When Lucile laughed I felt the blood rushing to my face; but I determined to restrain myself.
“Why do you laugh, Lucile? I don’t see how you can know it, even if my wife has many things to do.”
“I know more about it than you, perhaps. I am better informed than you imagine.”
“In the first place, you don’t know my wife.”
“I don’t know her! I saw her once on the Terrasse des Feuillants, and once is enough for me to recognize a person; I give you my word that I have recognized her perfectly since, and that I am not mistaken.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that your wife plays her little games like other people. Parbleu! I suppose you thought that you were a privileged mortal, didn’t you? No, monsieur, she has given you horns to wear, and she has done it very neatly too.”
I strove to conceal the torture I felt and answered:
“You enjoy saying spiteful things to me; that is your habit; but you would be sorely embarrassed to prove your slanderous remarks about my wife.”
“Slanderous! No, monsieur, there is no slander about it. Your wife looked to me like a drab the first time I saw her; but I wouldn’t have said anything about her if I hadn’t been sure of my facts. I can’t say that I am sorry that your wife has lovers; I should lie if I said that; but still it wasn’t I who told her to give you your horns—she didn’t need my advice for that.”