“What, my dear love, after three days of married life, thou—you want——”
“You have thee-and-thoued me three days already, and that’s too much; I tell you again, monsieur, that in good society a man and wife don’t do it. You seem desirous to appear like a petty government clerk.”
“I don’t agree to that—but I thought——”
“Enough—it’s decided: you are not to call me thou any more.”
“What! not even in the blissful moments when my affection——”
“Hush! that’s enough.”
“The devil! that will embarrass me terribly.”
From that moment Chamoureau no longer ventured to use the familiar form of address to his wife; in her presence he was like a scholar before his teacher, or rather, like a soldier before his commanding officer. He dared not speak unless he was questioned; he had no opinions, tastes, desires; Madame Chamoureau took all that responsibility on her shoulders.
As is frequently the case with women who have led very dissipated lives, Thélénie, after her marriage, assumed a very severe demeanor and bearing; she became a veritable prude, frowned if anyone made a ribald remark before her, and scolded her husband if he presumed to laugh at it. She refused to go to the Théâtre de Palais-Royal, and she could not understand how women could have the effrontery to waltz.
Such was Madame de Belleville; for the newly-married pair answered to no other name, and Thélénie had said to her husband more than once: