The scaffold
was their nuptial bed, and there they slept together in the long night
of death.
MEDITATION XXI.
THE ART OF RETURNING HOME.
Finding himself incapable of controlling the boiling transports of his
anxiety, many a husband makes the mistake of coming home and rushing
into the presence of his wife, with the object of triumphing over her
weakness, like those bulls of Spain, which, stung by the red
_banderillo_, disembowel with furious horns horses, matadors,
picadors, toreadors and their attendants.
But oh! to enter with a tender gentle mien, like Mascarillo, who
expects a beating and becomes merry as a lark when he finds his master
in a good humor! Well--that is the mark of a wise man!--
"Yes, my darling, I know that in my absence you could have behaved
badly! Another in your place would have turned the house topsy-turvy,
but you have only broken a pane of glass! God bless you for your
considerateness. Go on in the same way and you will earn my eternal
gratitude."
Such are the ideas which ought to be expressed by your face and
bearing, but perhaps all the while you say to yourself:
"Probably he has been here!"
Always to bring home a pleasant face, is a rule which admits of no
exception.
But the art of never leaving your house without returning when the
police have revealed to you a conspiracy--to know how to return at the
right time--this is the lesson which is hard to learn.
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