She examined every piece of furniture, scrutinized the hangings, tried the strings of the door curtain, moved a chair to a different place, smoothed a crease in the draperies. And every instant cries of admiration, of ecstasy were heard!
Then she wanted to start the inspection of the apartment all over again with the windows closed and the lights burning, in order to see the effect produced at night, never tiring of examining a thing more than once, running from one room to another, marking down every defect on a piece of paper. Then it was the wardrobe where she put her linen and mine with meticulous care and elaborate nicety and the consummate skill of a stall keeper. I chided her for assigning to me the better scentbags.
"No! no! no! I want to have a little husband who uses perfume!"
Of her old furniture and old knick-knacks, Juliette had kept only the terracotta statue of Love which again took its place of honor on the mantlepiece in the parlor. I, on the other hand, had brought over only my books and two very beautiful sketches by Lirat which I thought it a duty to hang up in my study. Scandalized, Juliette cried with indignation:
"What are you doing there, my dear?. . . Such horrible things in our new apartment! . . . Please put these horrible things away somewhere! Oh, put them away!"
"My dear Juliette," I answered somewhat provoked. "You have kept your terracotta statue of Love, not so?"
"Certainly I have. . . . But what has that to do with this? . . . My terracotta statue is very, very lovely. Whereas that thing there. . . why really! . . . And then it's improper! . . . Besides, every time
