"A mark of your poor discernment. I'm trying to be very insulting." 

"I know! It's charming. Maybe you have better taste than me after all."

"Do you always like it when people insult you?"

"You know, I don't think I do. I'm not entirely sure what the difference is. Maybe it's that you're small and a little ridiculous-looking and still perfectly self assured in your own greatness, and I admire that a little, and am reminded of some elements of myself. Or maybe I only dislike being insulted when I don't feel perfectly secure in my own situation and ability to go on doing what I please regardless of what anyone else thinks of me, and it's difficult to take you seriously as a threat when the rest of my life is going so well. Or maybe I'd just like to appreciate you as a friend of my husband, and am therefore unreasonably inclined to find you charming even when you're being terribly rude. Hard to say, really."

"Kkkk," he says, because magpies lack the vocal apparatus to "hrmph." 

"Do you care what he thinks of you?"

"Hm," she says, and leans back in her chair to think for a moment. "I'd have to say I do."

"You shouldn't. He's an idiot."

" - well, I think I have to disagree with you on the facts, there. But the thing I immediately thought of was that I've made a promise to him, and if he thought very poorly of me then it would indicate that I wasn't doing a very good job of keeping it. And perhaps I would feel relatively less secure about how well my life was going, if Élie stopped liking me."

"What about if you stopped liking him? I don't suppose you've thought of that." 

"What are you imagining it would change?"

"He would be sad. He would make faces. He might start reading poetry, even. I'd have to listen to it. It would be dreadful." 

"Oh, I see. Well, I'll try to go on liking him, then, for your sake. I wasn't particularly anticipating having trouble with it, but if I ever do, I'll just remember that it would make things terribly inconvenient for you if I were to stop."

"People say that, but then they always try to have him executed or something and he mopes for years and is terrible company." 

"Oh. I see."

"I do understand how that would color your expectations about Élie's future relationships. And it's good of you to be concerned about him. I'm being a little facetious with you, Félix, but I am genuinely not very worried about a complete breakdown of my relationship with Élie. I'm not going to promise that I will always enjoy his company more than anyone else's, or that I will never be annoyed with him, or that I will always agree with everything he does. Maybe in twenty years I won't like him half so much as I do now, I don't know. But I have promised to be faithful and true to him, and to be good to him and greet him with love, for the rest of my life."

"I don't need to be certain that I'll always like him to be certain that I'll keep the promises I made to him. I expect that I will also go on liking him, and I intend to try quite hard at it if it ever becomes necessary to try. But if I should ever fail at liking him, it will not mean that I therefore think it's fine to betray whatever trust he's extended to me. It will just make keeping my promises somewhat more annoying."

Félix considers that for a moment. Or seems to. It's hard to say. He could also be considering the gold lettering on the binding of Naima's book, being, as it is, very shiny. 

"Did he tell you before you married him that he is a disobedient, troublesome, ungrateful sort of person? His professors always said so and it seems like the sort of thing one's wife ought to know. Also, he has bad judgement, and he's always doubting himself, in a tiresome sort of way, and – 

– Well. You didn't know him when he was young."

"I'm not sure if he used any of those specific adjectives. I could probably have guessed the disobedient and troublesome."

"Speaking of troublesome and disobedient creatures – Naima, is he bothering you again?"

"Élie! Well, I think he's trying, but I wouldn't say he's succeeding."

"That's good. I noticed he'd gone off again, and I was worried – "

Félix flaps over and lands on Élie's shoulder. 

"You never made me any promises." 

Naima shuts the book and puts it away, now that she can do so without closing it onto Félix.

"Well, have you asked him to?"

"I didn't think about that."

"Well, I had to ask him twice, so I wouldn't give up until you've tried at least that many times."

"I have my pride."

"I'd say it's up to you what you want most, then."