“‘As a dancer,’ said she, ‘I have never been accustomed to use my feet except on the boards. If you have any spirit, you will turn out four more plays or so in a year; you will make up your mind that succeed they must, when you think of the end in view, and that your wife will not walk in the mud. It is a shame that I should have to ask for it. You ought to have guessed my continual discomfort during the five years since I married you.’ “‘I am quite willing,’ returned du Bruel. ‘But we shall ruin ourselves.’ “‘If you run into debt,’ she said, ‘my uncle’s money will clear it off some day.’ “‘You are quite capable of leaving me the debts and taking the property.’ “‘Oh! is that the way you take it?’ retorted she. ‘I have nothing more to say to you; such a speech stops my mouth.’ “Whereupon du Bruel poured out his soul in excuses and protestations of love. Not a word did she say. He took her hands, she allowed him to take them; they were like ice, like a dead woman’s hands. Tullia, you can understand, was playing to admiration the part of corpse that women can play to show you that they refuse their consent to anything and everything; that for you they are suppressing soul, spirit, and life, and regard themselves as beasts of burden. Nothing so provokes a man with a heart as this strategy. Women can only use it with those who worship them. “She turned to me. ‘Do you suppose,’ she said scornfully, ‘that a Count would have uttered such an insult even if the thought had entered his mind? For my misfortune I have lived with dukes, ambassadors, and great lords, and I know their ways. How intolerable it makes bourgeois life! After all, a playwright is not a Rastignac nor a Rhetore----’ “Du Bruel looked ghastly at this. Two days afterwards we met in the _foyer_ at the Opera, and took a few turns together. The conversation fell on Tullia. “‘Do not take my ravings on the boulevard too seriously,’ said he; ‘I have a violent temper.’