"Several days passed before I heard from Anatole, but at last I received a letter from him. He demanded an explanation of my conduct and reiterated his protestations of undying love; in conclusion, he asked for a meeting. You will readily understand that I did not answer the letter. The next day came another, in which he himself appointed a meeting. At that, I went to my father and told him that Monsieur Anatole, whom I could not endure, had the assurance to make assignations with me, and I mentioned the place where he proposed to meet me. My father kissed me in acknowledgment of my trust in him and my prudence, saying that he would take it upon himself to administer fitting chastisement to the impertinent scoundrel who presumed to write to me. In fact, that same evening Monsieur Anatole received from my father's foot a number of blows on a sensitive spot." Frédérique paused to moisten her lips with malvoisie, and I turned my face so that I could see her better. XXII MONSIEUR DAUBERNY After a moment's silence, during which we both seemed to be lost in thought, Frédérique continued: "Such, my friend, were the results of my first two girlish passions; I was entirely disillusionized concerning the pretty love romances that girls dream of at boarding school. Some time after, my father proposed Monsieur Dauberny to me as a suitable match. I did not know him, but I readily assented. I did not propose to love again, and it mattered little to me whom they gave me for a husband. "So I married Monsieur Dauberny. As you do not know my husband, allow me to draw his portrait for you. He was thirty-six years old when he married me, and is now forty-four. A man of thirty-six is still young, especially when he is a bachelor. My husband is a handsome man, with regular features; his face has no mobility, but, at first glance, that lack may easily be taken for gravity; at that time he was not so stout as he is to-day. In the early days of our union, I did not dislike him; I simply thought that he did not take enough pains to please me. I was nineteen years old! Frankly, I was well worth the trouble of making love to. Instead of that, my husband already neglected me to go--where? I did not know; but one day I took it into my head to find out. I dressed as a man; I had often worn a masculine costume for my own amusement, and I wore it with as much ease as that of my own sex.