"Yes, perfectly; you made the acquaintance of the stout man who paid for the ices; but that doesn't tell us why you are suffering now." "Ah! that's the sequel. I had known that gentleman about six months. I hadn't got used to him at all; but I had got used to his presents. It isn't that he was very generous---- However, when you don't love a man, you ask nothing better than to deceive him." "That is perfectly natural, mademoiselle; sometimes, indeed, you deceive him when you do love him." "Oh! that's true, too; I believe such things have been known. Well, about six weeks ago I made the acquaintance of a young man I liked very much." "And you left the stout party?" "Mon Dieu! I intended to, certainly--that was my purpose--but----" "You didn't have a chance, eh?" "That's it, monsieur. I was looking for an opportunity; I didn't know just what to do, for I had discovered that Monsieur Bouqueton was very brutal, with all his _comme il faut_ air." "Bouqueton!" I exclaimed, struck by that name, as I recalled Madame Dauberny's confidences on the subject of her husband. "So your stout man's name is Bouqueton, is it?" "Yes, monsieur. Do you know him?" "No, not I. But I have heard of him from a friend of mine, who didn't speak very highly of him. Go on, mademoiselle." "I was looking for a chance to break with Monsieur Bouqueton; but, meanwhile, I continued to receive his presents--so as not to make him suspicious. Well, three days ago, my lover--my real lover--came and asked me to dine with him at a little restaurant on Rue du Ponceau, where they have private rooms. Naturally, I said _yes_. When I went out, I met my friend, the one who had the ices with me on the Champs-Élysées. She asked me where I was going, and I was fool enough to tell her. Oh! women are such traitors! It's never safe to trust one's friends! I am sure that it was she who told Monsieur Bouqueton that I had another lover. By making trouble between him and me, she hoped he'd take her, I suppose--the vile slut! Well, messieurs, when I came out of the restaurant with my lover, I saw Monsieur Bouqueton standing guard at the door. I trembled all over. I didn't want to go home, but my young man couldn't take me with him, for he hadn't any rooms of his own: he lives with his employer, four clerks in one room. I couldn't go and play puss-in-the-corner with all four; so I says to myself: 'Never mind! here's the opportunity I've been looking for to break with Monsieur Bouqueton.'