“And of women too, perhaps?”
“Of women even more!”
“Really? And because one woman deceived you, you despise them all! Allow me to tell you, monsieur, that all women are not alike!”
“They have all been alike to me, however!”
“Ah! you have been deceived by several?”
“So long as it is only a matter of pleasure—of follies, if you will—one can always make excuses, forgive; but there is a kind of treachery that reaches the heart, that has deplorable, heartrending consequences, and that leads to irreparable disasters! Ah! that sort of treachery one never forgives!”
“No; but one pours out his grief upon the bosom of a friend, who comforts one, who strives to make one forget one’s suffering, or at least to alleviate it.”
“I have never met one of those friends!”
“How could you have met them, since you shun all society, all companionship?”
“I have the companionship of my dog. He loves me; he won’t betray me, will you, Ami?”