“And what about her?  An enigma.  She cannot be ignorant of everything.  However—­however—­Well, I cannot understand it.

“The dinner was very gay and cordial.  On leaving the table the husband and his friend began to play cards, while I went out on the porch to look at the moonlight with madame.  She seemed to be greatly affected by nature, and I judged that the moment for my happiness was near.  That evening she was really delightful.  The country had seemed to make her more tender.  Her long, slender waist looked pretty on this stone porch beside a great vase in which grew some flowers.  I felt like dragging her out under the trees, throwing myself at her feet and speaking to her words of love.

“Her husband’s voice called ‘Louise!’

“‘Yes, dear.’

“‘You are forgetting the tea.’

“‘I’ll go and see about it, my friend.’

“We returned to the house, and she gave us some tea.  When the two men had finished playing cards, they were visibly tired.  I had to go to my room.  I did not get to sleep till late, and then I slept badly.

“An excursion was decided upon for the following afternoon, and we went in an open carriage to visit some ruins.  She and I were in the back of the vehicle and they were opposite us, riding backward.  The conversation was sympathetic and agreeable.  I am an orphan, and it seemed to me as though I had just found my family, I felt so at home with them.

“Suddenly, as she had stretched out her foot between her husband’s legs, he murmured reproachfully:  ’Louise, please don’t wear out your old shoes yourself.  There is no reason for being neater in Paris than in the country.’

“I lowered my eyes.  She was indeed wearing worn-out shoes, and I noticed that her stockings were not pulled up tight.

“She had blushed and hidden her foot under her dress.  The friend was looking out in the distance with an indifferent and unconcerned look.

“The husband offered me a cigar, which I accepted.  For a few days it was impossible for me to be alone with her for two minutes; he was with us everywhere.  He was delightful to me, however.

“One morning he came to get me to take a walk before breakfast, and the conversation happened to turn on marriage.  I spoke a little about solitude and about how charming life can be made by the affection of a woman.  Suddenly he interrupted me, saying:  ’My friend, don’t talk about things you know nothing about.  A woman who has no other reason for loving you will not love you long.  All the little coquetries which make them so exquisite when they do not definitely belong to us cease as soon as they become ours.  And then—­the respectable women—­that is to say our wives—­are—­are not—­in fact do not understand their profession of wife.  Do you understand?’

“He said no more, and I could not guess his thoughts.

“Two days after this conversation he called me to his room quite early, in order to show me a collection of engravings.  I sat in an easy chair opposite the big door which separated his apartment from his wife’s, and behind this door I heard some one walking and moving, and I was thinking very little of the engravings, although I kept exclaiming:  ’Oh, charming! delightful! exquisite!’