Thus far, the troubles we have described have been exclusively
inflicted by the wife upon the husband. You have therefore seen
only the masculine side of the book. And if the author really has
the sense of hearing for which we give him credit, he has already
caught more than one indignant exclamation or remonstrance:

"He tells us of nothing but vexations suffered by our husbands, as
if we didn't have our petty troubles, too!"

Oh, women! You have been heard, for if you do not always make
yourselves understood, you are always sure to make yourselves
heard.

It would therefore be signally unjust to lay upon you alone the
reproaches that every being brought under the yoke (_conjugium_)
has the right to heap upon that necessary, sacred, useful,
eminently conservative institution,--one, however, that is often
somewhat of an encumbrance, and tight about the joints, though
sometimes it is also too loose there.

I will go further! Such partiality would be a piece of idiocy.

A man,--not a writer, for in a writer there are many men,--an
author, rather, should resemble Janus, see behind and before,
become a spy, examine an idea in all its phases, delve alternately
into the soul of Alceste and into that of Philaenete, know
everything though he does not tell it, never be tiresome, and--

We will not conclude this programme, for we should tell the whole,