"I know nothing," said he with much energy, "that ever gave me more pain in society, than seeing, as I did in England, numbers of unhappy women who, however well-born, well-educated, or estimable, were without a position, without an état and without a name, excepting one that they would generally give half their remaining days to get rid of."
"I think you somewhat exaggerate the evil," I replied: "but even if it were as bad as you state it to be, I see not why single ladies should be better off here."
"Here!" he exclaimed, in a tone of horror: "Do you really imagine that in France, where we pride ourselves on making the destiny of our women the happiest in the world,—do you really imagine that we suffer a set of unhappy, innocent, helpless girls to drop, as it were, out of society into the néant of celibacy, as you do? God keep us from such barbarity!"
"But how can you help it? It is impossible but that circumstances must arise to keep many of your men single; and if the numbers be equally balanced, it follows that there must be single women too."
"It may seem so; but the fact is otherwise: we have no single women."
"What, then, becomes of them?"
"I know not; but were any Frenchwoman to find herself so circumstanced, depend upon it she would drown herself."
"I know one such, however," said a lady who was with us: "Mademoiselle Isabelle B*** is an old maid."
"Est-il possible!" cried the gentleman, in a tone that made me laugh very heartily. "And how old is she, this unhappy Mademoiselle Isabelle?"
"I do not know exactly," replied the lady; "but I think she must be considerably past thirty."