piece
of sugar. A pair of professed egoists, like you and me, should avoid
offspring, like an infidelity."

"Indeed!" said she; and she laughed. "Now, that is like you--to take
credit for the thing you could not help."

"My dear," returned the Doctor solemnly, "we might have adopted."

"Never!" cried madame. "Never, Doctor, with my consent. If the child were
my own flesh and blood, I would not say no. But to take another person's
indiscretion on my shoulders, my dear friend, I have too much sense."

"Precisely," replied the Doctor. "We both had. And I am all the better
pleased with our wis