line become intimate.
Adolphe, who is taken up with Madame de Fischtaminel, pays no attention
to this dangerous friendship, a friendship which will bear its fruits,
for--pray learn this--

Axiom.--Women have corrupted more women than men have ever loved.

A SOLO ON THE HEARSE.

After a period, the length of which depends on the strength of
Caroline's principles, she appears to be languishing; and when Adolphe,
anxious for decorum's sake, as he sees her stretched out upon the sofa
like a snake in the sun, asks her, "What is the matter, love? What do
you want?"

"I wish I was dead!" she replies.

"Quite a merry and agreeable wish!"

"It isn't death that frightens me, it's suffering."

"I suppose that means that I don't make you happy! That's the way with
women!"

Adolphe strides about the room, talking incoherently: but he is brought
to a dead halt by seeing Caroline dry her tears, which are really
flowing artistically, in an embroidered handkerchief.

"Do you feel sick?"

"I don't feel well. [Silence.] I only hope that I shall live long
enough to see my daughter married, for I know the meaning, now, of the
expression so little understood by the young--_the choice of a husband_!
Go to your amusements, Adolphe: a woman who thinks of the future, a
woman who suffers, is not at all diverting: come, go and have a good
time."

"Where do you feel bad?"

"I don't feel bad, dear: I never was better. I don't feel anything. No,
really, I am better. There, leave me to myself."

This time, being the first, Adolphe goes away almost sad.

A week passes, during which Caroline orders all the servants to conceal
from her husband her deplorable situation: she languishes, she rings
when she feels she is going off, she uses a great deal of ether. The
domestics finally acquaint their master with madame's conjugal heroism,
and Adolphe remains at home one evening after dinner, and sees his wife
passionately kissing her little Marie.

"Poor child! I regret the future only for your sake! What is life, I
should like to know?"

"Come, my dear," says Adolphe, "don't take on so."

"I'm not taking on. Death doesn't frighten me--I saw a funeral this
morning, and I thought how happy the body was! How comes it that I think
of nothing but death? Is it a disease? I have an idea that I shall die
by my own hand."

The more Adolphe tries to divert Caroline, the more closely she wraps
herself up in the crape of her hopeless mela