“You can draw it much easier yourself, my dear; you have only to put out your arm and lean forward a bit.” “Look here, why won’t you pull the cord, when you’re right beside it? What sort of way is that to behave?” “Why--why, you see I pulled it just now when the tenant of the first floor came in, so it’s your turn.” “Ah! so this is a new idea you’ve got into your head! Madame is afraid that she will pull the cord oftener than I, who have just come in, all tired and out of breath after running about Paris all day! What a lazy hussy!” “Mon Dieu! is it possible for a man to be as ugly as this to his wife! to be so unwilling to do anything for her! Ah! Monsieur Baudoin, how you have changed!” While this little dialogue was taking place between the couple employed to take care of the house, the person who had rung remained at the door, which is rarely pleasing when one returns home at night. A second peal at the bell, much more violent than the first, announced that he was losing patience. Baudoin decided to pull the cord, but as he did so he said to his wife: “Ah! _bigre!_ you shall pay for this, Hildegarde! by all that’s good! I promise you that.” Hildegarde made no reply, but continued to sit over her bottle. Someone came in and closed the street door; and soon a man appeared at the concierge’s lodge, and said curtly: “Give me my light.” “Oh! yes, Monsieur Malberg; this minute, Monsieur Malberg.--Hildegarde, just take Monsieur Malberg’s candlestick from the cupboard by you, light it at our lamp, or rather light it with a match, for the chimney of our lamp is cracked and it might break in your hand.--You are just from the theatre, I suppose, Monsieur Malberg? They say that they are giving a fine play there just now; I don’t know which theatre, but no matter, it seems that it’s fine, all the same! You have been to see it, of course?” “I have been where I chose to go, and it is none of your business,” replied the tenant, in a tone which did not invite further conversation. “Well! what about my light? Are you going to give it to me to-night? or do you intend to keep me waiting here as long as you did in the street?” “What, Hildegarde, haven’t you lighted Monsieur Malberg’s light yet? Look here, what are you about? God forgive me, Monsieur Malberg, but I believe that my wife is getting deaf or idiotic; something’s the matter with her to-night; it isn’t possible--yes, she may have been tippling. You know her unlucky failing, which will lead her to perdition! and it isn’t for lack of my trying to correct it by every means that I can think of.” Whereupon Hildegarde, who had her reasons for not stirring from her chair, made haste to reply: