Lady B.—“I can forgive jealousy in those who love deeply; at least I excuse it.”
La Comtesse.—“And so can I, but what you were speaking of a moment ago is not jealousy, it is vanity, the vanity of a tyrant.... A propos of vanity and wills, have you heard about the will of M. de R.... No? Well then, this is the kind of vanity I admit of: M. de R. kept up his reputation of a humorist and a good husband to his last moment. What did he do the night before his death but send for his notary, and, before his friends and relatives who were present, dictate to him the following will: ‘I have loved my wife dearly, and I know that my wife has loved me dearly, and will regret me. I leave her all I have, to do as she pleases with, without having to consult anyone. I authorise her to marry again; I even advise her to do so; I do not fear competition.’ Now, I can assure you that though Madame de R. is only thirty-five, and very pretty, she will never marry again. That is a French husband, my dear.”
Lady B.—“I am very willing to believe all you tell me about French husbands, and love in married life, but why do not your novels show us something of that domestic happiness?”
La Comtesse.—“Ah! I stop you. You are going to speak to me of novels that treat of impossible society, of blasé men and light women: but we have others, my dear Lady B. If we have ‘Nana,’ we have also ‘Le Roman d’un Brave Homme,’ ‘L’Abbé Constantin,’ ‘Le Maître de Forges;’ ... I could name them by the hundred. By the bye, have you ever read ‘Monsieur, Madame, et Bébé’?”
Lady B.—“Have I read it! Ten times at least, and I shall read it many times more yet.”
La Comtesse.—“I congratulate you.”
Lady B.—“It was Lord B. who made me read it.”
La Comtesse.—“Lord B. is a sensible man. That delightful book ought to be in every household ... like the Bible: it is a regular treatise on happiness in married life. How many times have the Count and myself passed delightful hours together reading a chapter or two of those charming descriptions!—My husband is a very good reader.—And how many chapters have we put in practice! How many of those lovely little scenes have we played!”
Lady B.—“How fond of you your husband must be!”
La Comtesse.—“It is twelve years ago that we were married: twelve years of cloudless happiness.... The Count grows handsomer every year. He is rather stern-looking, you know, but I like that in a man. When he frowns, he is superb ... and then, it is so easy to chase his frowns away: he is so good, so generous, ... so attentive. Would you believe it? he makes me a regular declaration every time he sees me in a new dress.”