s which do not know how to talk of you would have
nothing to say to me."

While he was dressing she turned the leaves of a book which she had found
on the table. It was The Arabian Nights. Romantic engravings displayed
here and there in the text grand viziers, sultanas, black tunics,
bazaars, and caravans.

She asked:

"The Arabian Nights-does that amuse you?"

"A great deal," he replied, tying his cravat. "I believe as much as I
wish in these Arabian princes whose legs become black marble, and in
these women of the harem who wander at night in cemeteries. These tales
give me pleasant dreams which make me forget life. Last night I went to
bed in sadness and read the history of the Three Calendars."

She said, with a little bitterness:

"You are trying to forget. I would not consent for anything in the world
to lose the memory of a pain which came to me from you."

They went down together to the street. She was to take a carriage a
little farther on and precede him at her house by a few minutes.

"My husband expects you to breakfast."

They talked, on the way, of insignificant things, which their love made
great and charming. They arranged their afternoon in advance in order to
put into it the infinity of profound joy and of ingenious pleasure. She
consulted him about her gowns. She could not decide to leave him, happy
to walk with him in the streets, which the sun and the gayety of noon
filled. When they reached the Avenue des Ternes they saw before them, on
the avenue, shops displaying side by side a magnificent abundance of
food. There were chains of chickens at the caterer's, and at the
fruiterer's boxes of apricots and peaches, baskets of grapes, piles of
pears. Wagons filled with fruits and flowers bordered the sidewalk. Under
the awning of a restaurant men and women were taking breakfast. Therese
recognized among them, alone, at a small table against a laurel-tree in a
box, Choulette lighting his pipe.

Having seen her, he threw superbly a five-franc piece on the table, rose,
and bowed. He was grave; his long frock-coat gave him an air of decency
and austerity.

He said he should have liked to call on Madame Martin at Dinard, but he
had been detained in the Vendee by the Marquise de Rieu. However, he had
issued a new edition of the Jardin Clos, augmented by the Verger de
Sainte-Claire. He had moved souls which were thought to be insensible,
and had made springs come out of rocks.

"So," he said, "I