"You are a Parisian, you know this square well. In the centre, among the trees, there is a monumental fountain, with enormous women whose breasts are not as pretty as yours."
In his impatience he helped her to undo her cloth frock; but he could not find the hooks, and scratched himself with the pins.
"I am clumsy," he said.
She retorted laughingly:
"You are certainly not so clever as Madame Michon! It's not so much clumsiness, but you are afraid of getting pricked. Men are a cowardly race. As for women, they have to accustom themselves to suffer. It's true: to be a woman is to be nearly always ailing."
He did not notice that she was pale, with dark rings round her eyes. He desired her so ardently; he no longer saw her.
"They are very sensitive to pain," he said, "but they are also very sensitive to pleasure. Do you know Claude Bernard?"
"No."
"He was a great scientist. He said that he didn't hesitate to recognize woman's supremacy in the domain of physical and moral sensibility."