"But—the dress—that you wear to the theatre," stammered he. "You always look beautiful to me in that."
He stopped speaking, stupefied and dismayed on seeing his wife in tears. Two large tears trickled slowly down her cheeks.
"What is the matter? What is the matter?" asked he tenderly. By violent effort she conquered her grief and calmly said, while wiping her humid cheeks:
"Nothing; only I have no toilet, and, of course, can not go. Give the card to one of your comrades whose wife is fortunate enough to have something suitable for the occasion."
Despairingly he said:
"See, Mathilde, how much will a dress cost to wear to this ball; one which can also be used for other occasions—something very simple."
She reflected a few moments, figuring in her own mind the sum she could ask without danger of immediate refusal and frightening her economical husband. Finally she hesitatingly said:
"I do not know exactly; but it seems to me I might manage with about 400 francs."
He paled a little, because he had been saving just that sum to buy a gun for the following summer, when he would go with some of his friends to the plains of Nanterre on Sundays to shoot larks. Stifling his regrets, however, he replied:
"Very well, I will give you 400 francs, but try to have a beautiful dress."