"Three days passed before I saw my husband; he probably passed them in that den where his friend Faisandé sometimes passed a week. At last, Monsieur Dauberny came to my room one morning and approached me as if to kiss me. I felt as if I were about to come in contact with a toad. I rose hastily, and I doubt not that my face expressed what was passing through my mind, for Monsieur Dauberny stopped in utter amazement. "'Monsieur,' I said to him, pointing to the door, 'you will never cross that threshold again! More than that, you will never seek to see me or to speak to me. Henceforth we are utter strangers to each other. I will never go out with you; when I dine at home, it will not be at your table; we will have our meals separately. Absolute liberty, monsieur! I shall do whatever I please--absolutely! do you understand, monsieur? And you will not venture to find fault with any act of mine.' "Monsieur Dauberny, bewildered at first by what I said, tried to demand an explanation. I closed his mouth with these words: "'I know all about La Courtille, Mariotte, the vile hole on Rue Saint-Éloy, and the four _siroteuses_!' "He turned deathly pale and trembled like a leaf; he stammered some words which I could not understand, then bowed, and rushed from the room. Since that day--and that was years ago!--I have not exchanged a word with my husband. We live as I had resolved. Sometimes I don't see him for three weeks; and if we chance to meet, we bow, and that is all. The world has become accustomed to seeing me go about without my husband. What the world thinks about it matters little to me! It is so often mistaken in its judgments that we are fools to worry about it. I have always thought that our own esteem was worth more than the consideration which is often most freely bestowed on people who hardly deserve it." XXIII A MOMENT OF FORGETFULNESS "Now, my dear Charles, you know the secret of my entire liberty, and of my conduct, which gives rise to so much gossip; of my inviting you to supper to-night with our dear baron, who is sleeping so soundly now; of my having a table of my own, in short, at which I can entertain whom I please, without the slightest concern as to whether anyone will criticise me for it. Are you glad that I have told you?" "Oh, yes!" I said, pressing her hand with force. "Yes! In the first place, I am proud of having inspired you with confidence in me. And then, too, I--I----" "You are very glad to find that I am not such a good-for-naught as you thought at first, eh?" She was right. Her conduct seemed to me now to be perfectly natural, or, at all events, excusable. Frédérique's head no longer rested on my shoulder: she sat up and passed her hand across her forehead, saying: