"'It is I, Madame!' "'Oh, Madame, permit me!' "And we embraced each other and were good friends immediately. "Her husband is a civil engineer, as I have said. He was once occupied with great inventions and with great industrial works; but that was only for a short time. Having inherited a large estate, he abandoned his studies and did nothing--at least nothing but mischief. When he married to increase his fortune, his pretty little wife had a sad surprise. He was never seen at home; always at the club--always behind the scenes at the opera--always going to the devil! He gambled, he had mistresses and shameful affairs. But worse than all, he drank--he came to his wife drunk. One incident, which my pen almost refuses to write, will give you an idea. Think of it! He conceived the idea of sleeping in his boots! There, my mother, is the pretty fellow my sweet little friend transformed, little by little, into a decent man, a man of merit, and an excellent husband! "And she did it all by gentleness, firmness, and sagacity. Now is not this encouraging?--for, God knows, my task is less difficult. "Their household charms me; for it proves that one may build for one's self, even in the midst of this Paris, a little nest such as one dreams of. These dear neighbors are inhabitants of Paris--not its prey. They have their fireside; they own it, and it belongs to them. Paris is at their door--so much the better. They have ever a relish for refined amusement; 'they drink at the fountain,' but do not drown themselves in it. Their habits are the same, passing their evenings in conversation, reading, or music; stirring the fire and listening to the wind and rain without, as if they were in a forest. "Life slips gently through their fingers, thread by thread, as in our dear old country evenings. "My mother, they are happy! "Here, then, is my dream--here is my plan. "My husband has no vices, as Monsieur Jaubert had. He has only the habits of all the brilliant men of his Paris-world. It is necessary, my own mother, gradually to reform him; to suggest insensibly to him the new idea that one may pass one evening at home in company with a beloved and loving wife, without dying suddenly of consumption. "The rest will follow. "What is this rest? It is the taste for a quiet life, for the serious sweetness of the domestic hearth--the family taste--the idea of seclusion--the recovered soul! "Is it not so, my good angel? Then trust me. I am more than ever full of ardor, courage, and confidence. For he loves me with all his heart, with more levity, perhaps, than I deserve; but still--he loves me!