The escapade of Parisian life is established from the first story, from the shopkeepers’ trip out of town once a year - to eat on the grass, hear the nightingale, copulate at the call of the flesh. And it's all. If there is a natural feeling that flashes through these stories, it’s like green summer grass for city dwellers—half a day, and that’s enough. But even this half-day can become a revelation—albeit a terrible one—for which a person lives. For the most terrible thing is not deadly jealousy or even the shattering discovery that yet another kept woman turned out to be your own daughter from a long-time affair. Worst of all are the words of a curious provincial woman: “I wanted to know a vice... nothing interesting.” Maupassant leads the reader to this abyss—“nothing interesting”—. Will you have the courage to look?