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I thought he would have sprung upon me at this. Not a bit of it. He came up to me and took hold of my hands gently:

“Come, is it to be always the same thing? Are we to begin our life of warfare again? If so, why did you come back?”

I confess I felt rather moved by his sad and affectionate tone; but I thought of you, my poor Aunt, of your exile, of his harsh conduct towards us, and that gave me courage. I said to him the bitterest, most wounding things I could think of–I know not what–that I wished to heaven I had never married an artist; that at Moulins, every one pitied me; that I found my friends married to magistrates, serious, influential men, in good positions, while he–If even he made money–But no, Monsieur would work for fame only! and what fame!

At Moulins no one knew him; at Paris, his pieces were hissed. His books did not sell. And so on, and so on. My brain seemed to whirl round as all the malicious words came from me one after the other. He looked at me without replying, in chilly anger. Of course this coldness exasperated me still more. I was so much excited, that I no longer recognized my own voice, raised to an extraordinary pitch, and the last words I screamed at him–I can’t remember what unjust and mad remark it was–seemed to buzz indistinctly in my ears. For a moment, I thought Monsieur Petitbry’s assault with violence was an accomplished fact. Pallid, with set teeth Henri made two steps towards me:

“Madame!”

Then suddenly, his anger fell, his face became impassive again, and he looked at me with so scornful, insolent and calm a glance, that my patience came to an end. I raised my hand, and gave him the best box on the ear I ever gave in my life. At the noise, the door opened, and my witnesses appeared solemn and indignant.

“Monsieur! this is infamous!”

“Yes, isn’t it?” said the poor fellow, showing his red cheek.

You can imagine my confusion. Happily, I took the line of fainting, and melting into torrents of tears, which relieved me greatly. At present, Henri is in my room. He watches by me, nurses me, and is really most kind. What can I do? What a checkmate! This will not prove very satisfactory to Monsieur Petitbry.

Nina de B.