“And how had she come home?”
“The young ass had accompanied her to the front door.”
“Supposing anybody who knew them had seen her at three o’clock in the morning in the company of the young ass?”
“Well, and what then? She was a respectable woman.”
“Yes, but she might easily lose her reputation.”
“Ah! He was jealous, and what was even worse, he was envious. He grudged her every little bit of fun. That was what being married meant! To be scolded if one dared to go out and enjoy oneself a little. What a stupid institution marriage was! But was their union a true marriage? They met one another at night, just as other married couples did. Men were all alike. Civil enough until they were married, but afterwards, oh! Afterwards.... Her husband was no better than other men: he looked upon her as his property, he thought he had a right to order her about.”
“It was true. There was a time when he had believed that they belonged to one another, but he had made a mistake. He belonged to her as a dog belonged to its master. What was he but her footman, who called for her at night to see her home? He was ‘her husband.’ But did she want to be ‘his wife’? Were they equals?”
“She hadn’t come home to quarrel with him. She wanted to be nothing but his wife, and she did not want him to be anything but her husband.”
The effect of the champagne, he thought, and turned to the wall.
She cried and begged him not to be unjust, but to—forgive her.