“I have no opinion or advice to give you. There are times when a man should look to nobody for advice but himself. What I can’t conceive is that a man should go about proclaiming his shame as you do.” “Proclaiming! what does that mean, I pray to know? Because I come to confide my troubles to a friend, you call it proclaiming my shame! Look you! I don’t care to be a cuckold myself; every man has his own way of looking at things. I know very well that there are some husbands to whom it doesn’t make any difference, who let their wives go about with their lovers and seem to pay no attention to it.” I had listened to Bélan impatiently; at that moment I could contain myself no longer; I jumped at him, seized him by the collar, and shook him violently, crying: “Did you come here to say that for my benefit, monsieur? Do you mean to insult me and to include me among those obliging husbands to whom you refer? Morbleu! Monsieur Bélan, I am in no mood to endure any impertinence on that subject.” The poor little man had submitted to be shaken, being totally unable to defend himself, he was so dazed by my action. At last he cried out, gazing at me in dismay: “Blémont, my friend, what on earth is the matter with you? You certainly are ill; you are not yourself!” I relaxed my hold, and, ashamed of my outbreak of wrath, I threw myself in a chair and faltered: “Yes--yes--I am not well. I thought that you meant to insult me--but----” “I, mean to insult an old friend, when I came to confide my domestic unhappiness to him. You cause me grief, Blémont, you affect me. However, if you really think that I intended to jest about your--In the first place, I didn’t know that there was any excuse for jesting about you. However, if you want satisfaction, you know that I am not a fellow to retreat, I have furnished my proofs. I avoided the artilleryman, it is true, but one doesn’t fight with a stranger; with a friend it’s a very different matter.” I gave Bélan my hand, saying: “I tell you again, I don’t know what got into me. You and I fight! No, no, my dear Bélan, let us forget it all.” Bélan shook my hand warmly. “Let’s forget it, so I say, and shake hands. Yes, my dear fellow, I think that we may shake hands--most cordially. I will leave you, as you are preoccupied and engrossed by--er--disagreeable thoughts.--Perfidious Armide! Traitorous Armide! Pope was quite right!--Have you read Pope, my friend?” “I--I don’t know. I think so.” “If I had read him sooner, I should have looked twice before marrying. Do you remember what he says of women?” “No.” “Well, he says that every woman has a dissolute heart. What do you think of that?” “I think that it is not polite.” “But I fear that it is true. For instance, Armide has a dissolute heart; your wife also has a----” “For God’s sake, Bélan, let us drop that subject!”