beg pardon as she sweeps
by? Never! When two men jostle each other by accident in some narrow
lane, each of them bows and at the same time gets out of the other's
way, while we women press against each other stomach to stomach, face to
face, insolently staring each other out of countenance.

Look at two women who are acquaintances meeting on a stair case before
the drawing-room door of a friend of theirs to whom one has just paid a
visit, and to whom the other is about to pay a visit. They begin to talk
to each other, and block up the passage. If anyone happens to be coming
up behind them, man or woman, do you imagine that they will put
themselves half-an-inch out of their way? Never! never!

I was waiting myself, with my watch in my hands, one day last winter, at
a certain drawing-room door. And behind two gentlemen were also waiting
without showing any readiness to lose their temper, like me. The reason
was that they had long grown accustomed to our unconscionable insolence.

The other day, before leaving Paris, I went to dine with no less a
person than your husband in the Champs Elysees in order to enjoy the
open air. Every table was occupied. The waiter asked us not to go, and
there would soon be a vacant table.

At that moment, I noticed an elderly lady of noble figure, who, having
paid the amount of her docket, seemed on the point of going away. She
saw me, scanned me from head to foot, and did not budge. For more than a
full quarter-of-an-hour she sat there, immovable, putting on her gloves,
and calmly staring at those who were waiting like myself. Now, two young
men who were just finishing their dinner, having seen me in their turn,
quickly summoned the waiter in order to pay whatever they owed, and at
once offered me their seats, even insisting on standing while waiting
for their change. And, bear in mind, my fair niece, that I am no longer
pretty, like you, but old and white-haired.

It is we (do you see?) who should be taught politeness, and the task
would be such a difficult one that Hercules himself would not be equal
to it. You speak to me about Etretat, and about the people who indulged
in "tittle-tattle" along the beach of that delightful watering-place. It
is a spot now lost to me, a thing of the past, but I found much
amusement there in days gone by.

There were only a few of us, people in good society, really good
society, and a few artists, and we all fraternized. We paid little
attention to g