"And what prevents?"
"He is jealous."
"But his wife—she gives him no cause?"
"I am afraid she does."
"How, Monsieur?"
"I always thought she was a little too—a great deal too—"
"Too what, Monsieur?"
"Too handsome. But although she has remarkably fine eyes, exquisite features, and the most delicate complexion in the world, I believe that she is a woman of probity. You have never seen her?"
"There was a lady, muffled up in a cloak, with a very thick veil on, the other night, in the hall of the Belle Etoile, when I broke that fellow's head who was bullying the old Count. But her veil was so thick I could not see a feature through it." My answer was diplomatic, you observe. "She may have been the Count's daughter. Do they quarrel?"
"Who, he and his wife?"