"Are you grieving over Sister Anne's approaching departure?" said Dubourg. "I tell you, my dear fellow, it is indispensable. A man can't live under the same roof with his wife and his mistress, even if the latter has ceased to be anything to him; for the wife must always stand in dread of chance meetings and accidents; and if she loves her husband ever so little, she won't sleep peacefully." "Unquestionably," said Ménard, "one cannot live with the wolf and the lamb. It's as if you should put a canary and a parrot in the same cage; they'll always end by fighting. I don't refer to Madame de Montreville; she's an angel of gentleness; and certainly the other little woman will never talk loud. But, after all: _naturam expellas furca, tamen usque recurret_. Furthermore, a Greek philosopher has said: 'Do you want to have hell on earth? if so, live with your wife and your mistress.'" "But, Monsieur Ménard, far from having any such desire, I wish with all my heart that the poor creature were already far away. I realize too well that I must not rely on my resolutions." "There's only one thing in the world you can rely on; and that is indigestion, if you bathe right after eating." The breakfast hour arrived; Constance appeared, and, as usual, went to her husband and kissed him. "I was mistaken; she knows nothing," said Frédéric to himself. However, it seemed to him that she was pale, that her eyes were red and swollen, that her hand trembled in his. He inquired affectionately concerning her health. "I am all right," said Constance; "I am not sick; there's nothing the matter with me." But her tone seemed to contradict her words. The day passed, and Frédéric was surprised to see that Constance made no preparations for Sister Anne's departure and her own. He ventured at last to mention the subject. "I have changed my mind," said Constance, struggling to conceal her emotion; "I don't see why that young woman should leave the house; she is so happy with us! Her presence cannot be disagreeable to you; on the other hand, her absence might cause you too much regret." "What do you say?" cried Frédéric. "No, she shall not go," continued Constance, coldly; apparently not noticing her husband's bewilderment. "It is useless now." With that, she turned away and shut herself up in her own apartment. Frédéric did not know what to think of that sudden change of plan; but that evening Constance's maid went to the pavilion, at her bidding, and informed Sister Anne that she was to live on at the pavilion; that there was no further question of her going away.