"Mon Dieu! that was no reason! I could have talked with her just as well in bed—indeed, I should have preferred that. But, no matter, take me to her."
The maid led Célestin through several rooms, and ushered him into her mistress's presence. Madame Baldimer was seated in a reclining chair, dressed in a velvet robe de chambre; her hair was dressed very simply and kept in place on top of her head by a sort of net; plainly, she was not yet dressed for the day, and was not at all anxious to make a favorable impression. None the less, she was extremely pretty in that négligé; but women are never more seductive than when we see them unadorned except by their natural charms; it very rarely happens, however, that they are willing to allow themselves to be seen in that condition.
Madame Baldimer greeted Célestin with a faint smile, and said, pointing to a chair near her own:
"You are on time; that is well done of you—I like that. Promptness is so rare in this world. Pray be seated."
"You should be certain, madame, of the zeal with which I always comply with your wishes; you are aware of my devotion to you; you know that there is nothing I would not do to please you. Love even leads me to betray friendship."
"Friendship!" echoed Madame Baldimer, and a sarcastic smile played about her lips; "oh, no! you are not betraying that, I assure you. Have you ever been Albert's friend?"
"To be sure, madame; we are very intimate."
"You men, when you have met once or twice at parties or dinners, when your dispositions have seemed congenial, when you have laughed at a good story told by someone you hardly know, instantly shake hands, adopt the familiar form of address, and suddenly become as intimate as if you had been thrown together for years; and you imagine that you have gained a friend! But friendships formed so hastily are as hastily broken. They are not proof against any passion: vanity, self-esteem, selfish interests, love, soon put an end to the noble sentiments of which you have made so great a parade, and you are often amazed to find that all the annoyances, all the disappointments, all the vexations, you suffer are the work of those whom you call your friends. It's not the same with women, monsieur; they are not so free with their friendship as you are, but when they do give it, when they become attached to another person of their own sex, it is almost always for life."
"But it must be someone of their own sex!" laughed Célestin. "You admit that, yourself."
"I believe, monsieur, that there are women who are capable of loving a long time—yes, forever, the man who has shown himself worthy of their love. But as they generally have to do with ungrateful wretches who make a sport of seducing them, only to betray and abandon them, you must agree that they would be very foolish not to punish men sometimes for the wrong they so often do them."