purse, and give to him freely. Adolphe loved Théophraste even above Marceline; and although I do not pretend to deal here with psychology, I find myself confronted with a case which is much less common than one would be inclined to believe. For Adolphe loved Marceline because he had made her his mistress.
If he had learned, by some supernatural warning, that Théophraste would some day learn his real position in the household, he would only have respected Marceline. “But,” he thought to himself, “Théophraste will never know anything about it, and as unknown evils do not exist, I will be the lover of the wife of my best friend.”
These lines are necessary, that the reader may understand properly the knavish tricks of the lover. But we must understand distinctly Adolphe’s devotion to Théophraste.
After the departure of the Commissioner, they all set themselves to consider what was to be done with the articles which Théophraste had brought home with him. At first they all sat silently looking at the objects, no one wishing to break the silence, until Théophraste said, “I have nothing more in my pockets. I really believe I have got my black plume.”
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