joicings.

Henceforth the monster was kept a prisoner in my wife's bedroom; that
charming retreat of love, furnished with exquisite taste, was turned
into a dog's kennel.

Our small flat became uninhabitable, our home-life full of jars. I
ventured to make a remark to the effect, but my wife replied that her
room was her own.

Then I started on a merciless crusade. I left her severely alone; and
by and by she found my reserve unbearable.

"Why do you never come to say good-morning to me now?"

"Because I can't get near you."

She sulked. I sulked too. For another fortnight I lived in celibacy.
Then, tired out, she found herself compelled to make friends. She took
the first step, but she hated me for it.

She decided to have the troublesome interloper destroyed. But instead
of having it done forthwith, she invited her friend to assist her
in the enactment of a farewell farce, entitled "The Last Moments of
the Condemned." She went to the length of begging me on her knees
to embrace the wretched little brute as a proof that I harboured no
ill-will, arguing that dogs might possibly have an immortal soul and
that we might meet again in another world. The result was that I gave
the dog its life and freedom, an action which found its reward in her
gratitude.

At times I fancied that I was living in a lunatic asylum, but one does
not stand upon trifles when one is in love.

This scene, "The Last Moments of the Condemned," was renewed every six
months during the next three years.

You, reader, who read this plain tale of a man, a woman and a dog, will
not deny me your compassion, for my sufferings lasted three times three
hundred and sixty-five days of twenty-four hours each. You will perhaps
admire me, for I remained alive. If it be true, however, that I am
insane, as my wife maintains, blame no one but myself, for I ought to
have had the courage to get rid of the dog once and for all.




III


Marie's friend was an old maid of about forty years, mysterious, full
of ideals with which I had lost all sympathy long ago.

Sh