“Well, poor fellow! it’s a pity he ever got married,” said Lillie.

“Well, it would be all well enough if this sort of woman ever would be reasonable; but they won’t.  They don’t in the least comprehend the necessities of genius.  They want to yoke Pegasus to a cart, you see.  Now, I understand Charlie perfectly.  I could give him that which he needs.  I appreciate him.  I make a bower of peace and enjoyment for him, where his artistic nature finds the repose it craves.”

“And she pitches into him about you,” said Lillie, not slow to perceive the true literal rendering of all this.

“Of course, ma chere,—­tears him, rends him, lacerates his soul; sometimes he comes to me in the most dreadful states.  Really, dear, I have apprehended something quite awful!  I shouldn’t in the least be surprised if he should blow his brains out!”

And Mrs. Follingsbee sighed deeply, gave a glance at herself in an opposite mirror, and smoothed down a bow pensively, as the prima donna at the grand opera generally does when her lover is getting ready to stab himself.

“Oh!  I don’t think he’s going to kill himself,” said Mrs. Lillie, who, it must be understood, was secretly somewhat sceptical about the power of her friend’s charms, and looked on this little French romance with the eye of an outsider:  “never you believe that, dearest.  These men make dreadful tearings, and shocking eyes and mouths; but they take pretty good care to keep in the world, after all.  You see, if a man’s dead, there’s an end of all things; and I fancy they think of that before they quite come to any thing decisive.”

“Chere etourdie,” said Mrs. Follingsbee, regarding Lillie with a pensive smile:  “you are just your old self, I see; you are now at the height of your power,—­’jeune Madame, un mari qui vous adore,’ ready to put all things under your feet.  How can you feel for a worn, lonely heart like mine, that sighs for congeniality?”

“Bless me, now,” said Lillie, briskly; “you don’t tell me that you’re going to be so silly as to get in love with Charlie yourself!  It’s all well enough to keep these fellows on the tragic high ropes; but, if a woman falls in love herself, there’s an end of her power.  And, darling, just think of it:  you wouldn’t have married that creature if you could; he’s poor as a rat, and always will be; these desperately interesting fellows always are.  Now you have money without end; and of course you have position; and your husband is a man you can get any thing in the world out of.”

“Oh! as to that, I don’t complain of Dick,” said Mrs. Follingsbee:  “he’s coarse and vulgar, to be sure, but he never stands in my way, and I never stand in his; and, as you say, he’s free about money.  But still, darling, sometimes it seems to me such a weary thing to live without sympathy of soul!  A marriage without congeniality, mon Dieu, what is it?  And then the harsh, cold laws of human society prevent any relief.  They forbid natures that are made for each other from being to each other what they can be.”