l to
what Monsieur Deschars has done. If you allow yourself the slightest
gesture or expression a little livelier than usual, if you speak a
little bit loud, you hear the hissing and viper-like remark:

"You wouldn't see Monsieur Deschars behaving like this! Why don't you
take Monsieur Deschars for a model?"

In short, this idiotic Monsieur Deschars is forever looming up in your
household on every conceivable occasion.

The expression--"Do you suppose Monsieur Deschars ever allows himself"
--is a sword of Damocles, or what is worse, a Damocles pin: and your
self-love is the cushion into which your wife is constantly sticking
it, pulling it out, and sticking it in again, under a variety of
unforeseen pretexts, at the same time employing the most winning terms
of endearment, and with the most agreeable little ways.

Adolphe, stung till he finds himself tattooed, finally does what is
done by police authorities, by officers of government, by military
tacticians. He casts his eye on Madame de Fischtaminel, who is still
young, elegant and a little bit coquettish, and places her (this had
been the rascal's intention for some time) like a blister upon
Caroline's extremely ticklish skin.

O you, who often exclaim, "I don't know what is the matter with my
wife!" you will kiss this page of transcendent philosophy, for you
will find in it _the key to every woman's character_! But as to
knowing women as well as I know them, it will not be knowing them
much; they don't know themselves! In fact, as you well know, God was
Himself mistaken in the only one that He attempted to manage and to
whose manufacture He had given personal attention.

Caroline is very willing to sting Adolphe at all hours, but this
privilege of letting a wasp off now and then upon one's consort (the
legal term), is exclusively reserved to the wife. Adolphe is a monster
if he starts off a single fly at Caroline. On her part, it is a
delicious joke, a new jest to enliven their married life, and one
dictated by the purest intentions; while on Adolphe's part, it is a
piece of cruelty worthy a Carib, a disregard of his wife's heart, and
a deliberate plan to give her pain. But that is nothing.

"So you are really in love with Madame de Fischtaminel?" Caroline
asks. "What is there so seductive in the mind or the manners of the
spider?"

"Why, Caroline--"

"Oh, don't undertake to deny your eccentric taste," she returns,
checking a negation on Adolphe's lips. "