Short Fiction

green silk dress that, like a sheath of a monstrous flower, revealed her enormous arms, and her enormous throat, shining rose-red under a coating of powder.

The sergeant-major saluted:

“Good evening, ladies.”

The old lady, turned round; she seemed surprised, but she bowed:

“Good evening.”

He sat down.

But perceiving that they showed no signs of being delighted to welcome him, he thought that probably only officers were admitted to this place; the thought disturbed him. Then he said to himself: “Bah, if an officer comes, we’ll pull it off.” And he asked:

“Everything all right?”

The stout lady, who was doubtless the mistress of the house, replied:

“Quite all right, thank you.”

He found no more to say and no one else spoke.

At last he became ashamed of his diffidence and, laughing awkwardly, said:

“Well, we’re not having a very riotous time. I’ll pay for a bottle of wine⁠ ⁠…”

He had not finished his remark when the door opened again, and Padoie appeared in evening dress.

At the sight of him, Varajou gave vent to a howl of delight, and jumping to his feet, he leapt on his brother-in-law, seized him in his arms, and danced him round the drawing room, bawling: “Here’s old Padoie⁠ ⁠… here’s old Padoie⁠ ⁠… here’s old Padoie.”

Then, leaving the collector dazed with surprise, he shouted in his face:

“Oh, you gay dog, you gay dog!⁠ ⁠… So you’re having a night out⁠ ⁠… oh, you gay dog! What about my sister! You’re giving her the go-by, are you?”

And seeing in a flash all the profitable consequences of this unhoped-for situation, forced loans and absolutely safe blackmail, he flung himself full length on the couch and began to laugh so madly that the whole couch creaked.

The three young ladies rose as one, and hurried out, while the elder lady recoiled towards the door, and seemed on the verge of fainting.

Two gentlemen appeared, both in evening dress, and wearing their orders. Padoie flung himself towards them.

“Oh, Mr. President⁠ ⁠… he’s mad⁠ ⁠… mad.⁠ ⁠… He’s your been sent to us to recuperate⁠ ⁠… you can see for yourself that he’s mad.”

Varajou gave it up: he didn’t understand things now, and abruptly guessed that he had made some quite monstrous lapse. Then he stood up, and turned towards his brother-in-law:

“What’s this house, where are we?” he asked.

But Padoie, seized with a sudden access of fury, stammered:

“Where are we?⁠ ⁠… where are we?⁠ ⁠… Wretch⁠ ⁠… miscreant⁠ ⁠… scoundrel⁠ ⁠… where are we?⁠ ⁠… in the president’s house⁠ ⁠… in the house of President de Mortemain⁠ ⁠… de Mortemain⁠ ⁠… de⁠ ⁠… de⁠ ⁠… de Mortemain⁠ ⁠… oh⁠ ⁠… oh⁠ ⁠… swine!⁠ ⁠… swine!⁠ ⁠… swine!⁠ ⁠… swine!”

The Door

“Ah!” exclaimed Karl Massouligny, “the question of complaisant husbands is a difficult one. I have seen many kinds, and yet I am unable to give an opinion about any of them. I have often tried to determine whether they are blind, weak, or clairvoyant. I believe that there are some who belong to each of these categories.

“Let us quickly pass over the blind ones. They cannot rightly be called complaisant, since they do not know, but they are good creatures who cannot see farther than their noses. It is a curious and interesting thing to notice the ease with which men⁠—all men, and even women, all women⁠—can be deceived. We are taken in by the slightest trick of those about us of⁠—our children, our friends, our servants, our tradespeople. Human nature is credulous, and in order to suspect, guess and overcome the deceit of others, we do not display one-tenth of the finesse which we use when we, in turn, wish to deceive someone else.

“The clairvoyant husbands can be divided into three classes. Those who have some interest, pecuniary, ambitious or otherwise, in their wife’s having a lover, or lovers. These ask only that appearances be observed more or less, and they are satisfied. Next come those who get angry. What a beautiful novel one could write about them! Finally the weak ones! Those who are afraid of scandal.

“There are also those who are powerless, or, rather, tired, who escape the conjugal bed from fear of ataxia or apoplexy, who are satisfied to see a friend run these risks.

“But I have met a husband of a rare species, who guarded against the common accident in a strange and witty manner.

“In Paris I had made the acquaintance of an elegant, fashionable couple very much in demand. The woman, nervous, tall, slender, courted, was supposed to have had many adventures. She pleased me with her wit, and I believe that I pleased her, also. I courted her, a trial courting to which she answered with evident provocations. Soon we arrived at tender glances, pressures of the hands, all the little gallantries which precede the great attack.

“Nevertheless, I hesitated. I believe that, as a rule, the majority of society intrigues, however short they may be, are not worth the trouble which they give us and the difficulties which may arise. I therefore mentally compared the advantages and disadvantages which I could expect, and I thought I noticed that the husband suspected me and was watching me.

“One evening, at a ball, as I was saying tender things to the young woman in a little room leading from the big hall where the dancing was going on, I noticed in a mirror the reflection of someone who was watching us. It was he. Our looks met, and then I saw him turn his head and walk away.

“I murmured: ‘Your husband is spying on us.’

“She seemed dumbfounded, and asked: ‘My husband?’

“ ‘Yes, he has been watching us for some time.’

“ ‘Nonsense! Are you sure?’

“ ‘Very sure.’

“ ‘How strange! On the contrary, he is usually very pleasant to all my friends.’

“ ‘Perhaps he guessed that I love you!’

“ ‘Nonsense! You are not the first one to pay attention to me. Every woman who is a little in view drags behind her a troop of admirers.’

“ ‘Yes. But I love you deeply.’

“ ‘Admitting that that is true, does a husband ever guess those things?’

“ ‘Then he is not jealous?’

“ ‘No⁠—no!’

“She thought for an instant, and then continued: ‘No. I do not think that I ever noticed any jealousy on his part.’

“ ‘Has