"Yes, you say that now, and you don't mean it. I am too stupid, myself. I tire myself out in trying to make myself beautiful,--in trying to find things to please you. And you care nothing about it. Besides, what am I to you? Nothing; less than nothing! You come in here, and what do you see? That dirty newspaper. In what are you interested? In a rebus! Ah, a pretty life you give me here! We do not see anybody; we do not go anywhere; we live like wolves, like poor people." "Oh! come, come, I beg of you. Don't get angry. Come! As poor people, indeed!" He tried to approach Madame, to take her about the waist, to kiss her, but she repulsed him severely. "No, let me alone. You provoke me." "Oh! come, my darling, my little wife." "You provoke me, do you hear? Let me alone. Do not approach me. You are a gross egoist, a clumsy puppy; you don't know how to do anything for me; you are a dirty type, there!" "Why do you say that? It is madness. Come, don't fly into a passion like that. Well, yes, I was wrong. I ought to have seen this corset right away,--this very pretty corset. Why did I not see it right away? I do not understand it. Look at me; smile at me. My! how pretty it is! And how it becomes you!" Monsieur dwelt too persistently upon the subject. He irritated me, although I had no interest in the quarrel. Madame stamped on the carpet, and, becoming more and more nervous, with pale lips and clenched hands, she rattled on: "You provoke me, you provoke me! Do you understand? Clear out!" Monsieur continued to stammer, beginning now to show signs of exasperation. "My darling! It is not reasonable. Just for a corset! It is out of all proportion. Come, my darling, look at me, smile at me. It is stupid to make such a fuss over a corset." "Ah! _Tu m'emmerdes!_" vomited Madame, in the voice of a washerwoman. "_Tu m'emmerdes!_ Clear out!" I had finished lacing my mistress. I arose at this word, delighted at having surprised their two beautiful souls in all their nakedness, and at the thought of the humiliation that they would feel in my presence afterward. They seemed to have forgotten that I was there. Desiring to see how the scene would end, I kept perfectly still, and made myself as small as possible. Monsieur, who had been holding in for a long time, now got angry in his turn. He made the fashion journal into a big ball, and flung it with all his might against the dressing-table; and he cried: "_Zut! Flûte!_ This is really getting too tiresome! It is always the same thing. One cannot say anything or do anything without being received like a dog. And always brutalities and coarse language. I have enough of this life; I have had enough of these fishwife's manners. And shall I tell you the truth? Your corset,--well, your corset is vile. It is a prostitute's corset." "Wretch!"