To think of my being insulted by Eugénie! A few months before I could not have believed that that could happen. To think of being hurt and grieved by her! But it was jealousy that led her astray, that excited her. I tried to find excuses for her. We always try to find excuses for those whom we love; we should be so unhappy if we could not excuse them. I found but little enjoyment at the theatre; there were times however, when, engrossed by the play, which was very pretty, I abandoned myself to the pleasure it afforded me; but the memory of my quarrel with my wife soon returned to my mind; it was as if a weight had resumed its place upon my chest; it embarrassed me and prevented me from enjoying myself. What a child I was! after all, it was a most trivial dispute; I was foolish to think that a husband and wife could always agree. Yet I did think so; I believed it. That quarrel, trivial though it was, caused me much distress, because it was the first, and because it destroyed one of my illusions. My wife was in bed when I went home. The next day we did not mention our dispute of the day before. We were not on bad terms, and yet everything was not right between us. Eugénie was colder and less talkative than usual; there was none of the delightful unreserve of former days. But I could not ask her pardon when I had done nothing. Let madame sulk, if that amuses her, I thought; I will seem not to notice it. A fortnight passed thus, during which I went once to Ernest’s; but I was careful not to tell my wife; one must needs have secrets from people who see evil in everything. One morning, Eugénie said to me: “We must see about finding a new apartment.” “A new apartment? what for, pray?” “Why, to move into, naturally.” “Do you mean that you want to leave this apartment, which you like so much?” “Oh! I can’t endure it now! and if I had known all that I know now, we certainly would have taken another when we were married.” “Known all that you know? Are you going to begin again?” “You can’t deny that this was the place where you knew Mademoiselle Marguerite; everybody in the house knows it, and you cannot certainly think it is pleasant for me to live here.” “Everybody in the house knows that I used to talk to my neighbor; and everybody also knows that I was not her lover.” “Oh! that isn’t what people say--even the concierges.” “What, Eugénie! do you talk with the concierges?” “No, not I; but our maid talks with them sometimes; that is natural enough. And I know, monsieur, that Mademoiselle Marguerite was not content to receive visits from you; she used to come to your room.” “That is false, madame.” “You won’t admit it, of course not. You could not say that she used to come here with her lover.” “Oh, yes! I do remember now that she came once to my room, just once, one morning, to ask me if I had seen her cat which she had lost.”