Whenever I saw her, I laughed at her, finding nothing so ridiculous as the high life she thought she was leading. I would interrupt her description of a ball to inquire about her husband and her father-in-law, both of whom she detested, the one because he was her husband, and the other because he was only a peasant; in short, we were always disputing on some subject. In my evil moments I thought of paying court to her just for the sake of annoying Brigitte. “You see,” I said, “how perfectly Madame Daniel understands life! In her present sprightly humor could one desire a more charming mistress?” I then paid her the most extravagant compliments; her senseless chatting I described as unrestraint tempered by finesse, her pretentious exaggerations as a natural desire to please; was it her fault that she was poor? At least she thought of nothing but pleasure and confessed it freely; she did not preach sermons herself, nor did she listen to them from others; I went so far as to tell Brigitte that she ought to adopt her as a model, and that she was just the kind of woman to please me. Poor Madame Daniel discovered signs of melancholy in Brigitte’s eyes. She was a strange creature, as good and sincere--when you could get finery out of her head--as she was stupid when absorbed in such frivolous affairs. On occasion she could be both good and stupid. One fine day, when they were walking together, she threw herself into Brigitte’s arms, and told her that she had noticed I was beginning to pay court to her, and that I had made certain proposals to her, the meaning of which was not doubtful; but she knew that I was another’s lover, and as for her, whatever might happen, she would die rather than destroy the happiness of a friend. Brigitte thanked her, and Madame Daniel, having set her conscience at ease, considered it no sin to render me desolate by languishing glances. In the evening, when she had gone, Brigitte, in a severe tone, told me what had happened; she begged me to spare her such affronts in the future. “Not that I attach any importance to such pleasantries,” she said, “but if you have any love for me, it seems to me it is useless to inform a third party that there are times when you have not.” “Is it possible,” I replied with a smile, “that it is important? You see very well that I was only joking, and that I did it only to pass away the time.” “Ah! my friend, my friend,” said Brigitte, “it is a pity that you must seek pastimes.” A few days later I proposed that we go to the prefecture to see Madame Daniel dance; she unwillingly consented. While she was arranging her toilette, I sat near the window and reproached her for losing her former cheerfulness.