look upon a faultless Madonna.

"Could any one fathom the cruelty beneath that fair exterior?" murmured
Robert. "She knew that I adored her once, and she let me adore her. It
was 'Robert, come; go; stand up; sit down; do this; do that; see if the
baby sleeps; my thimble, please, that I left God knows where. Come and
read Daudet to me while I sew.'"

"Par exemple! I never had to ask. You were always there under my feet,
like a troublesome cat."

"You mean like an adoring dog. And just as soon as Ratignolle appeared
on the scene, then it WAS like a dog. 'Passez! Adieu! Allez vous-en!'"

"Perhaps I feared to make Alphonse jealous," she interjoined, with
excessive naivete. That made them all laugh. The right hand jealous of
the left! The heart jealous of the soul! But for that matter, the Creole
husband is never jealous; with him the gangrene passion is one which has
become dwarfed by disuse.

Meanwhile Robert, addressing Mrs Pontellier, continued to tell of his
one time hopeless passion for Madame Ratignolle; of sleepless nights,
of consuming flames till the very sea sizzled when he took his
daily plunge. While the lady at the needle kept up a little running,
contemptuous comment:

"Blagueur--farceur--gros bete, va!"

He never assumed this seriocomic tone when alone with Mrs. Pontellier.
She never knew precisely what to make of it; at that moment it was