Lady B.—“For shame!”
La Comtesse.—“It takes such a trifle to spoil a man. Just take the case of the Marquis de P.; he is a splendid-looking man, a gentleman every inch; the carriage of a king. Would you believe it, the marchioness, who, it is said, is as much in love with him as when they were first married, lets him wear spectacles? He looks for all the world like a German doctor in them.”
Lady B.—“But what if he is short-sighted?”
La Comtesse.—“A fine reason that! Les lunettes sont des remèdes d’amour. As if he couldn’t wear a pince-nez or an eye-glass. I rather like an eye-glass, don’t you?”
Lady B.—“No, indeed, I think them horrid.”
La Comtesse.—“Do you really? Now, I think they give a man a little air of impertinence that is not disagreeable. On young fellows, I admit, they are detestable; but on a man over thirty, I assure you, I rather like them.... Why, dear, nearly every gentleman wears an eye-glass in England!”
Lady B.—“That is true, but they do not use them to stare rudely at every woman they meet. I consider Frenchmen dreadful offenders in that respect.”
La Comtesse.—“Englishmen are indifferent towards women.”
Lady B.—“That’s quite a mistake, my dear; their apparent indifference is really respect, and, thanks to that respect, we can go where we like in peace and safety. I don’t mind telling you that I have my doubts about the real motives of the politeness of Frenchmen.”
La Comtesse.—“How can you talk like that? you, who come from a country where a man thinks nothing of pushing past a lady and making her stop in the street, or of entering a railway carriage before her! No matter where he may be, a Frenchman will always stand aside to let a woman pass....”