When Nathan, harassed and fatigued, would rush from his editorial
office to the theatre, from the theatre to the Chamber, from the
Chamber to face certain creditors, he was forced to appear in the Bois
with a calm countenance, and gallop beside Marie's carriage in the
leisurely style of a man devoid of cares and with no other duties than
those of love. When in return for this toilsome and wholly ignored
devotion all he won were a few sweet words, the prettiest assurances
of eternal attachment, ardent pressures of the hand on the very few
occasions when they found themselves alone, he began to feel he was
rather duped by leaving his mistress in ignorance of the enormous
costs of these "little attentions," as our fathers called them. The
occasion for an explanation arrived in due time.
On a fine April morning the countess accepted Nathan's arm for a walk
through the sequestered path of the Bois de Boulogne. She intended to
make him one of those pretty little quarrels apropos of nothing, which
women are so fond of exciting. Instead of greeting him as usual, with
a smile upon her lips, her forehead illumined with pleasure, her eyes
bright with some gay or delicate thought, she assumed a grave and
serious aspect.
"What is the matter?" said Nathan.
"Why do you pretend to such ignorance?" she replied. "You ought to
know that a woman is not a child."
"Have I displeased you?"
"Should I be here if you had?"
"But you don't smile to me; you don't seem happy to see me.
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