I was walking along the beach, arm in arm with a friend, the resident physician.  Ten minutes later, I saw a nursemaid with three children, who were rolling in the sand.  A pair of little crutches lay on the ground, and touched my sympathy.  I then noticed that these three children were all deformed, humpbacked, or crooked; and hideous.

“Those are the offspring of that charming woman you saw just now,” said the doctor.

I was filled with pity for her, as well as for them, and exclaimed:  “Oh, the poor mother!  How can she ever laugh!”

“Do not pity her, my friend.  Pity the poor children,” replied the doctor.  “This is the consequence of preserving a slender figure up to the last.  These little deformities were made by the corset.  She knows very well that she is risking her life at this game.  But what does she care, as long as he can be beautiful and have admirers!”

And then I recalled that other woman, the peasant, the “Devil,” who sold her children, her monsters.

AN UNCOMFORTABLE BED

One autumn I went to spend the hunting season with some friends in a chateau in Picardy.

My friends were fond of practical jokes.  I do not care to know people who are not.

When I arrived, they gave me a princely reception, which at once awakened suspicion in my mind.  They fired off rifles, embraced me, made much of me, as if they expected to have great fun at my expense.

I said to myself: 

“Look out, old ferret!  They have something in store for you.”

During the dinner the mirth was excessive, exaggerated, in fact.  I thought:  “Here are people who have more than their share of amusement, and apparently without reason.  They must have planned some good joke.  Assuredly I am to be the victim of the joke.  Attention!”

During the entire evening every one laughed in an exaggerated fashion.  I scented a practical joke in the air, as a dog scents game.  But what was it?  I was watchful, restless.  I did not let a word, or a meaning, or a gesture escape me.  Every one seemed to me an object of suspicion, and I even looked distrustfully at the faces of the servants.

The hour struck for retiring; and the whole household came to escort me to my room.  Why?

They called to me:  “Good-night.”  I entered the apartment, shut the door, and remained standing, without moving a single step, holding the wax candle in my hand.

I heard laughter and whispering in the corridor.  Without doubt they were spying on me.  I cast a glance round the walls, the furniture, the ceiling, the hangings, the floor.  I saw nothing to justify suspicion.  I heard persons moving about outside my door.  I had no doubt they were looking through the keyhole.

An idea came into my head:  “My candle may suddenly go out and leave me in darkness.”