creatures who sell themselves for a few coins to any
passer-by, though want and hunger absolve the brief union; while another
union, horrible for quite other reasons, is tolerated, nay encouraged,
by society, and a young and innocent girl is married to a man whom she
has only met occasionally during the previous three months. She is sold
for her whole lifetime. It is true that the price is high! If you allow
her no compensation for her sorrows, you might at least respect her; but
no, the most virtuous of women cannot escape calumny. This is our fate
in its double aspect. Open prostitution and shame; secret prostitution
and unhappiness. As for the poor, portionless girls, they may die or go
mad, without a soul to pity them. Beauty and virtue are not marketable
in the bazaar where souls and bodies are bought and sold--in the den of
selfishness which you call society. Why not disinherit daughters? Then,
at least, you might fulfil one of the laws of nature, and guided by your
own inclinations, choose your companions."

"Madame, from your talk it is clear to me that neither the spirit of
family nor the sense of religion appeals to you. Why should you hesitate
between the claims of the social selfishness which irritates you, and
the purely personal selfishness which craves satisfactions--"

"The family, monsieur--does such a thing exist? I decline to recognize
as a family a knot of individuals bidden by society to divide the
property after the death of father and mother, and to go their separate
ways. A family means a temporary association of persons brought together
by no will of their own, dissolved at once by death. Our laws have
broken up homes and estates, and the old family tradition handed down
from generation to generation. I see nothing but wreck and ruin about
me."

"Madame, you will only return to God when His hand has been heavy upon
you, and I pray that you have time enough given to you in which to make
your peace with Him. Instead of looking to heaven for comfort, you
are fixing your eyes on earth. Philosophism and personal interest
have invaded your heart; like the children of the sceptical eighteenth
century, you are deaf to the voice of religion. The pleasures of this
life bring nothing but misery. You are about to make an exchange of
sorrows, that is all."

She smiled bitterly.

"I will falsify your predictions," she said. "I shall be faithful to him
who died for me."

"Sorrow," he answered, "is not l