“It is grand to lose oneself utterly!” cried the Duchess with pride. “It is the luxury of the soul.”
“Beautiful women are excusable,” said Madame Camusot modestly. “They have more opportunities of falling than we have.”
The Duchess smiled.
“We are always too generous,” said Diane de Maufrigneuse. “I shall do just like that odious Madame d’Espard.”
“And what does she do?” asked the judge’s wife, very curious.
“She has written a thousand love-notes——”
“So many!” exclaimed Amelie, interrupting the Duchess.
“Well, my dear, and not a word that could compromise her is to be found in any one of them.”
“You would be incapable of maintaining such coldness, such caution,” said Madame Camusot. “You are a woman; you are one of those angels who cannot stand out against the devil——”
“I have made a vow to write no more letters. I never in my life wrote to anybody but that unhappy Lucien.—I will keep his letters to my dying day! My dear child, they are fire, and sometimes we want——”