Upon this, the discussion grows bitter.

You are good for nothing—­you have no business capacity; women alone take clear views of things.  You have risked your children’s bread, though she tried to dissuade you from it.—­You cannot say it was for her.  Thank God, she has nothing to reproach herself with.  A hundred times a month she alludes to your disaster:  “If my husband had not thrown away his money in such and such a scheme, I could have had this and that.”  “The next time you want to go into an affair, perhaps you’ll consult me!” Adolphe is accused and convicted of having foolishly lost one hundred thousand francs, without an object in view, like a dolt, and without having consulted his wife.  Caroline advises her friends not to marry.  She complains of the incapacity of men who squander the fortunes of their wives.  Caroline is vindictive, she makes herself generally disagreeable.  Pity Adolphe!  Lament, ye husbands!  O bachelors, rejoice and be exceeding glad!

MEMORIES AND REGRETS.

After several years of wedded life, your love has become so placid, that Caroline sometimes tries, in the evening, to wake you up by various little coquettish phrases.  There is about you a certain calmness and tranquillity which always exasperates a lawful wife.  Women see in it a sort of insolence:  they look upon the indifference of happiness as the fatuity of confidence, for of course they never imagine their inestimable equalities can be regarded with disdain:  their virtue is therefore enraged at being so cordially trusted in.

In this situation, which is what every couple must come to, and which both husband and wife must expect, no husband dares confess that the constant repetition of the same dish has become wearisome; but his appetite certainly requires the condiments of dress, the ideas excited by absence, the stimulus of an imaginary rivalry.

In short, at this period, you walk very comfortably with your wife on your arm, without pressing hers against your heart with the solicitous and watchful cohesion of a miser grasping his treasure.  You gaze carelessly round upon the curiosities in the street, leading your wife in a loose and distracted way, as if you were towing a Norman scow.  Come now, be frank!  If, on passing your wife, an admirer were gently to press her, accidentally or purposely, would you have the slightest desire to discover his motives?  Besides, you say, no woman would seek to bring about a quarrel for such a trifle.  Confess this, too, that the expression “such a trifle” is exceedingly flattering to both of you.