eas
which I have communicated to you, and I shall be very much mistaken if
he does not approve of them.

To-morrow I shall have the Abbe de Chateauneuf, and perhaps Moliere.
We shall read again the Tartuffe, in which some changes should be
made. Take notice, Marquis, that those who do not conform to all I
have just told you, have a little of the qualities of that character.

III

Why Love Grows Cold

In despite of everything I may say to you, you still stick to your
first sentiment. You wish a respectable person for a mistress, and one
who can at the same time be your friend. These sentiments would
undoubtedly merit commendation if in reality they could bring you the
happiness you expect them to; but experience teaches you that all
those great expectations are pure illusions. Are serious qualities the
only question in pastimes of the heart? I might be tempted to believe
that romances have impaired your mental powers. Poor Marquis! He has
allowed himself to become fascinated by the sublime talk common in
conversation. But, my dear child, what do you mean to do with these
chimeras of reason? I willingly tell you, Marquis: it is very fine
coin, but it is a pity that it can not enter into commercial
transactions.

When you wish to begin housekeeping, look for a reliable woman, full
of virtue and lofty principles. All this is becoming to the dignity of
the marriage tie; I intended to say, to its gravity. But at present,
as you require nothing but a love affair, beware of being serious, and
believe what I tell you; I know your wants better than you yourself
know them. Men usually say that they seek essential qualities in those
they love. Blind fools that they are! How they would complain could
they find them! What would they gain by being deified? They need only
amusement. A mistress as reasonable as you require would be a wife for
whom you would have an infinite respect, I admit, but not a particle
of ardor. A woman estimable in all respects is too subduing,
humiliates you too much, for you to love her long. Forced to esteem
her, and even sometimes to admire her, you can not excuse yourself for
ceasing to love her. So many virtues are a reproach too discreet, too
tiresome a critic of our eccentricities, not to arouse your pride at
last, and when that is humbled, farewell to love. Make a thorough
analysis of your sentiments, examine well your conscience, and you
will see that I speak the truth. I have but a mom