woman who has a lofty soul, fine taste, gentle wit, a generously warm
heart, and who lives a simple life, has not a chance of being the
fashion. Ergo: A woman of fashion and a man in power are analogous;
but there is this difference: the qualities by which a man raises
himself above others ennoble him and are a glory to him; whereas the
qualities by which a woman gains power for a day are hideous vices;
she belies her nature to hide her character, and to live the militant
life of the world she must have iron strength under a frail
appearance.

"I, as a physician, know that a sound stomach excludes a good heart.
Your woman of fashion feels nothing; her rage for pleasure has its
source in a longing to heat up her cold nature, a craving for
excitement and enjoyment, like an old man who stands night after night
by the footlights at the opera. As she has more brain than heart, she
sacrifices genuine passion and true friends to her triumph, as a
general sends his most devoted subalterns to the front in order to win
a battle. The woman of fashion ceases to be a woman; she is neither
mother, nor wife, nor lover. She is, medically speaking, sex in the
brain. And your Marquise, too, has all the characteristics of her
monstrosity, the beak of a bird of prey, the clear, cold eye, the
gentle voice--she is as polished as the steel of a machine, she
touches everything except the heart."

"There is some truth in what you say, Bianchon."

"Some truth?" replied Bianchon. "It is all true. Do you suppose that I
was not struck to the heart by the insulting politeness by which she
made me measure the imaginary distance which her noble birth sets
between us? That I did not feel the deepest pity for her cat-like