“But mamma told me that if I was very good she would bring me a cake; so then I stopped crying.” “Did anybody come to see your mamma to-day?” “Yes, you know, that gentleman who plays music with mamma, and who gives me sweeties.” “Monsieur Dulac?” “Yes.” “And did you stay with your mamma while she was playing music?” “No, because mamma said that I was making too much noise; she sent me to play in the hall with my doll.” I felt a weight at my heart; and for a long time I was silent. Evidently my little Henriette divined that I was unhappy, for she looked timidly at me and said nothing. I kissed her lovingly, and then she smiled again. Where could Eugénie be? That Madame Dorcelles did not receive that evening; at least, I thought that it was not her day. At all events, I did not choose to go to her house; I suspected that woman of giving Eugénie very bad advice, and I might let my ill humor appear. It was much better not to go there. But why should I always hold myself in check? Why should I not tell my wife frankly what my feelings were? In order to have peace, to avoid quarrels. But in order to have peace, should a man let his wife make a fool of herself and do rash things, if nothing worse? No, I determined to tell Eugénie all that I had on my mind. Perhaps those ladies had gone to the play. I went out, after kissing Henriette again and handing her over to her nurse. Where should I go? At what theatre should I look for them? I went into the Variétés, the Gymnase, and the Porte-Saint-Martin. And I remembered that I had met Eugénie there on the day following Giraud’s ball, at which I saw her for the first time. My eyes turned toward the box in which she sat that evening. Ah! how glad I would have been to go back to that time! How madly in love I was! I still loved her as dearly! but she---- The time passes quickly when one is engrossed by souvenirs of the past. The play came to an end unnoticed by me. I was aroused from my reflections by seeing that everybody had gone; whereupon I understood that I must do likewise. I returned home. As I approached the house, I saw a gentleman and lady standing at the door, and I thought that I recognized my wife. I stepped behind one of the trees on the boulevard, where I could see them better. Yes, it was my wife and Monsieur Dulac. He had brought her home. But they talked together a very long time! He took her hand and did not release it. Why did he hold her hand like that? When a man holds a woman’s hand so long, it means that he is making love to her. I remembered very clearly that that was what I used to do; and that I used to bestow a loving pressure upon the hand that I held in mine. He was pressing my wife’s hand, no doubt, and she did not withdraw it! That idea maddened me, I could no longer restrain myself, and I walked rapidly toward them. They dropped each other’s hands; Dulac bowed ceremoniously, then exclaimed: