Sinful curiosity is a vile malady born of all impure contact. It is the prowling instinct of fantoms who raise the lids of tombs; it is an inexplicable torture with which God punishes those who have sinned; they wish to believe that all sin as they have done, and would be disappointed perhaps to find that it was not so. But they inquire, they search, they dispute; they hang their heads on one side, as does an architect who adjusts a pillar, and thus strive to find what they desire to know. Given proof of evil, they laugh at it; doubtful of evil, they swear that it exists; the good, they refuse to recognize. "Who knows?" Behold the grand formula, the first words that Satan spoke when he saw heaven closing against him. Alas! how many evils are those words responsible for! How many disasters and deaths, how many strokes of terrible scythes in the ripening harvest of humanity! How many hearts, how many families where there is naught but ruin, since that word was first heard! "Who knows! Who knows!" Loathsome words! Rather than pronounce them, one should do as the sheep who graze about the slaughter-house and know it not. That is better than to be a strong spirit and read La Rochefoucauld. What better illustration could I present than the one I have just given? My mistress was ready to set out and I had but to say the word. Why did I delay? What would have been the result if I had started at once on our trip? Nothing but a moment of apprehension that would have been forgotten after traveling three days. When with me, she had no thought but of me; why should I care to solve the mystery that did not threaten my happiness? She would have consented and that would have been the end of it. A kiss on her lips and all would be well; instead of that, see what I did. One evening when Smith had dined with us, I retired at an early hour and left them together. As I closed my door, I heard Brigitte order some tea. In the morning I happened to approach her table, and, sitting beside the teapot, I saw but one cup. No one had been in that room before me that morning, so the servant could not have carried away anything that had been used the night before. I searched everywhere for a second cup but could find none. "Did Smith stay late?" I asked of Brigitte. "He left about midnight." "Did you retire alone or did you call some one to assist you?" "I retired alone; every one in the house was asleep." I continued my search and my hands trembled. In what burlesque comedy is there a jealous lover, so stupid as to inquire what has become of a cup? Why seek to discover whether Smith and Madame Pierson had drunk from the same cup? What a brilliant idea, that! Nevertheless, I found the cup and I burst into laughter and threw it on the floor with such violence that it broke into a thousand pieces. I ground the pieces under my feet.