piety, however; for Anastasie was of a very mundane nature, fond of
oysters and old wine, and somewhat bold pleasantries, and devoted

to her husband for her own sake rather than for his. She was
imperturbably good-natured, but had no idea of self-sacrifice. To

live in that pleasant old house, with a green garden behind and
bright flowers about the window, to eat and drink of the best, to

gossip with a neighbour for a quarter of an hour, never to wear
stays or a dress except when she went to Fontainebleau shopping, to

be kept in a continual supply of racy novels, and to be married to
Doctor Desprez and have no ground of jealousy, filled the cup of

her nature to the brim. Those who had known the Doctor in bachelor
days, when he had aired quite as many theories, but of a different

order, attributed his present philosophy to the study of Anastasie.
It was her brute enjoyment that he rationalised and perhaps vainly

imitated.
Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and made coffee to a

nicety. She had a knack of tidiness, with which she had infected
the Doctor; everything was in its place; everything capable of

polish shone gloriously; and dust was a thing banished from her
empire. Aline, their single servant, had no other business in the

world but to scour and burnish. So Doctor Desprez lived in his
house like a fatted calf, warmed and cosseted to his heart's

content.
The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe melon, a fish from

the river in a memorable Bearnaise sauce, a fat fowl in a
fricassee, and a dish of asparagus, followed by some fruit. The

Doctor drank half a bottle PLUS one glass, the wife half a bottle
MINUS the same quantity, which was a marital privilege, of an

excellent Cote-Rotie, seven years old. Then the coffee was
brought, and a flask of Chartreuse for madame, for the Doctor

despised and distrusted such decoctions; and then Aline left the
wedded pair to the pleasures of memory and digestion.

'It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished one,' observed
the Doctor - 'this coffee is adorable - a very fortunate

circumstance upon the whole - Anastasie, I beseech you, go without
that poison for to-day; only one day, and you will feel the

benefit, I pledge my reputation.'
'What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend?' inquired

Anastasie, not heeding his protest, which was of daily recurrence.
'That we have no children, my beautiful,' replied the Doctor. 'I

think of it more and more as the years go on, and with more and
more gratitude towards the Power that dispenses such afflictions.

Your health, my darling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen
delicacies, how they would all have suffered, how they would all

have been sacrificed! And for what? Children are the last word of
human imperfection. Health flees before their face. They cry, my

dear; they put vexatious questions; they demand to be fed, to be
washed, to be educated, to have their noses blown; and then, when

the time comes, they break our hearts, as I break this piece of
sugar. A pair of professed egoists, like you and me, should avoid

offspring, like an infidelity.'
'Indeed!' said she; and she laughed. 'Now, that is like you - to

take credit for the thing you could not help.'
'My dear,' returned the Doctor, solemnly" target="_blank" title="ad.严肃地，庄严地">solemnly, 'we might have adopted.'

'Never!' cried madame. 'Never, Doctor, with my consent. If the
child were my own flesh and blood, I would not say no. But to take

another person's indiscretion on my shoulders, my dear friend, I
have too much sense.'

'Precisely,' replied the Doctor. 'We both had. And I am all the
better pleased with our wisdom, because - because - ' He looked at

her sharply.
'Because what?' she asked, with a faint premonition of danger.

'Because I have found the right person,' said the Doctor firmly,
'and shall adopt him this afternoon.'

Anastasie looked at him out of a mist. 'You have lost your
reason,' she said; and there was a clang in her voice that seemed

to threaten trouble.
'Not so, my dear,' he replied; 'I retain its complete exercise. To

the proof: instead of attempting to cloak my inconsistency, I have,
by way of preparing you, thrown it into strong relief. You will

there, I think, recognise the philosopher who has the ecstasy to
call you wife. The fact is, I have been reckoning all this while

without an accident. I never thought to find a son of my own.
Now, last night, I found one. Do not unnecessarily alarm yourself,

my dear; he is not a drop of blood to me that I know. It is his
mind, darling, his mind that calls me father.'

'His mind!' she repeated with a titter between scorn and hysterics.
'His mind, indeed! Henri, is this an idiotic pleasantry, or are

you mad? His mind! And what of my mind?'
'Truly,' replied the Doctor with a shrug, 'you have your finger on

the hitch. He will be strikingly antipathetic to my ever beautiful
Anastasie. She will never understand him; he will never understand

her. You married the animal side of my nature, dear and it is on
the spiritual side that I find my affinity for Jean-Marie. So much

so, that, to be perfectly frank, I stand in some awe of him myself.
You will easily perceive that I am announcing a calamity for you.

Do not,' he broke out in tones of real solicitude - 'do not give
way to tears after a meal, Anastasie. You will certainly give

yourself a false digestion.'
Anastasie controlled herself. 'You know how willing I am to humour

you,' she said, 'in all reasonable matters. But on this point - '
'My dear love,' interrupted the Doctor, eager to prevent a refusal,

'who wished to leave Paris? Who made me give up cards, and the
opera, and the boulevard, and my social relations, and all that was

my life before I knew you? Have I been faithful? Have I been
obedient? Have I not borne my doom with cheerfulness? In all

honesty, Anastasie, have I not a right to a stipulation on my side?
I have, and you know it. I stipulate my son.'

Anastasie was aware of defeat; she struck her colours instantly.
'You will break my heart,' she sighed.

'Not in the least,' said he. 'You will feel a trifling
inconvenience for a month, just as I did when I was first brought

to this vile hamlet; then your admirable sense and temper will
prevail, and I see you already as content as ever, and making your

husband the happiest of men.'
'You know I can refuse you nothing,' she said, with a last flicker

of resistance; 'nothing that will make you truly happier. But will
this? Are you sure, my husband? Last night, you say, you found

him! He may be the worst of humbugs.'
'I think not,' replied the Doctor. 'But do not suppose me so

unwary as to adopt him out of hand. I am, I flatter myself, a
finished man of the world; I have had all possibilities in view; my

plan is contrived to meet them all. I take the lad as stable boy.
If he pilfer, if he grumble, if he desire to change, I shall see I

was mistaken; I shall recognise him for no son of mine, and send
him tramping.'

'You will never do so when the time comes,' said his wife; 'I know
your good heart.'

She reached out her hand to him, with a sigh; the Doctor smiled as
he took it and carried it to his lips; he had gained his point with

greater ease than he had dared to hope; for perhaps the twentieth
time he had proved the efficacy of his trustyargument, his

Excalibur, the hint of a return to Paris. Six months in the
capital, for a man of the Doctor's antecedents and relations,

implied no less a calamity than total ruin. Anastasie had saved
the remainder of his fortune by keeping him strictly in the

country. The very name of Paris put her in a blue fear; and she
would have allowed her husband to keep a menagerie in the back