“Well, well, as it is written that a wife should obey her husband, you will find me docile.”
“When?”
“After supper.”
“Then we will have no supper. We shall dine with all the better appetite to-morrow. Let us begin now.”
“No, for the suspicions of the servants might be aroused. Love has its rules of decency like everything else.”
“You talk as wisely as Cato, and I am obliged to confess that you are right in all you say.”
Supper was served as usual; it was delicate enough, but the thought of approaching bliss had taken away our appetites, and we ate only for form’s sake. At ten o’clock we were at liberty, and could indulge our passion without any fear of being disturbed.
But this delightful woman, who had so plainly told me a few hours before that when I was cured we would live together as man and wife, was now ashamed to undress before me. She could not make up her mind, and told me so, laughing at herself. From this circumstance I gathered that the decency of the body is more tenacious in its grasp than the purity of the soul.
“But, sweetheart,” said I, “you dressed and undressed for a fortnight before your betrothed.”
“Yes, but he was always lying in his hammock with his back towards me at night, and in the morning he never turned round and wished me good day till he knew I was dressed.”