At dinner, which we took at little private tables lit up by candles, whose soft light was that of a boudoir, Emma, surrounded by men in evening dress, and women in low-necked frocks, made herself conspicuous by her aggressive behavior which was quite out of place. She ogled the men, and looked with a sneer at the women--sometimes admiring and sometimes contemptuous--speaking her approval in a loud voice, and laughing ostentatiously--which caused amusement and astonishment all round us--in the most ridiculous and delicious manner. She wanted to jabber with everybody there. I carried her off as soon as I could, but her desire to get back to the life of the world was so ardent, that we had to go immediately to some place of public entertainment. The theater was shut, and only the Casino was open, and that evening, the entertainment consisted of a wrestling tournament organized in imitation of Paris. The little Hall was full of counter-jumpers, students and common folk. A cloud was floating in it which was a mixture of all proletarian and lower middle-class tobaccos. Emma spread herself in her box. A vulgar bit of ragtime proceeding from the shameless orchestra plunged her into ecstasy, and as her ecstasies were not discreet, three hundred pairs of eyes turned round to look at her, attracted by the waving of a fan, and the hat-feathers which also courageously beat time. Emma smiled and looked at the three hundred pair of eyes. The wrestling aroused her enthusiasm, and more especially the wrestlers. Those human brutes, whose heads--great jaw, and no brow--seem destined for the sawdust-box of the guillotine aroused the most unseemly excitement in my fair friend. A hairy, tattooed colossus won. He came to make his bow, and as he did so, awkwardly nodded a myrmidon’s head, with two little pig’s eyes surmounting his titanic body. He belonged to the town. His fellow-citizens gave him an ovation. He was given the title of “Bastion of Nanthel,” and “Champion of the Ardennes.” Emma rose in her seat, applauding him so loudly and insistently, that she both scandalized and amused the audience. The Champion threw her a kiss. I felt my face getting red with shame. We returned to the Hotel, exchanging bitter remarks. Our apartment happened to be above the arch of the main door, where motor-cars kept passing and re-passing until morning, which made me dream of misfortunes and absurdities. My awakening brought me real ones. Emma was gone! In my astonishment, I endeavored to find plausible reasons for her absence. I rang for the waiter. He came, and handed me this letter, which I have preserved, and whose criss-crossed paper, bespattered with blots and blobs of ink, I now pin on to my piece of white paper: “DEAR NICK,