‘The words “time immemorial” shows an ignorance which in a lady as full of agreeable information as yourself, has something indescribably piquant and charming,’ says Aristée, with a delicious mixture of the gallant and the pedant. ‘For ’tis well known,’ he continues, ‘that the Ancients held the liver to be the seat of the passion in question.’
‘Well, then,’ cries Madeleine gaily, ‘these pagans were, I fear, more evangelical in their philosophy than we, if they made love and its close attendant, Hope, dwell together in ... le foie! But,’ she continues, when the company had laughed at her sally, ‘I hear that this same Descartes has stirred up by his writings a serious revolt in our members, what one might call an organic Fronde.’
‘Pray act as our Muse Historique and recount us this historiette,’ cries Sappho gaily.
‘Would it be an affront to the dignity of Clio to ask her to cite her authorities?’ asks Aristée.
‘My authority,’ answers Madeleine, ‘is the organ whom Descartes has chiefly offended, and the prime mover of the revolt—my heart! For you must know that the ungallant philosopher in his treatise on the Passions sides neither with the Ancients nor the Moderns with regard to the seat of the Tender Passion.’
‘To the Place de Grèves with the Atheist and Libertine!’ cries the company in chorus.
‘And who has this impious man dared to substitute for our old sovereign?’ asks Théodamas.
‘Why, a miserable pretender of as base an origin and as high pretensions as Zaga-Christ, the so-called King of Ethiopia, in fact, an ignoble little tube called the Conarium.’
‘Base usurper!’ cries all the company save Sappho, who says demurely,—