“There arrived here to-day a kind of philosopher,” she began, “he professes to have compiled a book which describes all the wiles of which my sex is capable; and then this sham sage made love to me.”

“Well, go on!” cried the Arab.

“I listened to his avowal.  He was young, ardent—­and you came just in time to save my tottering virtue.”

The Arab leaped to his feet like a lion, and drew his scimitar with a shout of fury.  The philosopher heard all from the depths of the chest and consigned to Hades his book, and all the men and women of Arabia Petraea.

“Fatima!” cried the husband, “if you would save your life, answer me —­Where is the traitor?”

Terrified at the tempest which she had roused, Fatima threw herself at her husband’s feet, and trembling beneath the point of his sword, she pointed out the chest with a prompt though timid glance of her eye.  Then she rose to her feet, as if in shame, and taking the key from her girdle presented it to the jealous Arab; but, just as he was about to open the chest, the sly creature burst into a peal of laughter.  Faroun stopped with a puzzled expression, and looked at his wife in amazement.

“So I shall have my fine chain of gold, after all!” she cried, dancing for joy.  “You have lost the Diadeste.  Be more mindful next time.”

The husband, thunderstruck, let fall the key, and offered her the longed-for chain on bended knee, and promised to bring to his darling Fatima all the jewels brought by the caravan in a year, if she would refrain from winning the Diadeste by such cruel stratagems.  Then, as he was an Arab, and did not like forfeiting a chain of gold, although his wife had fairly won it, he mounted his horse again, and galloped off, to complain at his will, in the desert, for he loved Fatima too well to let her see his annoyance.  The young woman then drew forth the philosopher from the chest, and gravely said to him, “Do not forget, Master Doctor, to put this feminine trick into your collection.”

“Madame,” said I to the duchess, “I understand!  If I marry, I am bound to be unexpectedly outwitted by some infernal trick or other; but I shall in that case, you may be quite sure, furnish a model household for the admiration of my contemporaries.”

PARIS, 1824-29.

PETTY TROUBLES OF MARRIED LIFE

BY

HONORE DE BALZAC

PART FIRST

PREFACE

IN WHICH EVERY ONE WILL FIND HIS OWN IMPRESSIONS OF MARRIAGE.

A friend, in speaking to you of a young woman, says:  “Good family,
well bred, pretty, and three hundred thousand in her own right.” 
You have expressed a desire to meet this charming creature.

Usually, chance interviews are premeditated.  And you speak with
this object, who has now become very timid.