“Mon Dieu, madame, habit is everything. You yourself, despite all your charms, might be awkward in a milkmaid’s cap. Those things that can be acquired, madame, are of little worth; but the things that are innate are beauty, grace, intellect, a sweet voice and glance and smile—in a word, the charm which takes us captive and which you possess in such abundant measure, madame.”
“Ah! you did well to end in that way; if you had not I should have been angry. Madame Destival is right; you are a ne’er-do-well, a dangerous man. By the way, I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Paris, monsieur; I often give balls, and I have a reception every Thursday in winter.”
“Madame is too kind; but your husband has said nothing to me.”
“Mon Dieu! has he any time to think to invite people? He is so distraught, so engrossed by his speculations, that I alone attend to the invitations. Will you come?”
“Is it not absolutely necessary for me to see you again? If I should yield to my inclinations, I would never leave you.”
“Bless my soul! I believe that we are dropping into sentiment. Are you going to make me a declaration?”
“Is it possible to see you without loving you?”
“Look out! you are becoming serious, and I like none but merry people. That melancholy air doesn’t suit you.”
“Have you no pity, then, for the pain you cause?”
“Oh! not the least! Sighs do not move me an inch; to please me, it is necessary to keep me laughing constantly.”