“You see, I’m afraid that you’ll think I’m an idiot; when I say one thing and do another.—Faith, prout!—but never mind! Monsieur knows well enough that men are not phœnixes! Here goes! Monsieur knows that I am married?”
“Yes.”
“And that I left my wife because we didn’t agree. She beat me and didn’t want me to drink; I wanted to drink and not to be beaten.”
“Well, Pettermann?”
“Well, monsieur, a few days ago I met my wife, and she spoke to me; she was as sweet as honey—in short, we melted toward each other. She asked me if I still got drunk; I told her that it only happened once a month; she said: ‘Nobody can find fault with once a month.’—In short, monsieur—you see—I’ve promised to take my wife back. But what makes me miserable is that then I shall have to leave you; and I’m afraid monsieur is angry with me too.”
“No, Pettermann, no; take back your wife. Far from reproaching you, I approve your resolution. What is your wife doing now?”
“She’s a concierge, monsieur, in a fine house within ten yards of the one where we live.”
“Well! it is possible that you may remain with me.”
“Ah! ten thousand prouts! how I should like that!”
“Is there a pleasant apartment to let in your wife’s house?”