"Mon Dieu! my dear monsieur, I can explain it all to you in a few words, and you will say that events succeeded one another naturally enough. When your young wife alighted from her carriage, a young man--a very pretty fellow, on my word! but a perfect stranger to me--was standing near me, in front of the restaurant. The poor fellow really made my heart ache: he was in the depths of despair, he tore his hair--no, he didn't go so far as that; but, what was worse, he insisted on accosting the bride and making a scene. I remonstrated with him, I prevented his doing it, and made him see that it would be in the worst possible taste to cause such a scandal in the street." "I thank you, monsieur. But the young man's name--do you know it?" "He told me while we were dining; for we dined together, and he told me the whole story of his love affair. I must hasten to add that there was nothing in it which casts the slightest reflection on madame's honor. But she allowed that young man to pay court to her, she flattered him with the hope that she would marry him some day. But when you appeared, the scales were very soon turned in your favor, and my poor lover was given the mitten." "Then the man who told you all this must have been Monsieur Gustave Darlemont?" "The very same; those are his names." "Yes, I remember meeting him now and then at Monsieur Gerbault's, in the first days of my intimacy with that family. You will agree, monsieur,--for you seem well acquainted with society and its customs,--that it is indiscreet, to say no more, for a young man who has been kindly received by a respectable family, to go about telling of his love affairs, his disappointed hopes, in short, all his affairs, to someone whom he doesn't know, and whom he meets by chance in the street." "It was, perhaps, a little foolish, I admit; but we must excuse some foolish performances in a lover. Poor Gustave adored your wife--he adores her still. She flirted a bit with him." "Monsieur!" "Oh! bless my soul, all the women do it; I know that well enough; maids, wives, and widows--before, during, and after--they always do it. It's their original sin. Eve set the example by flirting with the serpent. To try to cure them of that failing would be to attempt the impossible: women are made that way. _Quid levius pluma? pulvis! Quid pulvere? ventus! Quid vento? mulier! Quid muliere? nihil!_" "But, monsieur, how did it happen that it was you, and not this Monsieur Gustave, who indulged in that insulting exclamation?" "For a very simple reason: Gustave wasn't there. After dining with me, at the same restaurant where you had your wedding banquet, for he was absolutely determined to speak to your wife, to bid her a last farewell----" "The impertinent wretch! if he had dared!"