“I may perhaps love some woman, pure as was my mother when she married my father; and to ask for purity from a woman, a man must be chaste as she.”
At this, Faringhea could not refrain from a sardonic smile.
“Why do you laugh, slave?” said the young prince, imperiously.
“Among civilized people, as you call them, my lord, the man who married in the flower of his innocence would be mortally wounded with ridicule.”
“It is false, slave! He would only be ridiculous if he married one that was not pure as himself.”
“Then, my lord, he would not only be wounded—he would be killed outright, for he would be doubly and unmercifully laughed at.”
“It is false! it is false. Where did you learn all this?”
“I have seen Parisian women at the Isle of France, and at Pondicherry, my lord. Moreover, I learned a good deal during our voyage; I talked with a young officer, while you conversed with the young priest.”
“So, like the sultans of our harems, civilized men require of women the innocence they have themselves lost.”
“They require it the more, the less they have of it, my lord.”