He hesitated a little, and then said:  “Yes, I am, upon my word.”  She had the leg of mutton brought in again.  Parent asked himself “Have they had dinner?  Or are they late because they have had a lovers’ meeting?”

They both ate with a very good appetite.  Henriette was very calm, but laughed and joked.  Her husband watched her furtively.  She had on a pink teagown trimmed with white lace, and her fair head, her white neck and her plump hands stood out from that coquettish and perfumed dress as though it were a sea shell edged with foam.

What fun they must be making of him, if he had been their dupe since the first day!  Was it possible to make a fool of a man, of a worthy man, because his father had left him a little money?  Why could one not see into people’s souls?  How was it that nothing revealed to upright hearts the deceits of infamous hearts?  How was it that voices had the same sound for adoring as for lying?  Why was a false, deceptive look the same as a sincere one?  And he watched them, waiting to catch a gesture, a word, an intonation.  Then suddenly he thought:  “I will surprise them this evening,” and he said: 

“My dear, as I have dismissed Julie, I will see about getting another girl this very day.  I will go at once to procure one by to-morrow morning, so I may not be in until late.”

“Very well,” she replied; “go.  I shall not stir from here.  Limousin will keep me company.  We will wait for you.”  Then, turning to the maid, she said:  “You had better put George to bed, and then you can clear away and go up to your room.”

Parent had got up; he was unsteady on his legs, dazed and bewildered, and saying, “I shall see you again later on,” he went out, holding on to the wall, for the floor seemed to roll like a ship.  George had been carried out by his nurse, while Henriette and Limousin went into the drawing-room.

As soon as the door was shut, he said:  “You must be mad, surely, to torment your husband as you do?”

She immediately turned on him:  “Ah!  Do you know that I think the habit you have got into lately, of looking upon Parent as a martyr, is very unpleasant?”

Limousin threw himself into an easy-chair and crossed his legs.  “I am not setting him up as a martyr in the least, but I think that, situated as we are, it is ridiculous to defy this man as you do, from morning till night.”

She took a cigarette from the mantelpiece, lighted it, and replied:  “But I do not defy him; quite the contrary.  Only he irritates me by his stupidity, and I treat him as he deserves.”

Limousin continued impatiently:  “What you are doing is very foolish!  I am only asking you to treat your husband gently, because we both of us require him to trust us.  I think that you ought to see that.”

They were close together:  he, tall, dark, with long whiskers and the rather vulgar manners of a good-looking man who is very well satisfied with himself; she, small, fair, and pink, a little Parisian, born in the back room of a shop, half cocotte and half bourgeoise, brought up to entice customers to the store by her glances, and married, in consequence, to a simple, unsophisticated man, who saw her outside the door every morning when he went out and every evening when he came home.