A Wife is Consoled (o Find in Her Slightly Dull Marriage its one Small, Saving Disgrace After six months of sublime hap-pites, Cyprien Boizilton said, one day, to his brides "Darling, now that our perfect honeymoon' is over, I shall simply have to go back to work." His Voice held anew, solemn note; Julie Tooked at him in'surprise, "But, of course, my love," she exclaimed, "I didn't mean' to be greedy about keeping you all to myself. and Tam sure that we shall get on very well, your mathematics Well, I dread it a little, I must} confess." We'll have no more lovely, Jong mornings together, for when I'm working I must get up at seven, and stay in my study until noodt then again from two o'clock until eight—and from ten until midnight on the evenings when we don't go out!"
Madame—Boizillon gently in this new and rather! rigorous order of things. She told her husband that she asked only] to have a little corner of her own in his study, where she would tall her chaise-long we and be quite contented reading, and smoking Russian cigarettes. Perhaps he would come and kiss her from time to time—wouldn't he? And, course, she wouldn't be there' too much of the time... occasionally she would go out to tea, at a friend's house or at her mother's, Perhaps.
would take up the piano again, water-colours. A
But when she flected a little plaintively was a romantic woman, and lik think in metaphors)' that life together had path through a delightful gard Where each successive row of flowe! stood for some delicate memory of mance, They had become bethed in the perfume of lilacs and s—married in an intense fragrance of orange-blossoms—and their wedding trip was a memory delicately scented with eucalyptus and mimosa. Now she had reached turn ju the path, and a mist had fallen over the rest of the garden. 'What lay beyond, she did not know; Lut she suspected that its perfume might be a little less heady, Cyprien set himself doggedly to work; and Julie, atretehed on' the chaise longue sently fingering the pages of contemplated ther husband through a frenzied could He looked like a rather dirty but hoolboy painfully absorb sons.
"You are amusing, my treasure,"
murmured once, watching him He didn't answer; he had paused his writing, apparently lost in a problem, his eyes glassy and transfixed. Then, inspired anew, resumed his feverish scribbling. Julie smiled tenderly, and said in a voice warm with congratal "Now you've got it! My—poor dear,. "you toil away as hard as though I'd brought you no dot at all."
When this sympathetic overture met with no response, she went on; "You've been working now for halt an hour, and you, look quite as though you might "have a rush of Dlood to the head. T don't want you to get sick, you know! Aren't you hungry?. Thirsty? Would you Tike me to order oysters for dinner, darling? Oh, by the way, what do you think 'T found out to-day? Plorence, the cook, has been putting vouge omber lips!. So she can taste the soup better, I suppose... I really don't know what the world is coming to. Am I disturbing you? Ym not, am I? Do you love me, darling? Kiss me...'
He got up and gave her an absent-minded kiss, flavoured with a vague, scholarly odour of ink and old books, lac, orange-blossoms, mimosa and ink, she reflected.... a conjugal tragedy in four fours, Well. sighing, she lay back on the couch again, yawned and threw her. book folentiy. to the floor. Tt, made Cyprien jump, buy she ignore' in After "that, she refrained elaborately from adorning her hu ind's study by her presence. Tt Pwas not thus that she had expected to play the role of Muse.
Disillusioned, she sought diversion by going out every afternoon, to tea, to a matings, to the centurier's. She even took fencing lessons in a gymnasium and lessons in dancing. She came home late silent and in a bad humour more often than not. And Cyprien began. to wonder a little, One morning the maid brought him an envelope alarmingly striped in red, yellow and green, and addressed to him in a sprawling hand. He tore it open, and read; "Monsieur; I shall not sign my name, but you will know mme some day.' While you spend you time scribbling, your wife is not twiddling 'i, het thumbs.
You are blind to a sereatdeal, and I, as an honest per-som, pityyou......unfortunate £00] that you are.
Cyprien at once suspected that, letter was from the cook whom Jalie had dismissed for rouging her! lips. "But he was a little uneasy, neverthe When his wife came in, at six ctclock, he asked her casually: "What'did you do to-day? Where have you been?"
She laughed, and put her arms around him. So he wanted inform tion, did hol But why? Such trifles wouldn't interest a man like himself, a great mathematician, Oh, s-i+sthere had been a spiritual. fstie seance at Madame Malorque's sin the dark.
But then Julie fell sil it. "Never mind about afterward she con-eluded abruptly. And she went and stood in the window, tapping irritably upon the pane, "Are you bored here, with me?" asked her husband humbly.
She shrugged.
"Well—it's not wildly exeltng droped, her voice broke pathetically, and he thought that he Heard a stifled sob. Hi he demanded, if she went on lavish-_ ing all her gaiety, all her animation upon people outside of her home? He worked hard, and when his work [was dope, he liked to have face about him. He went talking ++She remained silent, indifferent.
From that time he attributed every word that she spoke, eve move that she made to this di jeontent that so grievously racked he became the victiny of a table, exacting jealousy, a pying sort of jealousy, dark' and shameful, If she seemed quiet he ispectod her of sadness; if brightened a little, he saw hyste1 in her animation, At length, to put an end to these doubts that tortured him, he applied to a detective agency. There he talked-with one of the staff of detectives—a man who, the manager sured him, was experienced, tactful and discreet. He had a melan-icholy mustache, and an unhealthy' pallor; but he' allowed himself ['m single, wistful note of gaiety in a pair of yellow gloves and a cane topped by a gilded monkey's head. His name was M. Alfred.
He listened attentively Boizillon's story. When he had heard the case, he declared gravely that he was willing to undertake it.
Julio's melancholy, during all this time, had deepened to a mood of black despair. Life seemed a burden to her, empty and mocking} she was no longer even sure of her: beauty, since nobody appeared to] notice it. She had, she told herself pathetically, no admirers.
"You are very happily married,"
told her, with polite regret. And then they let her severely Tt lone. was maddening. where ancient horrors old succeeded in having rakish jons, she had not met one man, young 0° old, who could or would ive her one little word of tribute, of admiration to flatter her vanity! Had she become ugly or stupid?
But suddenly.. she was formed, as if by fretfulné's gave way to amiability,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.