"But then there is that damned question of the skirts! I admire the novelists who can get a virgin unharnessed from her corsets and deflowered in the winking of an eye--as if it were possible! How annoying to have to fight one's way through all those starched entanglements! I do hope Mme.
Chantelouve will be considerate and avoid those ridiculous difficulties as much as possible--for her own sake." He consulted his watch.

"Half-past eight.

I mustn't expect her for nearly an hour, because, like all women, she will come late.

What kind of an excuse will she make to Chantelouve, to get away tonight?
Well, that is none of my business.Hmmm.This water heater beside the fire looks like the invitation to the toilet, but no, the tea things handy banish any gross idea." And if Hyacinthe did not come?
"She will come," he said to himself, suddenly moved.

"What motive would she have for staying away?
She knows that she cannot inflame me more than I am inflamed." Then, jumping from phase to phase of the same old question, "This will turn out badly, of course," he decided.