Suppose that conjugal misfortune has fallen upon an epicure. He
naturally demands the consolations which suit his taste. His sense of
pleasure takes refuge in other gratifications, and forms other habits.
You shape your life in accordance with the enjoyment of other
sensations.

One day, returning from your government office, after lingering for a
long time before the rich and tasteful book shop of Chevet, hovering
in suspense between the hundred francs of expense, and the joys of a
Strasbourg _pate de fois gras_, you are struck dumb on finding this
_pate_ proudly installed on the sideboard of your dining-room. Is this
the vision offered by some gastronomic mirage? In this doubting mood
you approach with firm step, for a _pate_ is a living creature, and
seem to neigh as you scent afar off the truffles whose perfumes escape
through the gilded enclosure. You stoop over it two distinct times;
all the nerve centres of your palate have a soul; you taste the
delights of a genuine feast, etc.; and during this ecstasy a feeling
of remorse seizes upon you, and you go to your wife's room.

"Really, my dear girl, we have not means which warrant our buying
_pates_."

"But it costs us nothing!"

"Oh! ho!"

"Yes, it is M. Achille's brother who sent it to him."

You catch sight of M. Achille in a corner. The celibate greets you, he
is radiant on seeing that you have accepted the _pate_. You look at