tender, too complaisant. It would be better for the common good if
they were to resist less in the beginning and more afterward. I
maintain that they never can forestall loathing without leaving the
heart something to wish for, and the time to consider.

I hear them continually complaining that our indifference is always
the fruit of their complaisance for us. They are ever recalling the
time when, goaded by love and sentiment, we spent whole days by their
side. How blind they are! They do not perceive that it is still in
their power to bring us back to an allegiance, the memory of which is
so dear. If they forget what they have already done for us, they will
not be tempted to do more; but if they make us forget, then we shall
become more exacting. Let them awaken our hearts by opposing new
difficulties, arouse our anxieties, in fine, force us to desire new
proofs of an inclination, the certainty of which diminishes the value
in our estimation. They will then find less cause of complaint in us,
and will be better satisfied with themselves.

Shall I frankly avow it? Things would indeed change if women would
remember at the right time, that their role is always that of the
party to be entreated, ours that of him who begs for new favors;
that, created to grant, they should never offer. Reserved, even in an
excess of passion, they should guard against surrendering at
discretion; the lover should always have something to ask, and
consequently, he would be always submissive so as to obtain it. Favors
without limit degrade the most seductive charms, and are, in the end,
revolting even to him who exacts them. Society puts all women on the
same level; the handsome and the ugly, after their defeat are
indistinguishable except from their art to maintain their authority;
but what commonly happens? A woman imagines she has nothing more to do