It began with the waking up of the General by his wife, standing at
the bedside with a cup of black coffee.

"Hé! Ah! Oh, Honorine! Yes; the first of the month, and
affairs--affairs to be transacted."

On those mornings when affairs were to be transacted there was not
much leisure for the household; and it was Honorine who constituted
the household. Not the old dressing-gown and slippers, the old, old
trousers, and the antediluvian neck-foulard of other days! Far from
it. It was a case of warm water (with even a fling of cologne in it),
of the trimming of beard and mustache by Honorine, and the black
broadcloth suit, and the brown satin stock, and that _je ne sais quoi
de dégagé_ which no one could possess or assume like the old General.
Whether he possessed or assumed it is an uncertainty which hung over
the fine manners of all the gentlemen of his day, who were kept
through their youth in Paris to cultivate _bon ton_ and an education.

It was also something of a gala-day for Madame la Générale too, as it
must be a gala-day for all old wives to see their husbands pranked
in the manners and graces that had conquered their maidenhood, and
exhaling once more that ambrosial fragrance which once so well
incensed their compelling presence.

Ah, to the end a woman loves to celebrate her conquest! It is the last
touch of misfortune with her to lose in the old, the ugly, and the
commonplace her youthful lord and master. If one could look under the
gray hairs and wrinkles with which time thatches old women, one would
be surprised to see the flutterings, the quiverings, the thrills, the