that he had ten women in one. He was the real husband, the master of the
house.

To divert Sidonie's thoughts, he had provided a simulacrum of society for
her--his bachelor friends, a few fast tradesmen, almost no women, women
have too sharp eyes. Madame Dobson was the only friend of Sidonie's sex.

They organized grand dinner-parties, excursions on the water, fireworks.
From day to day Risler's position became more absurd, more distressing.
When he came home in the evening, tired out, shabbily dressed, he must
hurry up to his room to dress.

"We have some people to dinner," his wife would say. "Make haste."

And he would be the last to take his place at the table, after shaking
hands all around with his guests, friends of Fromont Jeune, whom he
hardly knew by name. Strange to say, the affairs of the factory were
often discussed at that table, to which Georges brought his acquaintances
from the club with the tranquil self-assurance of the gentleman who pays.

"Business breakfasts and dinners!" To Risler's mind that phrase
explained everything: his partner's constant presence, his choice of
guests, and the marvellous gowns worn by Sidonie, who beautified herself
in the interests of the firm. This coquetry on his mistress's part drove
Fromont Jeune to despair. Day after day he came unexpectedly to take her
by surprise, uneasy, suspicious, afraid to leave that perverse and
deceitful character to its own devices for long.

"What in the deuce has become of your husband?"