and for man. But how inferior are these authors to two little girls,
known as Sweetheart and Darling--otherwise Renee and Louise. Ah! my
love, what wretched plots, what ridiculous situations, and what
poverty of sentiment! Two books, however, have given me wonderful
pleasure--_Corinne_ and _Adolphe_. Apropos of this, I asked my father
one day whether it would be possible for me to see Mme. de Stael. My
father, mother, and Alphonse all burst out laughing, and Alphonse
said:

"Where in the world has she sprung from?"

To which my father replied:

"What fools we are! She springs from the Carmelites."

"My child, Mme. de Stael is dead," said my mother gently.

When I finished _Adolphe_, I asked Miss Griffith how a woman could be
betrayed.

"Why, of course, when she loves," was her reply.

Renee, tell me, do you think we could be betrayed by a man?

Miss Griffith has at last discerned that I am not an utter ignoramus,
that I have somewhere a hidden vein of knowledge, the knowledge we
learned from each other in our random arguments. She sees that it is
only superficial facts of which I am ignorant. The poor thing has
opened her heart to me. Her curt reply to my question, when I compare
it with all the sorrows I can imagine, makes me feel quite creepy.