"Fie, fie!" exclaimed Florence, shaking her finger at her friend. "No, madame, the real cause of such a determination on my part was something entirely different. Michel and I were both so faithful to our true characters, that in speaking of you, and consequently in speaking of all the tumults and commotions and worries and agitation which such liaisons always cause, we always said to each other in perfect good faith: "'This is what love leads to, you see, monsieur. One knows no peace, but lives ever on the _qui vive_, with one eye and ear to the keyhole, so to speak.' "'And there are bothersome duels with all their attendant scandals, madame.' "'And all the tortures of jealousy, monsieur, and drives in rickety cabs in which one is jostled about until one's bones positively ache.' "'Yes, all this trouble and fatigue, and for what, madame?' "'You are right, monsieur. I, too, ask for what?' "In short, if any one could have listened to our moral reflections on this subject, he would have been vastly amused. At last came the time when M. de Luceval attempted to force me to travel against my will, but he finally abandoned that idea." "Yes, he told me the means you adopted to circumvent him. They were peculiar, but certainly very efficacious." "What I most desired at that time was repose, both mental and physical, for though my husband had acted very brutally towards me in that scene about your letter, my poor Valentine,--so brutally, in fact, that I had threatened to leave him,--I changed my mind after reflecting on the subject, for I couldn't bear the idea of living alone, that is to say, of having to attend to the thousand and one things my husband or my agent had always attended to for me; so I confined my demands to the following: I was never to be asked to travel, though I intended to encourage my husband to do so as often as possible, so I wouldn't be continually worried by his restlessness." "And so you could see Michel whenever you pleased, I suppose." "Of course, and without the slightest bother or secrecy,--without any concealment, in short, for there was really nothing in our relations to conceal." "But your determination to separate from your husband, at least so he told me, was ostensibly due to your loss of fortune. Was that the real cause?" "Yes. You see, Valentine, I could not bear the idea of being henceforth in my husband's power,--of accepting wages from him, so to speak! No; I remembered too well the humiliation you, a penniless girl, had suffered from having married a rich man, and the mere thought of such a life was revolting alike to my delicacy and my natural indolence." "Your indolence? What on earth do you mean, Florence? Did not a separation from your husband necessitate the renunciation of the wealth and luxury that would permit you to lead a life of ease?"