e suppression of the
modern _thee_ and _thou_ and all other insignia of the wifely dignity.
Society had been for five or six years accustomed to this sort of thing,
and supposed Madame and Monsieur completely separated, and all the more
so as it had noticed the accession of a Ferdinand II.

One evening, in the presence of a dozen persons, this man said to his
wife: "Caroline, hand me the tongs, there's a love." It is nothing, and
yet everything. It was a domestic revelation.

Monsieur de Lustrac, the Universal Amadis, hurried to Madame de
Fischtaminel's, narrated this little scene with all the spirit at
his command, and Madame de Fischtaminel put on an air something like
Celimene's and said: "Poor creature, what an extremity she must be in!"

I say nothing of Caroline's confusion,--you have already divined it.

Here is the second. Think of the frightful situation in which a lady of
great refinement was lately placed: she was conversing agreeably at her
country seat near Paris, when her husband's servant came and whispered
in her ear, "Monsieur has come, madame."

"Very well, Benoit."

Everybody had heard the rumblings of the vehicle. It was known that the
husband had been at Paris since Monday, and this took place on Saturday,
at four in the afternoon.

"He's got something important to say to you, madame."

Though this dialogue was held in a whisper, it was perfectly understood,
and all the more so from the fact that the lady of the house turned
from the pale hue of the Bengal rose to the brilliant crimson of the
wheatfield poppy. She nodded and went on with the conversation, and
managed to leave her company on the pretext of learning whether her
husband had succeeded in an important undertaking or not: but she seemed
plainly vexed at Adolphe's want of consideration for the company who
were visiting her.

During their youth, women want to be treated as divinities, they love
the ideal; they cannot bear the idea of being what nature intended them
to be.

Some husbands, on retiring to the country, after a week in town, are
worse than this: they bow to the company, put their arm round their
wife's waist, take a little walk with her, appear to be talking
confidentially, disappear in a clump of trees, get lost, and reappear
half an hour afterward.

This, ladies, is a genuine petty trouble for a young woman, but for a
woman beyond forty, this sort of indiscretion is so delightful, that the
greatest prudes are f