"What is it?" I demanded. "Drink?" "Hush-sh-sh! _Mon cher_, you are
stupid. It is jealousy, jealousy, my friend, with perhaps an
occasional over-dose of chloral. Chloral is the favorite
prescription now-a-days, you must remember that. But jealousy will do,
jealousy will do. It will accomplish a great deal, will jealousy;
will destroy more, mark that! I hope she will be quiet to-night for
your sake."

"Is she violent?" I asked.

"Poor thing, yes. When she finds him now with that creature inside
his coat; she will wring her hands and denounce him and threaten to
kill it--I wonder she doesn't--then her husband will march her off
behind the curtain and he will make love to the parrot again."
Precisely what happened. The lady soon found her husband, raised her
hands tragically and broke out into excited French that was
liberally sprinkled with oaths both English and French. The mania
was asserting itself, the propensity overcoming her. It was a sad
and at the same time an amusing scene, for one could not help
smiling at Giuseppe's fat unconcern as he kept his wife off at arms'
length, while all the time the parrot inside his coat was shrieking
in muffled tones "And for goodness sake don't say I told you!"

Finally Madame succumbed and was taken behind the curtain in a
dishevelled and hysterical condition which increased De Kock's pity
for her. We paid the waiter--or rather De Kock did--and left, not
seeing Giuseppe again to speak to, though he came in and removed the
parrot, cage and all.

It was a lovely night outside, and I suggested sitting for a time in