ger live like this."

"Live like this? What do you mean?"

"Yes. I can no longer live like this. I have endured so much. He struck
me this afternoon."

"Who? Your husband?"

"Yes, my husband."

"Ah!"

He was astonished, having never suspected that her husband could be
brutal. He was a man of the world, of the better class, a clubman, a
lover of horses, a theatergoer and an expert swordsman; he was known,
talked about, appreciated everywhere, having very courteous manners, a
very mediocre intellect, an absence of education and of the real culture
needed in order to think like all well-bred people, and finally a respect
for conventionalities.

He appeared to devote himself to his wife, as a man ought to do in the
case of wealthy and well-bred people. He displayed enough of anxiety
about her wishes, her health, her dresses, and, beyond that, left her
perfectly free.

Randal, having become Irene's friend, had a right to the affectionate
hand-clasp which every husband endowed with good manners owes to his
wife's intimate acquaintance. Then, when Jacques, after having been for
some time the friend, became the lover, his relations with the husband
were more cordial, as is fitting.

Jacques had never dreamed that there were storms in this household, and
he was bewildered at this unexpected revelation.

He asked:

"How did it happen? Tell me."

Thereupon she related a long story, the entire history of her life since
the day of her marriage, the first disagreement arising out of a mere
nothing, then becoming accentuated at every new difference of opinion
between two dissimilar dispositions.

Then came quarrels, a complete separation, not apparent, but real; next,
her husband showed himself aggressive, suspicious, violent. Now, he was
jealous, jealous of Jacques, and that very day, after a scene, he had
struck her.

She added with decision: "I will not go back to him. Do with me what you
like."

Jacques sat down opposite to her, their knees touching. He took her
hands:

"My dear love, you are going to commit a gross, an irreparable folly. If
you want to leave your husband, put him in the wrong, so that your
position as a woman of the world may be saved."

She asked, as she looked at him uneasily:

"Then, what do you advise me?"

"To go back home and to put up with your life there till the day when you
can obtain either a separation or a divorce, with the honors of war."

"Is not this thing which you ad