come. And then perhaps my poor little monologue may engrave that
salutary maxim, "Each is master at home," upon your memory. That is
our character,' she added, laughing, with a return of the opera girl's
giddiness and caprice.

"'Well, well, my dear little puss; there, there, never mind. We can
manage to get on together,' said du Bruel, and he kissed her hands,
and we came away. But he was very wroth.

"The whole way from the Rue de la Victoire to the boulevard a perfect
torrent of venomous words poured from his mouth like a waterfall in
flood; but as the shocking language which he used on occasion was
quite unfit to print, the report is necessarily inadequate.

"'My dear fellow, I will leave that vile, shameless opera dancer, a
worn-out jade that has been set spinning like a top to every operatic
air; a foul hussy, an organ-grinder's monkey! Oh, my dear boy, you
have taken up with an actress; may the notion of marrying your
mistress never get a hold on you. It is a torment omitted from the
hell of Dante, you see. Look here! I will beat her; I will give her a
thrashing; I will give it to her! Poison of my life, she sent me off
like a running footman.'

"By this time we had reached the boulevard, and he had worked himself
up to such a pitch of fury that the words stuck in his throat.

"'I will kick the stuffing out of her!'

"'And why?'