"I must ask you to walk a little more slowly. My lungs are not very strong, and I get out of breath very quickly, as you see." "On the contrary, monsieur, it is I who should beg you to excuse me for walking so fast. It is a bad habit of which I find it very difficult to break myself; besides, if you prefer it, we can sit down. Here are some chairs." "I accept the proposition with pleasure, monsieur," said M. d'Infreville, sinking into a chair, "with very great pleasure." The two gentlemen having established themselves comfortably, M. d'Infreville remarked: "Permit me to say, monsieur, that you must also have heard of me through some other intermediary than mutual friends." "To what intermediary do you refer, monsieur?" "To Madame de Luceval." "My wife?" "Certainly, monsieur, for though I have not yet had the honour of an introduction to her,--as I remarked a few minutes ago,--my wife is so intimate with your wife that you and I cannot be strangers to each other. The friendship of the ladies began at the convent, and still continues, as they see each other almost daily, and--" "Pardon me, monsieur, but I think there must be some mistake--" "Some mistake?" "Or rather, some misunderstanding in regard to names." "And why, monsieur?" "I seldom leave Madame de Luceval. She receives very few people, and I have never had the pleasure of seeing Madame d'Infreville in my house." It seemed as if Valentine's husband could not believe his own ears, for, turning to his companion, he exclaimed, hoarsely: "Do you mean to say, monsieur--?" "That I have never had the honour of seeing Madame d'Infreville in my house." "But that is impossible, monsieur. My wife is with your wife almost constantly." "But I repeat that I have never seen Madame d'Infreville in my house, monsieur." "Never?" exclaimed Valentine's husband, so completely stupefied that M. de Luceval gazed at him in astonishment, and said: "So, as I remarked a short time ago, there must be some mistake in regard to the name, as you tell me that your wife visits my wife every day." M. d'Infreville's face had become livid. Big drops of sweat stood out upon his forehead, and a bitter smile contracted his bluish lips, but controlling himself,--for he was resolved to act the part of a gentleman in the presence of this stranger,--he responded in a sardonic tone: "Fortunately, all this is between husbands, my dear sir; and we ought to feel a little compassion for each other, for, after all, each has his turn at it, as one never knows what may happen." "What do you mean, monsieur?" "Ah, my vague distrust was only too well founded," murmured M. d'Infreville, in a sort of sullen rage. "Why did I not discover the truth sooner? Oh, these women, these miserable women!" "Once more, may I beg you to explain, monsieur."