Complete. From “Poems in Prose.”

AS the carriage was about to cross the woods, he ordered it to stop near a shooting gallery, saying that he would like to fire a few shots to “kill time.” To kill that monster,—is it not the most usual and most legitimate occupation of every one? And he gallantly offered his hand to his dear, delightful, and execrable wife, to that mysterious woman to whom he owed so much pleasure, so many pains, and perhaps also a great part of his genius.

  Several balls struck far from the mark aimed at. One of them buried itself in the ceiling; and as the charming creature laughed boisterously, mocking the awkwardness of her husband, he turned abruptly towards her and said: “Observe that doll over yonder, on the right, who carries her nose high up in the air and looks so disdainful. Now, my dear angel, I will suppose it is you!” And closing his eyes, he pressed the trigger. The doll was neatly decapitated! Then leaning towards his dear, his delightful, his execrable wife, his fatal and unpitying muse, and respectfully kissing her hand, he added: “Ah, my sweet angel, how I thank you for my skill!”