“Yes; they are showing performing Beetles to the inmates of the house. It seems to me they have to work hard for a living.”
“Doubtless, but I am afraid, they look so strange. Please let us go some round-about way; I am trembling.”
We followed a street to the left, and continued our course, yet I felt uneasy. It was a presentiment, for that day I had one of the most disagreeable meetings imaginable. We were just emerging from the suburbs when I descried in a corner an obscure mass, which turned out to be one of those performing Bears who figure at fairs and markets. He was making a Tortoise go through all sorts of wonderful exercises. Nothing was more natural than to meet this Bear, and yet I shivered all over. As my fears seemed unfounded, we continued to advance, and came close to the performer. The keen eye of this monster shot forth fire, and he sprang forward to bar my way.
“What are you doing here, madam?” he exclaimed, crossing his arms.
“Pray what does it matter to you what madam is doing here?” said my protector. “On my honour you are a bold fellow. Who are you, I pray? Speak! Who are you?”
“Who am I?” he breathed heavily. “I am the husband of this lady.”
Saying which, he threw off the bearskin disguise, and revealed the clarionet, the musician, the Bull dog, my husband, in fact, pale as death and a prey to horrible passion. He was frightful; although, to tell the truth, I liked him better excited, furious, grinding his teeth with rage, than calm and resigned, with tears in his eyes. He was really not so ugly as usual. Unfortunately the picture was spoilt by the cap which he kept on his head. That was a fault not to be pardoned. Readers of the opposite sex will hardly understand how it is that no detail escapes us.
“Madam,” said my husband gravely.
This was another defect of his, to be grave! It was evident that he had prepared a speech, and weighed its effects. The insect hidden behind my ear said in a low voice: “What! is it possible, my queen of beauty, that you are married to this brute?”