to lovers the caresses of
thought, your wife often says to your rival:

"Well, I assure you, Auguste, that in any case I should like to see my
poor husband happy; for at bottom he is good; if he were not my husband,
but were only my brother, there are so many things I would do to please
him! He loves me, and--his friendship is irksome to me."

"Yes, he is a fine fellow!"

Then you become an object of respect to the celibate, who would yield to
you all the indemnity possible for the wrong he has done you; but he
is repelled by the disdainful pride which gives a tone to your whole
conversation, and is stamped upon your face.

So that actually, during the first moments of the Minotaur's arrival,
a man is like an actor who feels awkward in a theatre where he is not
accustomed to appear. It is very difficult to bear the affront with
dignity; but though generosity is rare, a model husband is sometimes
found to possess it.

Eventually you are little by little won over by the charming way in
which your wife makes herself agreeable to you. Madame assumes a tone of
friendship which she never henceforth abandons. The pleasant atmosphere
of your home is one of the chief compensations which renders the
Minotaur less odious to a husband. But as it is natural to man to
habituate himself to the hardest conditions, in spite of the sentiment
of outraged nobility which nothing can change, you are gradually induced
by a fascination whose power is constantly around you, to accept the
little amenities of your position.

Suppose that conjugal misfortune has fallen upon an epicure. He
naturally demands the consolations which suit his taste. His sense of
pleasure takes refuge in other gratifications, and forms other
habits. You shape your life in accordance with the enjoyment of other
sensations.

One day, returning from your government office, after lingering for a
long time before the rich and tasteful book shop of Chevet, hovering
in suspense between the hundred francs of expense, and the joys of a
Strasbourg _pate de fois gras_, you are struck dumb on finding this
_pate_ proudly installed on the sideboard of your dining-room. Is this
the vision offered by some gastronomic mirage? In this doubting mood you
approach with firm step, for a _pate_ is a living creature, and seem to
neigh as you scent afar off the truffles whose perfumes escape through
the gilded enclosure. You stoop over it two distinct times; all the
nerve centres of yo