"Certainly not," I said, laughingly; "that isn't it; that isn't it at all.
In the first place, the word scorn must be suppressed, having nothing to
do here; then, I don't much believe in your ignorance, and not at all in
your lack of wit. Finally, I see nothing above virtue, when I see it at
all, which is not often. Furthermore, madam, I feel confused at the
importance you attach to my opinion. The secret of my likes and dislikes
is quite simple; I have, as I was telling you, the most religious respect
for virtue, but all mine is limited to a deep-seated sentiment of a few
essential duties which I practice as best I can; I could not therefore ask
any more of others. As to the intellect, I confess that I value it
greatly, and life seems too serious a matter to me to be treated on the
footing of a perpetual ball, from the cradle to the grave. Moreover, the
productions of the mind, works of art in particular, are the object of my
most passionate preoccupations, and it is natural that I should like being
able to speak of what interests me. That's all."

"Is it absolutely necessary to be forever talking of the ecstasies of the
soul, of cemeteries, and the Venus of Milo, in order to obtain in your
opinion the rank of a serious woman and a woman of taste? But, after all,
you are right; I never think; if I did for one single minute, it seems to
me that I should go mad, that my head would split. And what were you
thinking about yourself, in that old convent cell?"

"I thought a great deal about you," I replied gayly, "on the evening of
that day when you hunted me down so unmercifully, and I abused you most
heartily."

"I can understand that." She began laughing, looking all around her, and
added: "What a lovely valley! what a delightful evening! And now, are you