me will
have cost you dear. That scoundrel of a husband has the law on his side.
And indeed, but for me, that little woman would have caught you again!"

"Thank you, monsieur," said the Baron, trying to maintain his dignity.

"Now we will lock up; the farce is played out, and you can send your key
to Monsieur the Mayor."

Hulot went home in a state of dejection bordering on helplessness, and
sunk in the gloomiest thoughts. He woke his noble and saintly wife, and
poured into her heart the history of the past three years, sobbing like
a child deprived of a toy. This confession from an old man young in
feeling, this frightful and heart-rending narrative, while it filled
Adeline with pity, also gave her the greatest joy; she thanked Heaven
for this last catastrophe, for in fancy she saw the husband settled at
last in the bosom of his family.

"Lisbeth was right," said Madame Hulot gently and without any useless
recrimination, "she told us how it would be."

"Yes. If only I had listened to her, instead of flying into a rage, that
day when I wanted poor Hortense to go home rather than compromise the
reputation of that--Oh! my dear Adeline, we must save Wenceslas. He is
up to his chin in that mire!"

"My poor old man, the respectable middle-classes have turned out no
better than the actresses," said Adeline, with a smile.

The Baroness was alarmed at the change in her Hector; when she saw him
so unhappy, ailing, crushed under his weight of woes, she was all heart,
all pity, all love; she would have shed her blood to make Hulot happy.

"Stay with us, my dear Hector. Tell me what is it that such women do to
attract you so powerfully. I too will try. Why have you not taught me
to be what you want? Am I deficient in intelligence? Men still think me
handsome enough to court my favor."

Many a married woman, attached to her duty and to her husband, may here
pause to ask herself why strong and affectionate men, so tender-hearted
to the Madame Marneffes, do not take their wives for the object of their
fancies and passions, especially wives like the Baronne Adeline Hulot.

This is, indeed, one of the most recondite mysteries of human nature.
Love, which is debauch of reason, the strong and austere joy of a lofty
soul, and pleasure, the vulgar counterfeit sold in the market-place,
are two aspects of the same thing. The woman who can satisfy both these
devouring appetites is as rare in her sex as a great general, a great
write