“MY DEAR EUGÈNE:
“It is the last of July, and you haven’t come to see us yet; can it be that life in Paris has made you entirely forgetful of the relations who love you and think constantly of you and your future?——”
My future! Oh, yes! that means another marriage on the carpet. What a mania it is of Amélie’s! always trying to induce me to marry! It is worse than the conventional guardian of comedy. But let us go on:
“It seems to me that you must be tired of those numerous conquests, of those gallant adventures, of those women who have no other guide than pleasure, and who forget you as quickly as they adore you.——”
Aha! sarcasm! You are mistaken, my dear sister; I am not tired of making conquests; those that I make are not all so simple as you think, said I to myself. But in the provinces people are even more spiteful, more evil-tongued than in Paris; and since my sister has left the capital, she takes it upon herself to lecture me. But at heart she is kindness itself! I cannot be angry with her for constantly thinking of me. But where was I?
“As quickly as they adore you. I often hear of you from people who come here from Paris; I know that you are more heedless than ever, that you think of nothing but your pleasures, that you deceive all your mistresses, that they pay you back in your own coin.——”
How well she divines the truth! it is astonishing!
“We never hear of any sensible action on your part.——”
Ah! my dear sister, if you had known the story of the night I had just passed! And people slander me, and call me a libertine!—But you were very, very pretty, Nicette! and I was really entitled to great credit for my self-restraint.
“I trust, however, that you are not incorrigible. Come to us very soon. We have pretty women here, too; they are modest and virtuous, and I should suppose that that would give them an additional attraction.——”