matter-of-fact maid.

There was more truth in the lady's speech than her hearer gave her
credit for. She was no exception to the rule that the wives of great
inventors almost never properly appreciate them. By the light of his
success, breaking forth like the sun, she feared that the greatest error
of her life had been made when she miscomprehended him. In her dreams as
well as her insomnia, it was Clemenceau that she beheld, and not the
gallants who had flashed across her uneven path, not even the viscount,
whose spoil was her nest-egg. Alas! it was a mere atom to the solid
ingot which her misunderstood husband's genius had ensured. She had
perhaps lost the substance in snapping at the shadow.

"Any way, I love my husband," she proceeded, moaning aloud, and resting
her chin in the hollow of her hand--the elbow on the table, to which she
had returned and where she was seated. "I am sure now."

"No doubt," said the servant, unconsciously holding the feather duster
as a soldier holds his rifle; "madame has heard about our great
discoveries in artillery? They are revo--revolutionizing--oof! What a
mouthful--the military world!"

"Yes; I read the newspaper accounts during my convalescence," replied
Madame Clemenceau.

"Then you fell in love with your husband because of his cannon," said
Hedwig, laughing. "I do not see what connection there is between them,
and, in fact," reflecting a little and suddenly laughing more loudly, "I
hear that cannons produce breaches rather than re-union. Well, after
all, if cannons do not further love, its a friend to glory and riches!