“Christmas Eve,” said I.

“Do you wish to excuse yourself and to go out?”

“Do you mean to complain?”

“Yes, I complain that you are not sufficiently impressed by the fact of its being Christmas Eve.  The ding-ding-dong of the bells of Notre Dame fails to move you; and just now when the magic-lantern passed beneath the window, I looked at you while pretending to work, and you were quite calm.”

“I remain calm when the magic-lantern is going by!  Ah! my dear, you are very severe on me, and really—­”

“Yes, yes, jest about it, but it was none the less true that the recollections of your childhood have failed.”

“Now, my dear, do you want me to leave my boots out on the hearth this evening on going to bed?  Do you want me to call in the magic-lantern man, and to look out a big sheet and a candle end for him, as my poor mother used to do?  I can still see her as she used to entrust her white sheet to him.  ‘Don’t make a hole in it, at least,’ she would say.  How we used to clap our hands in the mysterious darkness!  I can recall all those joys, my dear, but you know so many other things have happened since then.  Other pleasures have effaced those.”

“Yes, I can understand, your bachelor pleasures; and, there, I am sure that this Christmas Eve is the first you have passed by your own fireside, in your dressing-gown, without supper; for you used to sup on Christmas Eve.”

“To sup, to sup.”

“Yes, you supped; I will wager you did.”

“I have supped two or three times, perhaps, with friends, you know; two sous’ worth of roasted chestnuts and—­”

“A glass of sugar and water.”

“Oh, pretty nearly so.  It was all very simple; as far as I can recollect.  We chatted a little and went to bed.”

“And he says that without a smile.  You have never breathed a word to me of all these simple pleasures.”

“But, my dear, all that I am telling you is strictly true.  I remember that once, however, it was rather lively.  It was at Ernest’s, and we had some music.  Will you push that log toward me?  But, never mind; it will soon be midnight, and that is the hour when reasonable people—­”

Louise, rising and throwing her arms around my neck, interrupted me with:  “Well, I don’t want to be reasonable, I want to wipe out all your memories of chestnuts and glasses of sugar and water.”

Then pushing me into my dressing-room she locked the door.

“But, my dear, what is the matter with you?” said I through the keyhole.

“I want ten minutes, no more.  Your newspaper is on the mantelpiece; you have not read it this evening.  There are some matches in the corner.”

I heard a clatter of crockery, a rustling of silk my wife mad?

Louise soon came and opened the door.

“Don’t scold me for having shut you up,” she said, kissing me.  “Look how I have beautified myself?  Do you recognize the coiffure you are so fond of, the chignon high, and the neck bare?  Only as my poor neck is excessively timid, it would have never consented to show itself thus if I had not encouraged it a little by wearing my dress low.  And then one must put on full uniform to sup with the authorities.”