"Yes," said Delapine who had just caught the word 'trifles,' "I owe everything to trifles. They control the essentials of life. The man who can see further than other men is doubtless a genius, but he who can do that and at the same time attend to trifles and details goes much further; he not only rises to the top, but he stays there."
"Details are always vulgar," whispered Pierre to Renée, as he helped himself to a slice of pheasant stuffed with truffles.
"Did you say vulgar?" asked Marcel, who had just managed to catch the last word of the whispered conversation, "I agree with our friend Villebois that our happiness is largely made up of trifles: perhaps that accounts for the fact that lovely woman has devoted her life to trifling. The divine creatures trifle with our hearts, and then when they have stolen them, they make tire-lires of them."
"I have studied the fair sex all my life," said Riche, "and I assure you I understand them less now than ever. When a man flatters himself that he understands a woman, he——"
"Merely flatters himself?" interposed Marcel laughing.
"Woman generally tries to attract a man's eye, by means of her feminine magnetism and then blames him for being caught by prettiness and superficial charms. But she rarely tries to appeal to his better self," said Delapine.
"Life, after all," interposed Riche, "is a tragedy to those who feel, but to those who think, it is only a huge comedy. My rule is never to appear in earnest, except, of course, when seeing my patients. If a man is serious, everyone votes him a bore, and the ladies only laugh at him. An over-sensitive conscience is simply the evidence of spiritual dyspepsia. The man who has it is no better than his fellows."
"A man considers his little weaknesses mere amiable traits," said Pierre, "whereas a woman——"
"Will not admit that she has any," said Marcel.