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Page 2
"Ah! if Adolphe were to get into such habits as that!" exclaimed
Caroline.
"You saw us, Armand and me, when he paid me what is called, I don't
know why, his court."
"Yes, I admired him, I thought you very happy, you had found your
ideal, a fine, good-sized man, always well dressed, with yellow
gloves, his beard well shaven, patent leather boots, a clean shirt,
exquisitely neat, and so attentive--"
"Yes, yes, go on."
"In short, quite an elegant man: his voice was femininely sweet, and
then such gentleness! And his promises of happiness and liberty! His
sentences were veneered with rosewood. He stocked his conversation
with shawls and laces. In his smallest expression you heard the
rumbling of a coach and four. Your wedding presents were magnificent.
Armand seemed to me like a husband of velvet, of a robe of birds'
feathers in which you were to be wrapped."
"Caroline, my husband uses tobacco."
"So does mine; that is, he smokes."
"But mine, dear, uses it as they say Napoleon did: in short, he chews,
and I hold tobacco in horror. The monster found it out, and went
without out it for seven months."
"All men have their habits. They absolutely must use something."
"You have no idea of the tortures I endure. At night I am awakened
with a start by one of my own sneezes. As I go to sleep my motions
bring the grains of snuff scattered over the pillow under my nose, I
inhale, and explode like a mine. It seems that Armand, the wretch, is
used to these _surprises_, and doesn't wake up. I find tobacco
everywhere, and I certainly didn't marry the customs office."
"But, my dear child, what does this trifling inconvenience amount to,
if your husband is kind and possesses a good disposition?"
"He is as cold as marble, as particular as an old bachelor, as
communicative as a sentinel; and he's one of those men who say yes to
everything, but who never do anything but what they want to."
"Deny him, once."
"I've tried it."
"What came of it?"
"He threatened to reduce my allowance, and to keep back a sum big
enough for him to get along without me."
"Poor Stephanie! He's not a man, he's a monster."
"A calm and methodical monster, who wears a scratch, and who, every
night--"
"Well, every night--"
"Wait a minute!--who takes a tumbler every night, and puts seven false
teeth in it."
"What a trap your marriage was! At any rate, Armand is rich."
"Who knows?"
"Good heavens! Why, you seem to me on the point of becoming very
unhappy--or very happy."
"Well, dear, how is it with you?"
"Oh, as for me, I have nothing as yet but a pin that pricks me: but it
is intolerable."
"Poor creature! You don't know your own happiness: come, what is it?"
Here the young woman whispered in the other's ear, so that it was
impossible to catch a single word. The conversation recommenced, or
rather finished by a sort of inference.
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