"Mon Dieu! how my husband does irritate me!" said Madame Destival to her neighbor, assuming a frigid air to welcome Auguste, who said to her: "What, madame! have you been so kind as to be uneasy because of my non-appearance?" "I have not said a word of that sort, monsieur. I cannot conceive why Monsieur Destival delights in crediting me with statements the thought of which I do not even entertain. I simply considered that when a person promised to arrive in time for luncheon, it was ridiculous to put in an appearance at the end of the day. However, I am not at all surprised, and--But, bless my soul! what on earth has happened to you, monsieur? What a plight you are in! A wound in the face--clothes all disarranged--It would seem that you have had some thrilling adventure." "In truth, madame," said Auguste, bowing to Athalie, who returned his salutation with a simpering air, "I did have an encounter----" "Perhaps he met the wolf," suggested Monin, walking up to Destival; "it seems that there is one in the woods. The peasant woman who sold my wife her cucumbers told her that the other day----" "Can it be that you have been fighting with a wolf, my gallant Dalville?" cried Destival, presenting his bayonet to the company as if he proposed to charge a hollow square. "Oh, no!" said madame, with a sly smile, "it was no wolf that made that mark on monsieur's face; it looks like something entirely different; don't you think so, my dear love?" "That looks to me exactly like the scratch of a finger-nail," said Athalie the vivacious, looking very closely at Auguste; "isn't it that, monsieur?" "You are not mistaken, madame." "So you have been fighting, have you, monsieur?" said Madame Destival. "No, madame, I simply met a very pretty little boy, who had broken the bowl in which he was carrying soup to his father. I gave him a piece of money to console him; at that, in his joy he embraced me; he patted my cheeks with his little hands, and he--he accidentally scratched me a little. That is a faithful account of my adventure, mesdames." Madame Destival bit her lip and glanced at her companion, who smiled. It was evident that they both doubted the truth of Dalville's story; but he cared very little what they might think. Taking advantage of this brief pause in the conversation, Monin went to Auguste, whom he had met twice at his neighbor's and said to him in the most amiable manner: "How's your health?" "Very good, Monsieur Monin, except for this scratch, which is not dangerous." "You are joking, monsieur! I tell you finger-nail scratches are not to be trifled with.--Do you use snuff?" "Thanks." "I know all about it, and I'll tell you why: my wife has a----"