they are friends. That is what I call social manners, gentle
manners." This reign of the senses is aptly illustrated by the
epitaph which the gay, voluptuous, and spirtuelle Marquise de
Boufflers wrote for herself:

Ci-git dans une paix profonde
Cette Dame de Volupte
Qui, pour plus grande surete,
Fit son paradis de ce monde.

"Courte et bonne," said the favorite daughter of the Regent, in
the same spirit.

It is against such a background that the women who figure so
prominently in the salons are outlined. Such was the air they
breathed, the spirit they imbibed. That it was fatal to the
finer graces of character goes without saying. Doubtless, in
quiet and secluded nooks, there were many human wild flowers that
had not lost their primitive freshness and delicacy, but they did
not flourish in the withering atmosphere of the great world. The
type in vogue savored of the hothouse. With its striking beauty
of form and tropical richness of color, it had no sweetness, no
fragrance. Many of these women we can only consider on the
worldly and intellectual side. Sydney Smith has aptly
characterized them as "women who violated the common duties of
life, and gave very pleasant little suppers." But standing on
the level of a time in which their faults were mildly censured,
if at all, their characteristic gifts shine out with marvelous
splendor. It is from this standpoint alone that we can present
them, drawing the friendly mantle of silence over grave