than at the Champs-Elysees. They have a used-up look; their features
are meaningless, or rather they have all the same meaning. The proud,
stalwart bearing which we find in the portraits of our ancestors--men
who joined moral to physical vigor--has disappeared. Yet in this
gathering there was one man of remarkable ability, who stood out from
the rest by the beauty of his face. But even he did not rouse in me
the feeling which I should have expected. I do not know his works, and
he is a man of no family. Whatever the genius and the merits of a
plebeian or a commoner, he could never stir my blood. Besides, this
man was obviously so much more taken up with himself than with anybody
else, that I could not but think these great brain-workers must look
on us as things rather than persons. When men of intellectual power
love, they ought to give up writing, otherwise their love is not the
real thing. The lady of their heart does not come first in all their
thoughts. I seemed to read all this in the bearing of the man I speak
of. I am told he is a professor, orator, and author, whose ambition
makes him the slave of every bigwig.

My mind was made up on the spot. It was unworthy of me, I determined,
to quarrel with society for not being impressed by my merits, and I
gave myself up to the simple pleasure of dancing, which I thoroughly
enjoyed. I heard a great deal of inept gossip about people of whom I
know nothing; but perhaps it is my ignorance on many subjects which
prevents me from appreciating it, as I saw that most men and women
took a lively pleasure in certain remarks, whether falling from their
own lips or those of others. Society bristles with enigmas which look
hard to solve. It is a perfect maze of intrigue. Yet I am fairly quick
of sight and hearing, and as to my wits, Mlle. de Maucombe does not
need to be told!