After a few days, they became reconciled, just as they had fallen out, without any apparent reason. And there were sobs, and "Oh, you naughty boy!" "Oh! you naughty girl!" and "It is over, do I not tell you it is over?" And they went away to have a little fête at the restaurant, and the next day arose very late, much fatigued.
I at once understood the farce that the two poor actors were playing for themselves. And, when they threatened to leave each other, I knew very well that they were not sincere. They were riveted to each other,—he by his interest, she by her vanity. Monsieur clung to Madame's money, Madame held fast to Monsieur's name and title. But, as in reality they detested each other, precisely because of this dupe's bargain that bound them, they felt the need of saying so to each other from time to time, and of giving to their disappointment, their spite, and their contempt an expression as base as their souls.
"What are such lives good for?" said I to William.
"For Baby!" answered William, who, under all circumstances, found the accurate and final word.
For immediate and material proof he drew from his pocket a magnificent cigar, pinched that very morning, carefully cut off the tip, and then, lighting it with satisfaction and tranquillity, declared, between two fragrant whiffs:
