er and a woman.

A married woman has sensibility enough for four, or for five even, if
you look closely.

Now, it is not improper to observe in this place, that, in a woman's
eyes, love is a general absolution: the man who is a good lover may
commit crimes, if he will, he is always as pure as snow in the eyes of
her who loves him, if he truly loves her. As to a married woman, loved
or not, she feels so deeply that the honor and consideration of her
husband are the fortune of her children, that she acts like the woman in
love,--so active is the sense of community of interest.

This profound sentiment engenders, for certain Carolines, petty troubles
which, unfortunately for this book, have their dismal side.

Adolphe is compromised. We will not enumerate all the methods of
compromising oneself, for we might become personal. Let us take, as an
example, the social error which our epoch excuses, permits, understands
and commits the most of any--the case of an honest robbery, of
skillfully concealed corruption in office, or of some misrepresentation
that becomes excusable when it has succeeded, as, for instance, having
an understanding with parties in power, for the sale of property at the
highest possible price to a city, or a country.

Thus, in a bankruptcy, Adolphe, in order to protect himself (this means
to recover his claims), has become mixed up in certain unlawful doings
which may bring a man to the necessity of testifying before the Court of
Assizes. In fact, it is not known that the daring creditor will not be
considered a party.

Take notice that in all cases of bankruptcy, protecting oneself is
regarded as the most sacred of duties, even by the most respectable
houses: the thing is to keep the bad side of the protection out of
sight, as they do in prudish England.

Adolphe does not know what to do, as his counsel has told him not to
appear in the matter: so he has recourse to Caroline. He gives her a
lesson, he coaches her, he teaches her the Code, he examines her dress,
he equips her as a brig sent on a voyage, and despatches her to the
office of some judge, or some syndic. The judge is apparently a man
of severe morality, but in reality a libertine: he retains his serious
expression on seeing a pretty woman enter, and makes sundry very
uncomplimentary remarks about Adolphe.

"I pity you, madame, you belong to a man who may involve you in numerous
unpleasant affairs: a few more matters like this, and he