FROM ONE THING TO ANOTHER

Scene.—­The country in autumn—­The wind is blowing without—­madame, seated by the fireside in a large armchair, is engaged in needlework —­monsieur, seated in front of her, is watching the flames of the fire—­A long silence.

Monsieur—­Will you pass me the poker, my dear?

Madame—­(humming to herself)—­“And yet despite so many fears.” (Spoken.)
Here is the poker. (Humming.) “Despite the painful——­”

Monsieur—­That is by Mehul, is it not, my dear?  Ah! that is music—­I saw Delaunay Riquier in Joseph. (He hums as he makes up the fire.) “Holy pains.” (Spoken.) One wonders why it does not burn, and, by Jove! it turns out to be green wood.  Only he was a little too robust—­Riquier.  A charming voice, but he is too stout.

Madame—­(holding her needlework at a distance, the better to judge of the effect)—­Tell me, George, would you have this square red or black?  You see, the square near the point.  Tell me frankly.

Monsieur—­(singing) “If you can repent.” (Spoken without turning his head.) Red, my dear; red.  I should not hesitate; I hate black.

Madame—­Yes, but if I make that red it will lead me to—­(She reflects.)

Monsieur—­Well, my dear, if it leads you away, you must hold fast to something to save yourself.

Madame—­Come, George, I am speaking seriously.  You know that if this little square is red, the point can not remain violet, and I would not change that for anything.

Monsieur—­(slowly and seriously)—­My dear, will you follow the advice of an irreproachable individual, to whose existence you have linked your fate?  Well, make that square pea-green, and so no more about it.  Just look whether a coal fire ever looked like that.

Madame—­I should only be too well pleased to use up my pea-green wool; I have a quantity of it.

Monsieur—­Then where lies the difficulty?

Madame—­The difficulty is that pea-green is not sufficiently religious.

Monsieur—­Hum! (Humming.) Holy pains! (Spoken.) Will you be kind enough to pass the bellows?  Would it be indiscreet to ask why the poor pea-green, which does not look very guilty, has such an evil reputation?  You are going in for religious needlework, then, my dear?

Madame—­Oh, George!  I beg of you to spare me your fun.  I have been familiar with it for a long time, you know, and it is horribly disagreeable to me.  I am simply making a little mat for the confessional-box of the vicar.  There! are you satisfied?  You know what it is for, and you must understand that under the present circumstances pea-green would be altogether out of place.

Monsieur—­Not the least in the world.  I can swear to you that I could just as well confess with pea-green under my feet.  It is true that I am naturally of a resolute disposition.  Use up your wool; I can assure you that the vicar will accept it all the same.  He does not know how to refuse. (He plies the bellows briskly.)