It must not be thought, that by granting a rendezvous to this insect, I yielded to foolish sentiment. I simply did it to oblige him, because he rendered justice to my charms, and spoke ceaselessly about me.
When I reached home that evening, I suppose my face must have expressed more than usual disgust, for my musician stood looking at me for several minutes without uttering a single word, and then two large tears rolled down his cheeks; he was grotesque. Nothing is more dreadful than an ugly animal, who adds to his ugliness the horrors of grief. I expected a scene and reproaches, my heart swelled within me, as I said to myself, “Let him but speak, get angry, curse me; I will do the same, and oppose anger to anger. Passion is like a storm, when it has burst and is over, it refreshes the earth. I began to sing snatches of songs, like little bits of forked lightning, to bring about the crisis. But he did nothing, and said nothing, two or three times he sniffed badly, and carefully placing his clarionet in its dirty case, put on his cap, and said—
“Good night, my dear, I am going to the theatre.”
What did these tears mean; did he think that he was odious to me? He did not seem jealous; how could he be so? was I not the most irreproachable, and, at the same time, most miserable of wives? Oh, if I had only something to break, scratch, or bite! How he does make me suffer!
Next day at the appointed hour, we met at our rendezvous. My fine companion, who had been impatiently waiting for me, exclaimed, “How beautiful you are! let us start for the woods.”
“Yes,” I replied, quite flattered, “I am ready.”
So off we started. Although my mind was made up, a certain foreboding of evil troubled me. I could not throw it off. It occurred to me that I had gone too far, and was approaching the edge of a volcano.
“What is the matter, dear?” said the insect.
“Do you not see those ambulating musicians over there at that window?”