drawing-room.

As soon as the door was shut, he said: "You must be mad, surely, to
torment your husband as you do?"

She immediately turned on him: "Ah! Do you know that I think the habit
you have got into lately, of looking upon Parent as a martyr, is very
unpleasant?"

Limousin threw himself into an easy-chair and crossed his legs. "I am not
setting him up as a martyr in the least, but I think that, situated as we
are, it is ridiculous to defy this man as you do, from morning till
night."

She took a cigarette from the mantelpiece, lighted it, and replied: "But
I do not defy him; quite the contrary. Only he irritates me by his
stupidity, and I treat him as he deserves."

Limousin continued impatiently: "What you are doing is very foolish! I am
only asking you to treat your husband gently, because we both of us
require him to trust us. I think that you ought to see that."

They were close together: he, tall, dark, with long whiskers and the
rather vulgar manners of a good-looking man who is very well satisfied
with himself; she, small, fair, and pink, a little Parisian, born in the
back room of a shop, half cocotte and half bourgeoise, brought up to
entice customers to the store by her glances, and married, in
consequence, to a simple, unsophisticated man, who saw her outside the
door every morning when he went out and every evening when he came home.