“Yes, I can understand, your bachelor pleasures; and, there, I am sure that this Christmas Eve is the first you have passed by your own fireside, in your dressing-gown, without supper; for you used to sup on Christmas Eve.” “To sup, to sup.” “Yes, you supped; I will wager you did.” “I have supped two or three times, perhaps, with friends, you know; two sous’ worth of roasted chestnuts and--” “A glass of sugar and water.” “Oh, pretty nearly so. It was all very simple; as far as I can recollect. We chatted a little and went to bed.” “And he says that without a smile. You have never breathed a word to me of all these simple pleasures.” “But, my dear, all that I am telling you is strictly true. I remember that once, however, it was rather lively. It was at Ernest’s, and we had some music. Will you push that log toward me? But, never mind; it will soon be midnight, and that is the hour when reasonable people--” Louise, rising and throwing her arms around my neck, interrupted me with: “Well, I don’t want to be reasonable, I want to wipe out all your memories of chestnuts and glasses of sugar and water.” Then pushing me into my dressing-room she locked the door. “But, my dear, what is the matter with you?” said I through the keyhole. “I want ten minutes, no more. Your newspaper is on the mantelpiece; you have not read it this evening. There are some matches in the corner.” I heard a clatter of crockery, a rustling of silk my wife mad? Louise soon came and opened the door. “Don’t scold me for having shut you up,” she said, kissing me. “Look how I have beautified myself? Do you recognize the coiffure you are so fond of, the chignon high, and the neck bare? Only as my poor neck is excessively timid, it would have never consented to show itself thus if I had not encouraged it a little by wearing my dress low. And then one must put on full uniform to sup with the authorities.” “To sup?” “Certainly, to sup with you; don’t you see my illuminations and this table covered with flowers and a heap of good things? I had got it all ready in the alcove; but you understand that to roll the table up to the fire and make a little toilette, I wanted to be alone. Come, Monsieur, take your place at table. I am as hungry as a hunter. May I offer you a wing of cold chicken?” “Your idea is charming, but, dear, really I am ashamed; I am in my dressing-gown.” “Take off your dressing-gown if it incommodes you, Monsieur, but don’t leave this chicken wing on my hands. I want to serve you myself.” And, rising, she turned her sleeves up to the elbow, and placed her table napkin on her arm. “It is thus that the waiters at the restaurant do it, is it not?” “Exactly; but, waiter, allow me at least to kiss your hand.”