“That is all very convenient, monsieur; it proves that you can do what you please and that wives have simply to pass their lives weeping. Is that fair, monsieur?” “If you consider that too hard, too cruel, why do you women marry? You should know what you undertake when you take that step.” “You are right, it would be much better not to marry--to do like Mademoiselle Marguerite; then one is free to follow one’s inclinations, to drop people and take them up again at pleasure.” I made no reply. I paced the floor back and forth. Meanwhile Eugénie had ceased to weep and had wiped her eyes; a moment later she came to me and laid her hand gently on my arm: “Henri, perhaps I was a little wrong. But if this woman never has been, and is not now your mistress, if you do not love her--swear to me that you do not love her.” “Yes, I swear to you that I do not love her, and that I have never been her lover.” “Well then, my dear, to prove that, you must promise me that you will never in your life put your foot inside their door again.” “No, I am very sorry, but I will not promise that.” “Why not, if you do not love the woman?” “It is just because I have no relations with Madame Ernest that I propose to continue to see her and her husband just when it suits me. Besides, listen, my dear love: to-day you are jealous of her and don’t want me to go there any more; in a few days you will be jealous of someone else, and you will forbid me to go somewhere else. Things cannot go on so. I love you, I love you as dearly as on the day we married; but I don’t propose to be your slave. There is nothing more ridiculous than a man who does not dare to take a step without his wife’s permission; there is nothing more impertinent for a woman than to say to her husband: ‘You shall not go here or there, because I do not want you to.’” “But, Henri, I don’t forbid you to go, I simply beg you not to.” “No, my dear Eugénie; I am distressed to refuse, but I shall go where I please.” “And you dare to say that you do not love that woman?” “If I loved her you would never have known that I went there, you would never have heard of her.” “So you prefer the friendship of those people to my repose and happiness? You sacrifice my peace of mind to them?” “Your peace of mind should not be disturbed by my visits to Ernest. I say again, I will not give way to absurd suspicions, and I will do as I please.” “Very good, monsieur; I appreciate your love at its real value now.” And madame returned to her room; I sat down at the table and ate my dinner. Eugénie did not return; I dined alone. It was the first time since our marriage; alas, I would never have believed that it could happen. My dinner was soon at an end; nothing takes away the appetite like a dispute. And to dispute with a person whom one loves makes one angry and grieved at the same time.