He rose, brandishing the fashion journal.
"What! I no longer love you!" he repeated. "Well, that's an idea! Why do you say that?"
"No, you no longer love me . . . because, if you still loved me, you would have noticed something."
"But what thing?"
"Well, you would have noticed my corset."
"What corset? Oh! yes, this corset. 'Tis true, I had not noticed it. How stupid I am! Why, yes, it is very pretty, you know, . . . ravishing."
"Yes, you say that now, and you don't mean it. I am too stupid, myself. I tire myself out in trying to make myself beautiful,—in trying to find things to please you. And you care nothing about it. Besides, what am I to you? Nothing; less than nothing! You come in here, and what do you see? That dirty newspaper. In what are you interested? In a rebus! Ah, a pretty life you give me here! We do not see anybody; we do not go anywhere; we live like wolves, like poor people."
"Oh! come, come, I beg of you. Don't get angry. Come! As poor people, indeed!"
He tried to approach Madame, to take her about the waist, to kiss her, but she repulsed him severely.
"No, let me alone. You provoke me."
"Oh! come, my darling, my little wife."
