"Yes; but he knows the measure of his sentiments, and he never makes a mistake. He is wiser than those men who when they are attacked by a new passion imagine that it will last forever!" "Do they think that, nowadays?" said Tobie, toying carelessly with his hair chain. "By the way, Albert hasn't finished his story of Madame Plays, whose husband is a second Acteon. I demand the rest of the story, or my money back." "Yes, yes, the rest of the story," said Célestin. Albert resumed his narrative, but with much less animation, and as if he were doing it solely to oblige. "Well, messieurs; Madame Plays was at Madame Baldimer's dance. The company was slightly mixed, as you can understand. A foreigner who has lived in Paris only a year cannot know very many people; and when she chooses to give receptions and balls, she must necessarily accept with confidence such guests as are presented to her; and her confidence is often misplaced." "Sapristi! you are as verbose as a lawyer to-day, Albert." "Madame Plays was superb; she is somewhat massive, as you know, but a very beautiful woman. Tall Saint-Clair, who was there, did not lose sight of her, and made eyes at her--Gad! it was enough to make one burst with laughter. Madame Plays responded, for lack of something better to do. She is a woman who must always have occupation. All of a sudden, it came into my head to rob that idiotic Saint-Clair of his conquest. I had never before given a thought to Madame Plays, although I had frequently met her in society. I had no sooner conceived the project, than I set to work. Supper had just been served; I seated myself beside the emotional Herminie--that is her name--and overwhelmed her with little attentions, interspersed with tender words. Ah! if you knew what success I had! it went so quickly that I was almost frightened. She went so far as to tell me that I had done very wrong not to declare myself sooner." "Peste! the lady regretted the time she had lost. And Saint-Clair?" "Oh! he was in an extraordinary state: as he was unable to obtain a seat beside his passion, he stood behind her at first; then, when he found that she didn't answer him, or pay any attention to him, he went off in a rage and sat at the other end of the table, where he began to eat and drink with a sort of frenzy; indeed, I think that he ended by getting a little tipsy, for, when we returned to the salon to dance, he was sitting in a corner, beside Monsieur Plays, and some people declared that he wept while he was talking with him. I should not be at all surprised if he had confided to him his chagrin at having failed to make him a cuckold." "That would be charming. But the husband replied, no doubt: 'Never fear, my friend; somebody else will.'"