"No, monsieur, I do not think so; I think that when one is really in love, it is not so easy to banish from one's heart the object of one's love. In short, it is my opinion that love is not to be reasoned with, and that when you come to the point where you begin to reason you have ceased to love. But, upon my word, this is a strange conversation; one would think that we had to write an essay on the proper way to love.—Have you produced a new play or written a new novel since I saw you?"
"No, madame, no; I have done nothing."
"You have been lazy, eh? Fie! that's very bad!"
"No, I haven't been lazy; but I have been preoccupied—which is by no means the same thing, and is a much greater hindrance to work."
"You know Monsieur Lucien Grischard, do you not, monsieur?"
"I do, madame; but how did you know?"
"Oh! in the most natural way; this Monsieur Lucien knows—indeed, I may say that he is courting a young lady who is my most intimate friend, Mademoiselle Juliette Mirotaine."
"Yes, he is very much in love with her, and would like to marry her; he has told me that."
"And Juliette has no secrets from me; she is very fond of this Lucien, whom her father refuses to allow her to marry. She has told me all her sorrows."
"Very good; but I don't quite see where I come in."