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CHAPTER XI.
"
All marry in this way. And I did like the rest. If the young people who
dream of the honeymoon only knew what a disillusion it is, and always a
disillusion! I really do not know why all think it necessary to conceal
it.
"
One day I was walking among the shows in Paris, when, attracted by a
sign, I entered an establishment to see a bearded woman and a water-dog.
The woman was a man in disguise, and the dog was an ordinary dog,
covered with a sealskin, and swimming in a bath. It was not in the least
interesting, but the Barnum accompanied me to the exit very courteously,
and, in addressing the people who were coming in, made an appeal to my
testimony. 'Ask the gentleman if it is not worth seeing! Come in, come
in! It only costs a franc!' And in my confusion I did not dare to answer
that there was nothing curious to be seen, and it was upon my false
shame that the Barnum must have counted.
"It must be the same with the persons who have passed through the
abominations of the honeymoon. They do not dare to undeceive their
neighbor. And I did the same.
"The felicities of the honeymoon do not exist. On the contrary, it is a
period of uneasiness, of shame, of pity, and, above all, of ennui,--of
ferocious ennui. It is something like the feeling of a youth when he is
beginning to smoke. He desires to vomit; he drivels, and swallows his
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