“Now look here, be calm!” the young woman continued, becoming at the same time extremely kind.  “I’ve known it a long time, but it was certainly not I that would have opened your eyes.  You remember you had your doubts last year, but then things arranged themselves, owing to my prudence.  In fact, you wanted proofs.  The deuce, you’ve got one today, and I know it’s hard lines.  Nevertheless, you must look at the matter quietly:  you’re not dishonored because it’s happened.”

He had left off weeping.  A sense of shame restrained him from saying what he wanted to, although he had long ago slipped into the most intimate confessions about his household.  She had to encourage him.  Dear me, she was a woman; she could understand everything.  When in a dull voice he exclaimed: 

“You’re ill.  What’s the good of tiring you?  It was stupid of me to have come.  I’m going—­”

“No,” she answered briskly enough.  “Stay!  Perhaps I shall be able to give you some good advice.  Only don’t make me talk too much; the medical man’s forbidden it.”

He had ended by rising, and he was now walking up and down the room.  Then she questioned him: 

“Now what are you going to do?

“I’m going to box the man’s ears—­by heavens, yes!”

She pursed up her lips disapprovingly.

“That’s not very wise.  And about your wife?”

“I shall go to law; I’ve proofs.”

“Not at all wise, my dear boy.  It’s stupid even.  You know I shall never let you do that!”

And in her feeble voice she showed him decisively how useless and scandalous a duel and a trial would be.  He would be a nine days’ newspaper sensation; his whole existence would be at stake, his peace of mind, his high situation at court, the honor of his name, and all for what?  That he might have the laughers against him.

“What will it matter?” he cried.  “I shall have had my revenge.”

“My pet,” she said, “in a business of that kind one never has one’s revenge if one doesn’t take it directly.”

He paused and stammered.  He was certainly no poltroon, but he felt that she was right.  An uneasy feeling was growing momentarily stronger within him, a poor, shameful feeling which softened his anger now that it was at its hottest.  Moreover, in her frank desire to tell him everything, she dealt him a fresh blow.

“And d’you want to know what’s annoying you, dearest?  Why, that you are deceiving your wife yourself.  You don’t sleep away from home for nothing, eh?  Your wife must have her suspicions.  Well then, how can you blame her?  She’ll tell you that you’ve set her the example, and that’ll shut you up.  There, now, that’s why you’re stamping about here instead of being at home murdering both of ’em.”

Muffat had again sunk down on the chair; he was overwhelmed by these home thrusts.  She broke off and took breath, and then in a low voice: 

“Oh, I’m a wreck!  Do help me sit up a bit.  I keep slipping down, and my head’s too low.”