"Very well, dearest, go and dress yourself, while Celine finishes
dressing me; but don't keep me waiting."

"I am ready now, love," you cry out, at the end of ten minutes, as you
stand shaved and dressed.

But all is changed. A letter has arrived; madame is not well; her
dress fits badly; the dressmaker has come; if it is not the dressmaker
it is your mother. Ninety-nine out of a hundred husbands will leave
the house satisfied, believing that their wives are well guarded,
when, as a matter of fact, the wives have gotten rid of them.

A lawful wife who from her husband cannot escape, who is not
distressed by pecuniary anxiety, and who in order to give employment
to a vacant mind, examines night and day the changing tableaux of each
day's experience, soon discovers the mistake she has made in falling
into a trap or allowing herself to be surprised by a catastrophe; she
will then endeavor to turn all these weapons against you.

There is a man in society, the sight of whom is strangely annoying to
your wife; she can tolerate neither his tone, his manners nor his way
of regarding things. Everything connected with him is revolting to
her; she is persecuted by him, he is odious to her; she hopes that no
one will tell him this. It seems almost as if she were attempting to
oppose you; for this man is one for whom you have the highest esteem.
You like his disposition because he flatters you; and thus your wife
presumes that your esteem for him results from flattered vanity. When
you give a ball, an evening party or a concert, there is almost a
discussion on this subject, and madame picks a quarrel with you,
because you are compelling her to see people who are not agreeable to