than a succession of enigmatic phrases.

“I married her! I loved her to distraction, as a dream can be loved. For what your true lover adores is always a dream in the form of a woman.

“You remember the admirable verses of Louis Bouilhet:

“Tu n’as jamais été, dans tes jours les plus rares,
Qu’un banal instrument sous mon archet vainqueur,
Et, comme un air qui sonne au bois creux des guitares,
J’ai fait chanter mon rêve au vide de ton coeur.21

“Ah, well, my dear, the only mistake I made was to give my wife a French teacher.

“As long as she murdered our vocabulary, and tortured our grammar, I was fond of her.

“Our conversations were simple. They revealed to me the amazing beauty of her person, the incomparable grace of her gestures; they presented her to me in the guise of a wonderful speaking toy, a flesh-and-blood puppet made for kisses, able to stammer a few words to tell what she loved, sometimes to utter quaint exclamations, and to express in a fashion adorable because so incomprehensible and unexpected, her emotions and her unsophisticated sensations.

“She was like nothing but those pretty playthings that say ‘papa’ and ‘mamma,’ pronouncing them Bab-ba and Mab-ma.

“How could I have believed that⁠ ⁠…

“She can speak, now.⁠ ⁠… She can speak⁠ ⁠… badly⁠ ⁠… very badly.⁠ ⁠… She makes quite as many mistakes.⁠ ⁠… But she can make herself understood⁠ ⁠… yes, I understand her⁠ ⁠… I know what she says⁠ ⁠… I know her.⁠ ⁠…”

“I have broken my doll to look at her inside.⁠ ⁠… I have seen it.⁠ ⁠… And still I have to go on talking to her, my dear!

“Oh, you can have no idea of the opinions, the notions, the theories of a young and well brought-up English girl, whom I have no cause to reproach, and who recites to me from morning to night all the phrases out of a phrase-book for the use of schoolgirls and young persons.

“You have seen those cotillion favours, those pretty gilded paper packets which contain utterly detestable bonbons. I got one of them. I tore it open. I wanted to eat the contents, and now I am all the time so savagely disgusted that I feel a positive nausea at the mere sight of one of her countrymen.

“I have married a woman who is like nothing but a parrot that an old English governness has taught to speak French: do you understand?”

We were in sight of the crowded wooden quays of Trouville Harbour.

I said:

“Where is your wife?”

“I have taken her to Étretat,” he declared.

“And you, where are you going?”

“I? I am going to Trouville to distract my mind.”

Then, after a pause, he added:

“You simply cannot imagine how utterly stupid some women can be.”

The Dowry

No one was surprised at the marriage of Maître Simon Lebrument and Mlle. Jeanne Cordier. Maître Lebrument had just bought the practice of Maître Papillon, the notary; he needed money, of course, with which to pay for it; and Mlle. Jeanne Cordier had three hundred thousand francs clear, in notes and bearer bonds.

Maître Lebrument was a handsome fellow, who had style, the style of a notary, a provincial style, but, after all, some style, which was a rare thing at Boutigny-le-Rebours.

Mlle. Cordier had grace and freshness, grace which was a little awkward, and freshness a little artificial; but she was, nevertheless, a pretty girl, desirable and entertaining.

The wedding ceremonies turned Boutigny topsy-turvy. The married couple were much admired, and they returned to the conjugal domicile to conceal their happiness, having resolved simply to take a little trip to Paris, after they had spent a few days together.

These few days together were charming, for Maître Lebrument knew how to manage his early relations with his wife with a delicacy, a directness, and a sense of fitness that was remarkable. He took for his motto: “Everything comes to him who waits.” He knew how to be patient and energetic at the same time. His success was rapid and complete.

After four days Madame Lebrument adored her husband. She could not bear to be a moment away from him. He must be near her all day long, that she might caress his hands, his beard, his nose, etc. She would sit upon his knees and, taking him by the ears, would say: “Open your mouth and shut your eyes.” He opened his mouth with confidence, shut his eyes halfway, and then would receive a very long, sweet kiss that gave him great shivers down his back. And in his turn, he never had enough caresses, enough lips, enough hands, enough of anything with which to enjoy his wife from morning until evening, and from evening until morning.


As soon as the first week had passed away he said to his young companion:

“If you wish, we might leave for Paris next Tuesday. We shall be like lovers who are not married; go about to the theatres, the restaurants, the open-air concerts, and everywhere, everywhere.”

She jumped for joy. “Oh! yes, yes,” she replied, “let us go as soon as possible.”

“And, as we must not forget anything, you might ask your father to have your dowry ready; I will take it with me, and at the same time pay Maître Papillon.”

She answered: “I will speak to him about it tomorrow morning.”

Then he seized her in his arms and renewed those little tendernesses she had learned to love so much in eight days.

The following Tuesday, the father-in-law and the mother-in-law accompanied to the station their daughter and son-in-law who were leaving for the capital. The father-in-law remarked:

“I tell you it is imprudent to carry so much money in your pocketbook.” And the young notary smiled.

“Do not be disturbed, father-in-law,” he answered, “I am accustomed to these things. You know that in my profession it often happens that I have nearly a million about me. By carrying it with me, we escape a lot of formalities and delays, to say the least. Do not worry yourself.”

Then the porter cried out: “Paris train. All ready!” and they hurried into

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