ds the night which brings
wisdom, the night which gives light. I ought to go, I ought to do it,
I promised I would--I am weak, I know. But how can I resist the downy
creases of my bed? My feet feel flaccid, I think I must be sick, I am
too happy just here. I long to see the ethereal horizon of my dreams
again, those women without claws, those winged beings and their obliging
ways. In short, I have found the grain of salt to put upon the tail of
that bird that was always flying away: the coquette's feet are caught in
the line. I have her now--"

Your servant, meantime, reads your newspaper, half-opens your letters,
and leaves you to yourself. And you go to sleep again, lulled by the
rumbling of the morning wagons. Those terrible, vexatious, quivering
teams, laden with meat, those trucks with big tin teats bursting with
milk, though they make a clatter most infernal and even crush the paving
stones, seem to you to glide over cotton, and vaguely remind you of
the orchestra of Napoleon Musard. Though your house trembles in all its
timbers and shakes upon its keel, you think yourself a sailor cradled by
a zephyr.

You alone have the right to bring these joys to an end by throwing away
your night-cap as you twist up your napkin after dinner, and by sitting
up in bed. Then you take yourself to task with such reproaches as these:
"Ah, mercy on me, I must get up!" "Early to bed and early to rise, makes
a man healthy--!" "Get up, lazy bones!"

All this time you remain perfectly tranquil. You look round your
chamber, you collect your wits together. Finally, you emerge from the
bed, spontaneously! Courageously! of your own accord! You go to the
fireplace, you consult the most obliging of timepieces, you utter
hopeful sentences thus couched: "Whatshisname is a lazy creature, I
guess I shall find him in. I'll run. I'll catch him if he's gone.
He's sure to wait for me. There is a quarter of an hour's grace in all
appointments, even between debtor and creditor."

You put on your boots with fury, you dress yourself as if you were
afraid of being caught half-dressed, you have the delight of being in
a hurry, you call your buttons into action, you finally go out like a
conqueror, whistling, brandishing your cane, pricking up your ears and
breaking into a canter.

After all, you say to yourself, you are responsible to no one, you are
your own master!

But you, poor married man, you were stupid enough to say to your wife,
"To-morrow