rmost at the moment, whether it was literature,
philosophy, art, politics, music, the last play, or the latest word
of their friends. The talk was simple, natural, without heat, without
aggressive egotism, animated with wit and repartee, glancing upon the
surface of many things, and treating all topics, grave or gay, with
the lightness of touch, the quick responsiveness that make the charm of
social intercourse.

The unwritten laws that governed this brilliant world were drawn from
the old ideas of chivalry, upon which the etiquette of the early salons
was founded. The fine morality and gentle virtues which were the bases
of these laws had lost their force in the eighteenth century, but the
manners which grew out of them had passed into a tradition. If morals
were in reality not pure, nor principles severe, there was at least
the vanity of posing as models of good breeding. Honor was a religion;
politeness and courtesy were the current, though by no means always
genuine, coin of unselfishness and amiability; the amenities stood
in the place of an ethical code. Egotism, ill temper, disloyalty,
ingratitude, and scandal were sins against taste, and spoiled the
general harmony. Evil passions might exist, but it was agreeable to hide
them, and enmities slept under a gracious smile. noblesse OBLIGE was the
motto of these censors of manners; and as it is perhaps a Gallic trait
to attach greater importance to reputation than to character, this
sentiment was far more potent than conscience. Vice in many veiled forms
might be tolerated, but that which called itself good society barred
its doors against those who violated the canons of good taste, which
recognize at least the outward semblance of many amiable virtues.
Sincerity certainly was not one of these virtues; but no one was
deceived, as it was perfectly well understood that courteous forms
meant little more than the dress which may or may not conceal a physical
defect, but is fit and becoming. It was not best to inquire too closely
into character and motives, so long as appearances were fair and
decorous. How far the individual may be affected by putting on the garb
of qualities and feelings that do not exist may be a question for the
moralist; but this conventional untruth has its advantages, not only in
reducing to a minimum the friction of social machinery, and subjecting
the impulses to the control of the will, but in the subtle influence
of an ideal that is good and t