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suspected of any affair of the heart. Fifteen years of married life
had not diminished her tenderness for her husband, and their happy
union could be cited as an example to imitate.

One day at her country place, her friends amused themselves so late
that they were constrained to remain at her house all night. In the
morning, her servants happening to be occupied with her guests, she
was alone in her apartment engaged in making her toilet. A man whom
she knew quite well, but who was without social position, dropped in
for a short visit and to pass the compliments of the day. Some
perplexity in her toilette, induced him to offer his services. The
neglige dress she wore, naturally gave him an opportunity to
compliment her upon her undiminished charms. Of course she protested,
but laughingly, claiming they were unmerited. However, one thing
followed another, they became a trifle sentimental, a few
familiarities which they did not at first deem of any consequence,
developed into something more decided, until, finally, unable to
resist, they were both overcome, the woman being culpable, for she
regarded his advances in the nature of a joke and let them run on.
What was their embarrassment after such a slip? They have never since
been able to understand how they could have ventured so far without
having had the slightest intention of so doing.

I am tempted to exclaim here: Oh, you mortals who place too much
reliance upon your virtue, tremble at this example! Whatever may be
your strength, there are, unfortunately, moments when the most
virtuous is the most feeble. The reason for this strange phenomenon
is, that nature is always on the watch; always aiming to attain her
ends. The desire for love is, in a woman, a large part of her nature.
Her virtue is nothing but a piece of patchwork.

The homilies of your estimable Countess may be actually sincere,
although in such cases, a woman always exaggerates, but she deludes
herself if she expects to maintain to the end, sentiments so severe
and so delicate. Fix this fact well in your mind, Marquis, that these
female metaphysicians are not different in their nature from other
women. Their exterior is more imposing, their morals more austere, but
inquire into their acts, and you will discover that their heart
affairs always finish the same as those of women less refined. They
are a species of the "overnice," forming a class of their own, as I
told Queen Christine of Sweden, on