After these little journeys the
Baron always returned to his friends in the best of tempers; one might
have thought that he had faithfully performed a sacred duty. At other
times it irritated and distressed him that his wife did not join the
party in the smoking-room, too, as _his_ wife; this thought was a
burden which weighed quite heavily on him.
The cousin did not go home in the spring, but accompanied the couple
to a watering-place. There she organised little performances for the
benefit of the poor, in which she and the Baron played the parts of
the lovers. This had the inevitable result that the fire burst into
flames. But the flames were only spiritual flames; mutual interests,
like views, and, perhaps, similar dispositions.
The Baroness had ample time to consider her position. The day arrived
when she told her husband that since everything was over between them,
the only decent thing to do was to part. But that was more than he had
bargained for; he was miserable; the cousin had better return to her
parents, and he would prove to his wife that he was a man of honour.
The cousin left. A correspondence between her and the Baron began. He
made the Baroness read every letter, however much she hated doing it.
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