“Oh, lots!”
“Did you take many cabs?”
“I took seven francs’ worth.”
“Did you find everybody in?”
“Yes, those with whom I had appointments.”
“When did you make appointments with them? The ink in your inkstand is dried up; it’s like glue; I wanted to write, and spent a whole hour in moistening it, and even then only produced a thick mud fit to mark bundles with for the East Indies.”
Here any and every husband looks suspiciously at his better half.
“It is probable that I wrote them at Paris—”
“What business was it, Adolphe?”
“Why, I thought you knew. Shall I run over the list? First, there’s Chaumontel’s affair—”