WIFE B. (with warmth)--Unfortunately for you, sir, certain friends of yours in the Chamber have written romances; have you been able to read them?--But really, in these days, in order to attain the least originality, you must undertake historic research, you must-- HUSBAND B. (making no answer to the lady next him and speaking aside) --Oh! Oh! Can it be that it is M. de L-----, author of the _Dreams of a Young Girl_, whom my wife is in love with?--That is singular; I thought that it was Doctor M-----. But stay! (Aloud.) Do you know, my dear, that you are right in what you say? (All laugh.) Really, I should prefer to have always artists and men of letters in my drawing-room--(aside) when we begin to receive!--rather than to see there other professional men. In any case artists speak of things about which every one is enthusiastic, for who is there who does not believe in good taste? But judges, lawyers, and, above all, doctors--Heavens! I confess that to hear them constantly speaking about lawsuits and diseases, those two human ills-- WIFE A. (sitting next to Husband B, speaking at the same time)--What is that you are saying, my friend? You are quite mistaken. In these days nobody wishes to wear a professional manner; doctors, since you have mentioned doctors, try to avoid speaking of professional matters. They talk politics, discuss the fashions and the theatres, they tell anecdotes, they write books better than professional authors do; there is a vast difference between the doctors of to-day and those of Moliere-- HUSBAND A. (aside)--Whew! Is it possible my wife is in love with Dr. M-----? That would be odd. (Aloud.) That is quite possible, my dear, but I would not give a sick dog in charge of a physician who writes. WIFE A. (interrupting her husband)--I know people who have five or six offices, yet the government has the greatest confidence in them; anyway, it is odd that you should speak in this way, you who were one of Dr. M-----'s great cases-- HUSBAND A. (aside)--There can be no doubt of it! _The Fallacious._ A HUSBAND. (as he reaches home)--My dear, we are invited by Madame de Fischtaminel to a concert which she is giving next Tuesday. I reckoned on going there, as I wanted to speak with a young cousin of the minister who was among the singers; but he is gone to Frouville to see his aunt. What do you propose doing? HIS WIFE.--These concerts tire me to death!--You have to sit nailed to your chair whole hours without saying a word.--Besides, you know quite well that we dine with my mother on that day, and it is impossible to miss paying her a visit. HER HUSBAND. (carelessly)--Ah! that is true. _(Three days afterwards.)_ THE HUSBAND. (as he goes to bed)--What do you think, my darling? To-morrow I will leave you at your mother's, for the count has returned from Frouville and will be at Madame de Fischtaminel's concert. HIS WIFE. (vivaciously)--But why should you go alone? You know how I adore music!