“This woman risks everything.  And it is exactly because she knows it, because she gives everything, her heart, her body, her soul, her honor, her life, because she has foreseen all miseries, all dangers all catastrophes, because she dares to do a bold act, an intrepid act, because she is prepared, determined to brave everything—­her husband, who might kill her, and society, which may cast her out.  This is why she is worthy of respect in the midst of her conjugal infidelity; this is why her lover, in taking her, should also foresee everything, and prefer her to every one else whatever may happen.  I have nothing more to say.  I spoke in the beginning like a sensible man whose duty it was to warn you; and now I am only a man—­a man who loves you—­Command, and I obey.”

Radiant, she closed his mouth with a kiss, and said in a low tone: 

“It is not true, darling!  There is nothing the matter!  My husband does not suspect anything.  But I wanted to see, I wanted to know, what you would do I wished for a New Year’s gift—­the gift of your heart—­another gift besides the necklace you sent me.  You have given it to me.  Thanks! thanks!  God be thanked for the happiness you have given me!”

FRIEND PATIENCE

What became of Leremy?”

“He is captain in the Sixth Dragoons.”

“And Pinson?”

“He’s a subprefect.”

“And Racollet?”

“Dead.”

We were searching for other names which would remind us of the youthful faces of our younger days.  Once in a while we had met some of these old comrades, bearded, bald, married, fathers of several children, and the realization of these changes had given us an unpleasant shudder, reminding us how short life is, how everything passes away, how everything changes.  My friend asked me: 

“And Patience, fat Patience?”

I almost, howled: 

“Oh! as for him, just listen to this.  Four or five years ago I was in Limoges, on a tour of inspection, and I was waiting for dinner time.  I was seated before the big cafe in the Place du Theatre, just bored to death.  The tradespeople were coming by twos, threes or fours, to take their absinthe or vermouth, talking all the time of their own or other people’s business, laughing loudly, or lowering their voices in order to impart some important or delicate piece of news.

“I was saying to myself:  ‘What shall I do after dinner?’ And I thought of the long evening in this provincial town, of the slow, dreary walk through unknown streets, of the impression of deadly gloom which these provincial people produce on the lonely traveller, and of the whole oppressive atmosphere of the place.

“I was thinking of all these things as I watched the little jets of gas flare up, feeling my loneliness increase with the falling shadows.

“A big, fat man sat down at the next table and called in a stentorian voice: