Myself of a good social standing, I came to know all shades of
society, from the old legitimist circles, where I was not a little
bored, to the new aristocracy created by the Bonapartes and the
Orléanists, representing the society, perhaps not of Paris, but let
us say, of _Nice_. Dumas the Younger, Sardou, and others, take
thence their counts, marquises, and princes, who, without historical
traditions, have titles and money in plenty, and whose principal aim
is to enjoy life. I frequented their salons mostly for the sake of
their female element. They are very subtle, the women there, with
highly strung nerves always in search for new pleasures, fresh
sensations, and truly void of any idealism. They are often as corrupt
as the novels they are reading, because their morality finds no
support either in religion or tradition. But it is a brilliant world
all the same. The hours of practice with the foils are so long
there that they look more like days and nights, and the weapons are
dangerous sometimes, as they are not blunted. There too I received a
few painful lessons until I got my hand in. It would be a sign of mere
vanity and still more of bad taste to write about my successes, and
I will only say this, that I tried to keep alive the tradition of my
father's youth.

The lowest circles of this world slightly merge into the higher sphere
of the great _demi-monde._ This _demi-monde_ is far more dangerous
than appears on the surface because it is not in the least
commonplace. Its cynicism has a certain air of refinement and art. If
I did not leave many feathers there it must be because my beak had
acquired a certain curve and my claws had grown. Generally speaking of
the life in Paris, a man who has passed through that mill feels rather
exhausted, and what then of such as I, who leave only to go back