At noon he indeed brought his wife two, three or four of her favorite “Míšenská” apples and, laying them on the table, he asked at once for his dinner that he might again depart as soon as possible.
They both felt ennui stealing on them. Heaven knows why they were tired. They slept soundly without dreams. Often when alone together they were silent and each was at a loss for a topic for conversation. The young wife with the instinct born in every woman divined that the touch of her hands no longer aroused a thrill in her husband’s senses and that he kissed her without any tremors of pleasure, but rather in a hasty, careless, perfunctory manner. And she herself felt exhausted, languishing, discontented and saw no fixed purpose anywhere.
What was the matter?
She discovered as she gazed into the mirror that blue was unbecoming to her and, looking down at her hands, she saw that she had not trimmed her nails for some days. That was the only thing to which she could devote her attention, as everything in her household was bright, shining and new—every article was in its appointed place. The perfect order and exactness of it all was enough to drive one mad.
It entered her mind that it might be a good plan to cook lentils today for dinner. She wanted a new fragrance in her kitchen—an odor to which it heretofore was unaccustomed, as she had not yet cooked lentils during her married life.
