And the moment arrived. On returning to dinner one day, I found my wife in tears. She was in great distress. Dinner was not ready. The maid was looking for the lost dog.
Hardly able to conceal my joy, I made every effort to comfort my inconsolable wife. But she could not understand my sympathy with her grief, for she realised my inward satisfaction in finding the enemy gone.
"You are delighted, I know you are," she exclaimed. "You find amusement in the misfortunes of your friends. That shows how full of malice you are, and that you don't love me any more."
"My love for you is as great as ever it was, believe me, but I detest your dog."
"If you love me, you must love my dog too!"
"If I didn't love you, I should have struck you before now!"
The effect of my words was startling. To strike a woman! Carried away by her resentment, she reproached me with having turned out her dog, poisoned it.
We went to every police-station, we paid a visit to the knacker, and in the end the disturber of our peace and happiness was recovered. My wife and her friend, regarding me as a poisoner, or at any rate a potential poisoner, celebrated its recovery with great rejoicings.
Henceforth the monster was kept a prisoner in my wife's bedroom; that charming retreat of love, furnished with exquisite taste, was turned into a dog's kennel.
Our small flat became uninhabitable, our home-life full of jars. I ventured to make a remark to the effect, but my wife replied that her room was her own.