Madame de Marsan and I were in regular correspondence; we made appointments, we went into the country together, and sat in closed boxes at the theatre. I enjoyed her society more, seeing her only _en tête-à-tête_. There was no longer between us that swarm of young dandies who were constantly fluttering about her, and whose presence was far from agreeable to me; when we were alone, she could not play the coquette so successfully and amuse herself by tormenting me. So that, for my part, I was not at all sorry that we met as we did, but I was very much afraid that it was not the same with her. Already our correspondence was beginning to drag, our assignations were becoming less frequent; she constantly found something to prevent her meeting me: a reception, a ball, some festivity which she could not possibly avoid attending. I had no faith in her excuses, because I knew that her husband left her entirely at liberty to do as she chose. If she refused to keep an appointment with me, it was because she preferred to create a sensation at a ball or a concert; in a word, to make conquests, to surround herself with admirers and attentions, rather than to be alone with me. The conclusion to be drawn from that state of affairs was very simple: Madame de Marsan did not love me, had never loved me. She had smiled upon me solely from caprice; had given me hopes from coquetry; had yielded by chance; and would leave me because she was bored. One morning, opening my door suddenly, I saw Raymond going downstairs and caught him by his coat tail. "Great heaven! I thought you were dead, Monsieur Raymond!" said I. "Good-morning, my dear neighbor! It's a fact--I haven't seen you since the _Barbier de Séville_." "That is true; and I counted upon you to tell me how the festivities came to an end." "Oh! you must have heard all about it from----" "From whom?" "You know whom I mean. To tell the truth, I was afraid you were angry with me." "Why so?" "Because I took her husband to the thicket." "Aha! so it was you who brought him there, was it?" "That is to say, it was I and it wasn't. He was looking for his wife, and I was looking for the Cupids, who were giving themselves indigestion in the attic; the little rascals nearly burst, and their mother declared it was my fault and wanted to tear my eyes out! I was in hard luck at that party!--But to return to your adventure--if you had let me into the secret of your liaison with Madame de Marsan, it wouldn't have happened; on the contrary, I would have induced the husband to abandon the idea of looking for his wife! But there, as I am always saying to you, you won't ever tell me anything! your reticence leads to surprises! in fact, you are responsible for my having to give up going to Monsieur de Marsan's." "Why so?"