ourse, the maid preparing a bath or
a morning dress, a delicious deshabille. Caroline sighs. She lies in
ambush like a hunter at the cover; she surprises the young woman, her
face actually illuminated with happiness. Finally, by dint of watching
the charming couple, she sees the gentleman and lady open the window,
and lean gently one against the other, as, supported by the railing,
they breathe the evening air. Caroline gives herself a nervous headache,
by endeavoring to interpret the phantasmagorias, some of them having
an explanation and others not, made by the shadows of these two young
people on the curtains, one night when they have forgotten to close
the shutters. The young woman is often seated, melancholy and pensive,
waiting for her absent husband; she hears the tread of a horse, or the
rumble of a cab at the street corner; she starts from the sofa, and from
her movements, it is easy for Caroline to see that she exclaims: "'Tis
he!"

"How they love each other!" says Caroline to herself.

By dint of nervous headache, Caroline conceives an exceedingly ingenious
plan: this plan consists in using the conjugal bliss of the opposite
neighbors as a tonic to stimulate Adolphe. The idea is not without
depravity, but then Caroline's intention sanctifies the means!

"Adolphe," she says, "we have a neighbor opposite, the loveliest woman,
a brunette--"

"Oh, yes," returns Adolphe, "I know her. She is a friend of Madame de
Fischtaminel's: Madame Foullepointe, the wife of a broker, a charming
man and a good fellow, very fond of his wife: he's crazy about her. His
office and rooms are here, in the court, while those on the street are
madame's. I know of no happier household. Foullepointe talks about his
happiness everywhere, even at the Exchange; he's really quite tiresome."

"Well, then, be good enough to present Monsieur and Madame Foullepointe
to me. I should be delighted to learn how she manages to make her
husband love her so much: have they been married long?"

"Five years, just like us."

"O Adolphe, dear, I am dying to know her: make us intimately acquainted.
Am I as pretty as she?"

"Well, if I were to meet you at an opera ball, and if you weren't my
wife, I declare, I shouldn't know which--"

"You are real sweet to-day. Don't forget to invite them to dinner
Saturday."

"I'll do it to-night. Foullepointe and I often meet on 'Change."

"Now," says Caroline, "this young woman will doubtless tell me what her