“I don’t want you to, but I permit.” She puts her face toward that of her husband, who kisses her on the forehead. “You are really too good, you have kissed my nightcap.”
Monsieur, smiling, “Your hair smells very nice... You see I am so sleepy. Ah! you have it in little plaits, you are going to wave it to-morrow.”
“To wave it. You were the first to find that that way of dressing it became me, besides, it is the fashion, and tomorrow is my reception day. Come, you irritable man, embrace me once for all and snore at your ease, you are dying to do so.”
She holds her neck toward her husband.
Monsieur, laughing, “In the first place, I never snore. I never joke.” He kisses his wife’s neck, and rests his head on her shoulder.
“Well, what are you doing there?” is her remark.
“I am digesting my kiss.”
Madame affects the lackadaisical, and looks sidewise at her husband with an eye half disarmed. Monsieur sniffs the loved perfume with open nostrils.
After a period of silence he whispers in his wife’s ear, “I am not at all sleepy now, dear. Are your feet still cold? I will find the hot-water bottle.”
“Oh, thanks, put out the light and let us go to sleep; I am quite tired out.”