“Yes, more than a year. I suppose that you are married now; for you were just about to marry your dear Eugénie the last time that I saw you.”
“Yes, I am married and I am a father; I wasted no time, you see.”
“That is splendid. Do you still live in the same apartment?”
“Yes; my wife likes it very much. And you?”
“We live in this street, only a step or two from here. I gave you our address, and you promised to come to see us; but you have forgotten your neighbors of the attic.”
“I plead guilty; the change that has taken place in my situation is my excuse.”
“If you want us to forgive you altogether, you must come up and bid my wife good-morning. I say my wife, although we are not married. But for the benefit of concierges and strangers I feel bound to call her my wife; that is a sacrifice to the proprieties. After all, what difference is there between us and married people? Simply a signature on a great book! And that signature, and the oath, and all the promises made before men, do not make people behave any better.”
“I am entirely of your opinion.”
“At all events, we are very happy; we love each other as dearly as ever, and we snap our fingers at evil tongues.”
“You are quite right, my dear Ernest, one should live for oneself and not for other people.”