on of all men
present, and also the envy of many women?

How many men have felt that, if the said wives had made as much
preparation for them as they had for all the strangers present at that
ball, they could have fallen at their feet and worshipped them?

On returning home, however, Madame has immediately retired to her room,
ordered her maid to quickly remove and pack away the lovely attire, and,
an hour later, prepared for the night's rest, she appeared before her
husband with her hair all prepared for the next day, her hands carefully
gloved so that they may be as white as snow--also for the next day--and
wrapped up and as inaccessible as a valuable clock that is going to be
shipped to the other end of the world.

That is the lot of many men--may I not even say of most husbands? Then a
bold husband will venture to make some remarks. He will say, 'Now, my
dear, I hear you practise your scales and exercises, but seldom do you
treat me to a piece of music, which I only hear when I have guests or we
go out. Everyone--at the ball--has admired your beautiful hair and your
lovely gown, but for me, all I see is hairpins and curlers and a
dressing-gown.'

And Madame will answer more or less sourly, 'Is it because I am your
wife that I must grow ugly? Do you want my hair to fall over my neck and
shoulders to-morrow like weeping willows? Do you want my hands to be red
and chappy? Are you sorry I am careful of my clothes and have them put
away, well folded in tissue-paper, when I have no need of them?

'Do you reproach me for doing you honour and being at the same time
careful? Will you tell me, is there any way to please you? And do you
think that, after enjoying herself and receiving compliments during a
whole evening, it is very pleasant for a woman to return home and hear
nothing but rebuffs, reproaches and the like?'

The poor man feels he is beaten, that he is a brute, and he says nothing
more, until one night when it is time to retire, he prepares a surprise
for his wife.

'What's all this?' exclaims the wife when she realizes what has
happened.

'Nothing, dear,' he replies. 'To tell you the truth, I go hunting
to-morrow morning, and I shall have to rise very early. My hunting-boots
are new, and in the morning my feet are always a little swollen, so I
keep them on to save trouble. You must excuse my spurs, too, dear, but I
prefer these, which are fastened to the boots. I shall be most
comfortable to-morrow.'